Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Jami,” she stammered, voice breaking. “Please, please don’t do this alone. Move in with me and Crunch. We’ll figure it out together.”
Her arms wrapped around me, warm and desperate. For a second, I almost caved.
But then I pictured Crunch looking at me, seeing what I’d become, knowing what I’d done. I pictured Tommy hearing about me living under his brother’s roof.
And I shoved her away.
“No,” I snapped, harsher than I meant. “I can’t. Don’t ask me again.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Why? You’re my sister. You don’t have to—”
“I said no.” My voice cracked, but I held the line. “I need to do this myself.”
She begged. She cried. She told me she loved me.
I still refused.
Because if I let her hold me, I’d fall apart completely.
So here I am.
A hotel room with peeling wallpaper and a view of the parking lot.
I get up every morning, put on the scratchy polyester uniform from the diner down the road, and sling pancakes and coffee for truckers who don’t tip.
The work keeps my hands busy, but not my head.
The loneliness claws at me, worse every night. The bed is too big without Tommy’s arms. The silence too loud without his laugh. The ring-shaped indent on my finger feels like a bruise that won’t heal.
I tell myself I left to find freedom. All I’ve found is emptiness.
By the end of the first week, I’m cracking.
The guilt about that night at the bar still coils in my gut like barbed wire. The way I woke up next to a stranger. The way I never told anyone. The way I looked Tommy in the eyes and lied every time he asked me what was wrong.
And then left him bleeding anyway.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I handed the ring back. The way his voice broke when he begged me not to go.
I hear the silence after I said don’t follow me.
It’s unbearable.
The voice in my head hisses louder every day. Trash stays trash. You were never clean. You’ll never be enough. Not for him. Not for anyone.
By Friday night, I can’t take it anymore.
I get in the car.
And I drive.
It’s too easy to find what I’m looking for. That is the thing about being an addict. We are very smart even when the world thinks we’re stupid. We will find a way to get a fix.
Once, I had to hunt. Now it feels like the whole damn world is waiting for me to slip.
A few blocks over from the diner, in an alley that smells like piss and grease, I see him. Tall, wiry, face half-hidden under a hoodie. His eyes catch mine, and he smirks like he’s been expecting me.
“You lookin’?” he asks.
My stomach twists. “Yeah.”
“Got cash?”
I nod, pulling a crumpled wad of tips from my pocket. My hands shake as I pass it over.
He palms me a small bag. White powder.
My heart stops. Starts. Stops again.
I haven’t held this in years. My whole body remembers it — the rush, the escape, the way it made everything disappear for a little while.
“Pleasure doing business,” he mutters, already turning away.
I stand frozen for a moment, the bag burning in my palm. Then I shove it into my pocket and bolt back to the car.
Back at the hotel, I lock the door and sink onto the bed.
I set the bag on the nightstand. Just look at it.
It’s small. Innocent. Just a little clear plastic with powder inside. But it feels like it’s got a gun to my head.
I pace. I sit. I stand. I pick it up, put it down, pick it up again.
Don’t. You’re stronger than this.
But you’re alone. You’re worthless. You’ll never get him back anyway. You already took who knows what with the man you didn’t even get his name. What is one more hit?
I try to pray. The words stick in my throat.
I try to call Jenni. My finger hovers over her name, but I can’t press send. I can’t hear her voice telling me I’m better than this. Not when I don’t believe it myself.
The guilt eats at me, sharper every second.
Tommy’s face. His hands. His voice whispering you’re mine.
The stranger’s face. His hands. The shame of what I don’t remember.
The woman on the beach, sneering trash stays trash.
It all swirls together until I can’t breathe.
I rip the bag open.
For a second, I just stare. My whole body trembles. My heart pounds so loud it drowns out the AC rattling in the corner.
Then I bend down. One deep inhale.
And I get high.
It hits like a bomb.
For the first time in years, the noise in my head goes quiet. The shame dulls. The ache in my chest numbs.
I lie back on the bed, eyes closing, body floating.
For a few stolen minutes, I’m free.
But even in the high, somewhere deep inside, I know the truth.