Page 65 of Unholy Confessions
Hayden nods, standing up and gathering his things. "Take all the time you need. But Montgomery? You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who chooses you every day, not just when it's convenient."
He pauses at the door, looking back at me with an expression I can't quite read. "RJ might come back," he says quietly. "But even if he does, he's not going to be the same person who left. And you're not going to be the same person who waited."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my paper ring and the devastating possibility that everything I've been holding onto might already be gone.
Chapter 31
RJ
Today is the day. What I've waited for since I got here. The day I get to go home. My parents and EJ are coming to get me.
But I'm scared shitless.
I've been pacing my room since 5 AM, when the anxiety finally won over exhaustion and dragged me out of what little sleep I'd managed to get. My hands won't stop shaking – not from withdrawal anymore, thank God, but from pure terror about what comes next.
The facility has been my safety net for the past five weeks. Here, everything is controlled, monitored, safe. I don't have to worry about running into Evan or finding drugs in places I forgot I'd hidden them. I don't have to worry about the crushing weight of everyone's expectations or the guilt that threatened to drown me every time I looked at Montgomery and saw what I was putting her through.
Here, I could focus on getting clean, on doing the work, on figuring out why I kept trying to numb myself into oblivion. But out there? Out there is everything that drove me to this place in the first place.
"Are you excited?" Benson asks as we stand in front of the building, waiting for our families to come and get us.
Benson's been my anchor through all of this. When I first arrived, strung out and shaking and ready to crawl out of my own skin, he was the one who talked me down from leaving after the first day. He's the one who listened when I sobbed about how badly I'd fucked up my life, how I'd destroyed the one person who meant everything to me.
"Part of me is," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "The other part of me is terrified to go home. What if I can't handle it? What if I see Montgomery and the guilt overwhelms me and I use again? What if I run into Evan and he offers me something and I'm not strong enough to say no? There are no safety nets there. Here, I don't have to worry about destroying everyone I love all the time."
The fear is eating me alive, gnawing at my insides like it's trying to get out. I've been clean for five weeks now, but the cravings still hit me some days. Yesterday, during group therapy, I broke down crying because someone mentioned cocaine and for a split second, the want was so strong I could taste it.
What if that happens when I'm home? What if I'm at the studio, or at a party, or just walking down the street, and the craving hits and there's no one there to talk me through it? What if I destroy everything I've worked for in a moment of weakness?
"I know," Benson says, and I can hear the same fear in his voice. We've talked about this, the two of us lying in our narrow beds at night, voices hushed so we wouldn't wake our roommates, sharing our terror about returning to the world that broke us. "That's why we did the work we did. To be able to handle it once we go home."
But the work feels so fragile compared to real life. In here, everything was controlled, predictable. Morning meditation, group therapy, individual sessions, art therapy, fitness time, evening reflection. A routine that kept the demons at bay. Out there, everything that drove me to this place is still waiting for me. The pressure, the expectations, the crushing weight of everyone's disappointment.
And Montgomery. God, Montgomery. What if she takes one look at me and realizes she's better off without me? What if these five weeks of separation have shown her how much happier she is when she doesn't have to worry about me, doesn't have to pick up the pieces every time I fall apart?
"You're right," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. "And if I need help, I can call my sponsor."
The sponsor relationship was one of the hardest things to navigate. They wanted me to choose someone I trusted, someone who understood addiction, someone who wouldn't enable me or let me manipulate them. The list of people who fit all those criteria was shorter than I'd expected.
"Who did you end up picking?"
I run my hands through my hair, my fingers shaking slightly. "My dad's producer, Gavin. He's been in recovery for twelve years, he knows what it's like, and he knows me. This man can tell when I'm lying to him better than my parents can." My voice cracks as the weight of it all hits me again. "God, I hope I made the right decision. I can't fuck this up again, Benson. I can't hurt the people I love anymore."
The memory of Montgomery's face when she left still haunts my dreams. The way she looked so broken, so lost, like I'd taken something important from her and left her with nothing. I did that to her. The woman I love more than my own life, and I destroyed her piece by piece with my selfishness and my addiction and my complete inability to get my shit together.
She deserves so much better than me. She deserves someone who doesn't disappear for weeks at a time, someone who doesn't lie about where they've been or what they've been doing. Someone who doesn't choose drugs over her, over their relationship, over everything good in their life.
"Hey, before everyone gets here." Benson's voice brings me back from the spiral I was heading down. "I wanna say thank you for being my friend while we've been in this crazy situation together. I appreciate it. We haven't been able to have phones, but this is my email in case you want to connect once we're back in the world, so to speak."
He slips me a piece of paper, and I grab it like it's a lifeline. My eyes are burning with tears I'm trying not to shed because I'm not ready to say goodbye to the one person who's understood exactly what I'm going through.
Benson's been more than a friend – he's been a mirror that showed me I wasn't the only one struggling with this shit. When I wanted to give up, when the work got too hard and I just wanted to numb everything again, he was there reminding me why I was fighting.
"I don't have a pen, or I'd give you mine."
"Just email me if you need me, then I'll have it."
"Thanks for being my friend when I really needed one." I clap him on the back, my voice thick with emotion. "This has been one of the craziest times of my life, and I wasn't a great person to the people who are normally in my life, but I'm thankful to have met you."
