Page 27 of A Tragic Melody

“I don’t think it’s healthy for you to know that.”

“Then I’ll guess,” he says. His brown eyes hone in on me. Brown like dirt, the dirt I’ll eventually use to bury him in. “I’d say you’re on coke right now. Though I imagine there’s been a few nights you did ecstasy. Maybe some pain pills. Diet pills are also a possibility. I assume the label helps you get most of it. I don’t think you’d do Xanax or many other downers. You strike me as the girl who likes to feel good, not mellow. Energy is easier to feed than the low.”

“You did heroin. Why?”

“I’m not answering that.” He laughs.

“Oh, come on. I’ll tell you why I do coke, and you tell me why you made heroin your vice. I think that’s only fair.”

“You know why. My family died.” He shrugs.

“Yeah. I know why you ran into the warm embrace of the high, but why did heroin get you? You could’ve picked an upper. I assumed it would’ve gone hand in hand with the music, but you went with a downer. Why?”

“Heroin was my rock bottom. I did everything under the sun, and more.”

“Are you saying all drugs lead to heroin?”

“I’m saying at some point the rock drops. Whatever high you feel won’t be enough. Your problems grow bigger than any drug can cure, but you’ll keep trying. Then you hit rock bottom and have to crawl your way out.”

“Or kill yourself.”

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes drifting towards the side of me.

“Oh my God. You tried to kill yourself.” That’s news to me. I didn’t think he had it in him, to be honest. He seems too full of himself to do that.

“No,” he replies quickly, “I didn’t try to kill myself.”

“Wyatt, it isn’t polite to lie to your new friend.” I smirk.

“I don’t think I tried to kill myself…” he says. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” I press.

“Yeah. Your memory goes hazy when you spend the better part of a month fucked up on heroin.”

“Jesus. You really were an addict.”

“Rich, coming from you. When was the last time you’ve gone a day being sober?”

“When I was twelve.” I shrug. “Mommy dearest got her hands on some diet pills and other stuff. Started pumping them down my throat since the day I lost my virginity and she didn’t get the payout.”

The shock that falls over his face is priceless. I smile, proudly baring my soul to him, because he doesn’t know this yet—but he is a dead man walking. He may think the fight is over, but I’m not ready to give up. Not until I know he isn’t a threat. Every secret of mine he gets buries him a little deeper.

My soul comes for a price he won’t be able to pay.

“That’s rough,” he says softly. “I thought maybe it was to cope with her, not her idea. I’ll admit that changes my opinion of things.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think it’s one thing to run to the drugs to escape, but once you escaped, you should’ve wanted to get better. Yet here you are. You got away from her, but refused to get better. That’s much sadder.”

I’m too stunned to speak. Who the fuck does he think he is? Sadder? This isn’t sadder. I just left one nightmare to fall into another, but I can’t tell him that. Hendricks would end me if I told anyone about him.

“This was probably a bad idea. Us being friends, I mean. Clearly, you prefer being miserable. I’m not sure that’s the kind of friend I need. I wanted to offer you support, be kind, help you find your way. But you’ve had years out from under her thumb, and you still choose being miserable. That’s not a safe environment for me.”

He looks at me. His big, stupid, shit-colored, holier-than-thou eyes stare at me. They are sharp, drilling holes in my soul as he tears me down.

“I get it. Don’t get me wrong,” he goes on. “And you have my sympathy, but I don’t think I can be your friend after all. I apologize. Of course, if you ever do decide to get your shit together, I may reconsider. But as of now, it’s probably best if we go back to…”