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“Forgiveness is a powerful tool.” In an almost effortless motion, he uses the tip of his foot to scoot the trashcan closer to me. “How you wield it…and what or who you wield it for…all lies with you.” The bottle filled bucket knocks into my bare toes prompting me to lean forward to begin heaving. “Just. Like. Acceptance.”
Chapter 19
Wes
The problems with drinking in excess are obvious.
Balance struggles.
Slurred speech.
Blurry vision.
Nausea.
However, the problems that occur when the pendulum swings the other direction aren’t exactly much better.
Shakes and tremors.
Racing pulse and colds sweats.
Hallucinations.
Vomiting.
Gordonknows, the human body isn’t meant to endure expelling this much fucking bile.
I use the back of my hand to wipe away the bit of spit that was left behind from my latest round of heaving as Lauren finishes covering the bed in the estate medical suite I’ve been occupying for the past three days. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she sweetly hums while smoothing out the wrinkles. “It’s my job.”
“It is not your job.” Reaching for the cool washcloth lingering on the bedside table is accompanied by clarification. “Your job is budgeting. Scheduling. Disciplining. Managing.” A gentle dab is delivered across my forehead. “Not changing sheets.”
“Changing sheets is part of the managing process better known as mothering.” At that, she shoots me a scolding stare. “Now, you let me do my job while you focus on doing yours.”
“Which I’ll be doing as soon as J.T. brings me a tablet.”
“Detoxing, Weston.” One hand lands disapprovingly on her hip. “That is your primary focus.”
Not by choice.
Withdrawal doesn’t exactly allow room for much else.
Interestingly, it behaves quite similarly to the substance I am distancing myself from.
It slinks in.
It overthrows your senses.
It captures your sanity and stability.
It’s ruthless.
And unforgiving.
And painful.
It’s everything I fucking deserve.
