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My wedding is in three days, and my mother insisted that I do something to “celebrate,” even though I’m dreading it. She tried to convince me that it would shift my focus from the negative feelings I have toward it. I don’t know why I listened to her.
I didn’t see a point in having a bachelorette party, so Angelica suggested we spend a day at her hotel, getting pampered. I wanted to refuse, but I could see how much Angelica wanted to try and distract me.
We spent the morning at the spa, having facials, a massage, and a mani and pedi.
I haven’t heard anything from Dion since last night, and unless something changes—or something happens to Andrew—I will soon be Mrs. Galanis.
“Earth to Aria,” Angelica says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Ever since leaning off the drugs and alcohol, my mind has been a blur, as if clouded in a dense fog. Conversations are more challenging, and I find myself not being able to focus for long. The mess my life is still in doesn’t help.
Many months ago, when I decided to quit everything, I was scared, but also relieved. I was ready to not be a prisoner of my own vices anymore.
I stood in my bathroom, staring at the bottles under the sink. There were so many, hidden there like ghosts of the past I wanted to forget. My hands trembled as I reached down, pulling each one out.
I remember the sound they made as they hit the bottom of the trash bag, dull thuds that echoed in the room. The coke and pills went next. I flushed them down the toilet, watching the water swirl and take them away. I felt a strange mix of both empowerment and helplessness. The former because I was taking a step forward, the latter because I knew how hard the road ahead would be.
The physical withdrawal would be a bitch, I knew that, but in that moment, I felt a clarity I hadn’t in a long time.
I still go to therapy, even after taking that hiatus to recover from my injury. It’s like returning to a familiar place, yet everything is different. There’s this new layer now—the thoughts I had before the bullet hit me. The almost disappointment when I woke up and found out I’d lived. They’re not just shadows in the corner of my mind anymore; they’re front and center in every session.
It’s helping, though. I can’t deny that. Dr. Goode and I unpack these thoughts, unraveling each one carefully, like defusing a bomb. But it feels like I’m starting from scratch. All the progress I made before, all the hard work, it’s like it got wiped clean. I’m rebuilding, step by step, trying to find my footing again, which at times seems impossible with Andrew still in my life.
Some days, it’s too much.
“How are you?” Angelica asks, her voice soft.
I look at her. “Scared,” I admit.
She smiles, reaching out to take my hand. Her touch is warm, reassuring. I squeeze it, trying to draw strength from her.
Having Angelica by my side during this journey has been a godsend. I remember the day I finally told her about my struggle with substance abuse. I was so scared she would judge me or react harshly, but instead, she cried. She cried for me, cried with me. We held each other for what felt like hours. She shared my pain. Felt it. And in that moment, I felt hers. In a way, it was like we bonded over our traumas, but it went deeper than that. We are sisters, and Angelica promised to be there every step of the way.
Even though she’s now five months pregnant, she’s been a pillar of strength, at my beck and call anytime I need her.
“You have an army surrounding you, Arioula. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she assures me.
I scoff. “Andrew is going to shield me from the world, Giegie. I probably won’t even be able to leave the house.” My voice cracks.
Angie squints her brows. “None of the men in your life will allow that. Not your brothers, not Dion—not even Evan,” she says with a wink.
I laugh, despite everything. She knows how much Evander and I bicker. Even though he gets on my last damn nerve, I love him. He’s family.
My amusement fades quickly. “Then why am I still getting married to him?”
“Stupid traditions. Signed in blood. Blah, blah, blah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You know you can’t technically get out of it unless Andrew decides to cancel the wedding.”
I sigh. So, I have to play the part even if that means getting married to an abusive prick. Cool.
“You know your brothers have something up their sleeves. Even if you do get married to him, it surely won’t last long.”
“Angie. One day married to that waste of a man is a day too long.” I exhale again.
Honestly, I’m scared shitless of what Andrew is going to do to me once we’re alone again.
But I guess I should have faith in my brothers and Dion.
