Page 46 of Unholy Confessions
"You haven't done your laundry yet, RJ?" She teases. "Are you waiting for someone to do it for you?"
Schooling my features, I tease her back. "You know that you always help me when I come back from tour. Been waitin' on ya."
She rolls her eyes and carries my stuff into the laundry room. Following behind her, I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door jam. It's sexist of me, but I love it when she acts like my wife. When she does the type of things I imagine that would be our life if we lived together, and she had my ring around her finger, if she had my last name. It's what I've always wanted, but I can't ask her with my life going the way it is.
I'm not even being honest with her right now, and that hurts worse than I ever thought it would.
There's a pain in my chest, and I rub hard at it, to make it go away.
"Are you okay?" Her eyebrows pinch together as she looks at me.
"I'm good, just a little heartburn."
I go back to watching her, when it hits me what she's doing. She's checking pockets before she sorts the clothing. She picks up the pair of jeans I was wearing the other day.
"What's this?"
"Montgomery…"
Before I can say anything else, she pulls the metal pill holder out. It's supposed to be used for people to carry their prescription medication in case they need just one or two pills. Instead, I've been using it to carry around the extras that I've been popping. Opening it, she shakes it and the pills fall out onto her palm. "RJ why aren't these in your prescription bottle?" She holds them up to me.
"I just carried them with me in case I missed the time to take it."
"That's bullshit," she accuses, her mouth flattened into a disappointed line . "You take it when you wake up. So it's not going to matter, and they aren't even in the appropriate bottle. My Dad used to carry his pills like this, when he was taking a ton of them."
"They're extra," I try to play it off.
"Extra? You shouldn't have extra."
I'm sweating, getting annoyed as she questions me. "Give me the fuckin' thing."
"No," she refuses. "If they're extra you won't care if I do this."
Montgomery turns to the sink in the room, tips the bottle, and pours them out before turning on the water.
"You fucking bitch! You don't know what you're doing," I yell.
Both of us are shocked at what I've just said, but that doesn't stop me from rushing over, turning the water off and trying to salvage the pills.
"RJ?" Her chin is quivering and tears are pooling in her eyes. "What the fuck are you doing?"
The panic is setting in now, full force. My hands are shaking as I try to grab what's left of the dissolved pills from the sink, but it's useless. They're gone, and so is any chance I had of getting through tonight without the crushing anxiety that's already starting to build in my chest.
"You don't understand," I say desperately, my voice cracking. "I need those."
"For what? Your anxiety? Or for something else?" Her voice is rising, and I can hear the hurt and confusion. "RJ, what's going on? These don't even look like what you were prescribed."
I can't look at her. I can't face the disappointment I know I'll see in her eyes. "It's not what you think. Those came from another pharmacy…"
"Then tell me what it is!" She's crying now, full tears streaming down her face. "Because from where I'm standing, this looks exactly like what I dealt with growing up. This looks exactly like my father."
The comparison hits me like a physical blow. I know about her dad, we all do. It's affected everyone within the orbit of Black Friday. We've lived with the pills and the lying and the broken promises. I know what it did to her family, what it did to her. And here I am, doing the exact same thing.
"I'm not your father," I snap, my own panic making me defensive and wanting to lash out. I know what he did to her, how much he hurt her, and it pisses me off that she's putting me in the same bucket as him. "Don't you dare compare me to that piece of shit."
"First of all, my Dad isn't a piece of shit. I'm gonna overlook that and the bitch comment because you've obviously got some shit going on here. Then what the hell is this?" She gestures wildly at the sink, at the evidence of what I've become. "Because it sure as hell isn't the RJ I fell in love with. You sure look like you have the same problems as him."
"I don't have a problem!" The words come out louder than I intended, echoing in the small laundry room. "I'm managing my anxiety, and ADHD. The tour was stressful, and my doctor said?—"
