Page 237 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Lani sniffles. “Okay. I hate feelings.”

“Too late,” I say softly. “Come here.”

She hesitates for half a second, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed with us, stiff until Lydia reaches out and grabs her hand.

“This is the weirdest roommate moment we’ve had so far,” I murmur.

“I feel emotionally attacked by your art,” Lydia adds through her own sniffles.

Lani lets out a watery laugh. “That’s kinda the point, I guess.”

50

Mason

By the sixth lap, my lungs are burning like hell. The pain feels good, though. I need something to distract my brain right now—anything, really. And pushing my body to its limits has always been second best to a bottle of liquor.

The track is still damp from last night’s rain as my sneakers slap against the rubber in a perfect rhythm.

If I stop moving, my head gets too loud.

So I push, and I keep pushing.

Erik is a few strides ahead, and Bash hangs right beside me.

“Pick it up, boys,” Erik calls over his shoulder. “Mase, I thought you said you didn’t lose any of that talent of yours when you got hurt.”

“Eat my shit, Slade!” I yell, pushing even harder.

My shoulder still throbs daily, and my body feels weaker lately, but I’m getting good at pretending I’m fully back to normal.

We finish the lap and slow near the bleachers. My chest heaves as I bend forward, hands on my knees, sweat dripping off my forehead onto the track.

“I feel like I’m sweating all the remaining Hennessy in my system out through my pores,” I rasp. “I can actuallysmellliquor. Am I going crazy?”

Erik laughs, wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt.

Bash sits down on the bleachers, grabbing his water from our pile of things. “Ithinkyou’re an addict.”

“Funny,” I deadpan. “Takes one to know one.”

Bash gives me a mocking face. “That’s why I said it, you big baby.”

Erik just laughs, and even though I don’t respond, Bash continues to watch me—studying me.

I’ve been checking in with him, and he knows I’m still sober, have been for months. But what he doesn’t know, and what nobody knows…is that my restraint has been barely hanging on.

Parent weekend starts tomorrow, and my dad made sure to clear his schedule for it.

I don’t understand why, seeing as he never takes a real interest in me. I assume it’s just another way for him to check in on his investment and maybe smooth-talk anyone who will listen to him. I also think he loves coming to these things because he wants to relive his glory days in some creepy way—the years that he peaked in life.

I don’t really care what his reasons are. I just wish he would stay home. I don’t need him messing up the progress I’ve made since being back.

Everything in me wants to prepare for the blows I’ll take while he’s here. It would all be so much easier to handle him while he’s around if I didn’t have to fight sobriety at the same time. If I were wasted, I wouldn’t care so much. I wouldn’t care that he’s coming to taint the one safe space I have.

This place is the only place that’s remotely mine. Sure, he controls parts of it, but who I am here doesn’t have to live up to all the expectations—only on paper. That’s the only thing that matters to him. Every other part of my life here, I’m free to live how I want.

“What’s going on in that barely working brain of yours?” Bash asks, partly teasing, but there’s still this caring behind his words.