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I try to take a breath, run my hands through my hair and turn around, wondering what or where I can check next.
“No. No, no, no.” Mum rushes past me for the front door, stopping me from leaving before I even thought of it.
“I have to go, Mum. I have to.” My voice breaks as my emotions hit me full force, threatening to pull me under, and all I can think of, all I can focus on is the internal drive to quench everything with a drink. But floating to the surface of all of this is the pain in my chest. A dull ache that only seems to grow with every beat of my heart.
“Nope. I’ve got you.” She wraps her arms around me, but I try to fight, struggling to get out of her grasp. But she’s sure and strong, and the more I fight, the harder her hold binds her to me.
“I’ve got you. Just give in.”
“I have to go. I need… I want to…” I can’t finish the sentences. I don’t know what I need. Because everything is bleak and dark. All the light and hope has burned out, and I’m stuck, picking over the embers of the last six months.
My legs shake and are so weak under me that I give in and collapse right there. I don’t hit the floor. Mum cradles me, and we both slump down, propped up against the front door.
If I leave now, all I can see is disaster. But she stopped me.
“I’ve got you. We’ll get through this. I’ve got you.”
Her words are soft, and her kindness breaks the last part of me I was holding together.
I cry.
I sob.
I rage.
All there, on the floor, in my mother’s arms.
Chapter Twenty
Iwish I could say that lying on the floor with my mum was a one-off.
Over the next few weeks, my tolerance of my mum’s patience wears threadbare. She never gets cross with me, and I wonder if it’s because she slapped me that one time. Because I’m far worse now.
I’m a bitch.
I hate this.
Everything hurts. Everything is painful. It’s miserable. And that’s before I let my mind drift to Jeremy.
My naivety thought that in a few weeks, I’d be better. No drugs or alcohol, and then I could get back to life. But I seem to be living my days in the shadows, tormented by a craving that I didn’t even know I had until I opened my eyes.
Now, my every move revolves around what I can do to sneak a drink. Or find a stash or a dealer. Learning how to function is a lot harder than I ever thought it could be.
Wretched.
Sick.
And the worst is that in my addled mind, I’m beginning to question if any of this is worth it or if all of this is just one big mistake. I miss him so much, and he won’t return my calls or texts.
Mum and I fight over this. She wants to cut him out of my life as if he is another thing I’m dependent on, just like the alcohol and drugs. But I can only see the good times and desperately want him back.
Mum’s careful when she leaves me on my own. Only on a good day. Usually, when I’m sleeping.
Because she knows I’m going to try everything I can to get back to him. At least, that’s what rises inside of me today. It changes depending on my mood.
On a good day, I get frustrated that I can’t do more, and we fight because Mum believes I’m not ready. We don’t always share the same opinion, so I sulk in my room.
I don’t have a job or anything to keep my mind busy, and she knows that’s going to be my undoing unless we agree on a plan. But she doesn’t trust me. I know that because I’ve shown her nothing to challenge that.
