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I wince at the sound of his name and the betrayal slices through me again.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” my mom offers. “He was worried about you and him bringing you back was the best thing that he could have done for you.”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug, waving her off dismissively. I’m not here to talk about the devil that haunts me. “So, what are the ground rules?”
My mom walks around the counter, stopping at one of the barstools as she pulls it out and takes a seat. “I thought a lot about what to do. I know that rehab would be the best place for you, but I’m not sure that we are at that point right now.”
I nod, letting her know that I’m following along with her. In reality, all I’m thinking about is where the fuck I’m supposed to get dope now.
“There’s a rehab not far from here. They offer an outpatient program, that way you don’t have to be admitted and kept inpatient. It’s called an IOP—intensive outpatient program. They have different meetings and such throughout the week. I don’t think that it’s a daily check-in, but at least three times a week. They also offer different types of clinics where we can get you on either methadone or Suboxone to try and help you with your addiction.”
I cringe at her words. I’m not blind or stupid. I know that I’m an addict, but hearing it being spoken into the universe doesn’t sit well with me. It brings a new reality check, the graveness of the predicament that I’ve gotten myself into really sets in.
I fucked around and went and got addicted—to more than one thing.
At least this is one addiction that I can kick.
The other—Killian—I’m just left with being haunted by his memory.
I shouldn’t ever want to see him again, but fuck me for wanting to. If he walked right through that door and claimed that he didn’t mean anything that he said, I would believe him. I would believe every single lie that he sold me because it didn’t hurt me like the truth did.
He never loved me, yet he made me believe that he did. I felt it and it felt so real. That’s the worst mind fuck of all of this.
“I guess I can do that,” I tell her, shrugging impassively. “I’m not going to rehab, but I’m willing to get some kind of help.”
“Good.” She smiles. This one still doesn’t light up her eyes, but it spreads across her face. “We can try whatever is going to work. I just want my daughter back and I’m happy to finally have you back home with me, where we can get you the help that you need.”
My stomach churns and the bile rises up my throat as my skin begins to crawl. I muster a fake smile, swiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. The dreadful withdrawal has already begun to set in and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it at this point. I don’t know where the hell I can get anything that will chase it away.
“We need to discuss the ground rules.” She pauses, folding her hands in front of her on the countertop. “I’ve installed cameras throughout the house and outside. I also changed all security passwords. I hate to do this to you, Ainsley, but I can’t trust you to not run.”
My brows furrow and I narrow my eyes at her. “So, I’m essentially your prisoner here?”
She shakes her head. “You can obviously leave, with my permission and knowing exactly what you are doing. You have more freedom than a prisoner, but this is for your own good, sweetie. I just want to keep you safe and this is how I do it.”
“By fucking sheltering me?”
“I understand that you’re angry, but that’s just the way that it is. We can either do this my way or else I can take you to the hospital and have you admitted into the psych ward.”
“On what circumstances?”
“Heresy.” She shrugs, knowing that she’s playing me into the palm of her hand by manipulating and giving me an ultimatum. “You don’t look well, at all, Ainsley. Who do you think that they would believe if I took you in and said that you were a danger to yourself?”
I swallow hard, instantly feeling the guilt before the words surface. “So, help me get well.”
She tilts her head to the side with a perplexed look. “That’s what I am doing.”
“No.” I shake my head and the frustration grows with her not understanding what I’m actually saying. “Help me getwell.”
She stills, her eyes widening slightly as she stares at me. “You want me to help you get drugs? Absolutely not.”
“I’m going to get sick if you don’t,” I urge, wringing my sweaty hands together. “Like really, really sick. I could die if you don’t help me.”
“I am helping you, sweetie,” she says softly. “I know you can’t see that right now, but you will.”
I cut my eyes at her, backing away from the kitchen. “I fucking hate you. You’re dead to me.”
My mom stares after me as I back out through the doorway and swiftly spin on my heel. My body screams in protest as I run up the stairs like a damn child, slamming my bedroom door behind me. I should feel like shit for treating her like that, but I don’t. I can’t see past the demons that control my addiction and right now, she’s an obstacle that is getting in the way of me feeding them.
