Page 14

“I Wasn’t Healing. I Was Being Held”

thad been three weeks already. Three weeks in a Calabasas penthouse Zay owned, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass, marble counters, and enough quiet to make me feel like I was being punished. My mother showed up every morning like clockwork and sat on the edge of my bed like I was five years old again.

Only I wasn’t five, and she damn sure wasn’t gentle with me.

“Get up.”

“Drink this.”

“Take this.”

“Eat.”

Every morning it was the same shit, and every morning I fought her on most of it. I didn’t eat much, barely slept, and spent more time awake at night than I did during the day. The nightmares came when I managed to sleep. When I was awake, it was cold sweats, tremors, mood swings, and mental breakdowns that could hit me over nothing.

Most days, I stayed in the bathroom with the water running hot enough to turn my skin red. I would sit in the tub until my fingers wrinkled, then move to the shower and stand underneath it until my thoughts slowed down enough for me to deal with them.

My mother kept trying to give me methadone, but I refused it every time.

“I’m not trading one chain for another,” I told her.

Instead, I drank and smoked up Zay’s weed whenever the craving got bad. Neither one was fixing me, but they gave me something to reach for when the itch under my skin started begging for something harder. Three weeks clean sounded good when you said it out loud. Living through every hour of those three weeks was something else.

Today, I couldn’t hide in the penthouse.

It was my favorite aunt’s birthday brunch, and she was one of the only people in the family who never looked at me like I was broken glass. She was doing it big with pastel dresses, champagne, and all the women from LA my mother and aunt had been around forever. I already knew the room would be full of money, opinions, fake concern, and people trying not to stare at me.

My favorite cousin heard I was back home, so she came over early to help me get ready.

The second she walked into my room and saw me, she froze.

I knew why.

I was ten times smaller than I had ever been. I was smaller than when I ran track in high school and smaller than when I played college basketball. My cheekbones were sharp, dark circles sat underneath my eyes, and my skin was breaking out from the stress and detox.

At least my teeth were all still there, but they weren’t pretty anymore.

“Azaria…” she whispered.

“Don’t,” I said flatly.

She caught herself and didn’t push me. That was one of the reasons she was my favorite.

She went straight to the veils I had ordered and started pulling them out one by one. They were expensive silk in black, deep burgundy, and champagne cream. I didn’t care for makeup anymore because I didn’t want to spend an hour trying to make myself look healthier than I was. Gloss was enough for me.

The veil could cover the rest.

I chose a dark dress that was fitted and structured enough to make everything look intentional. Once I was dressed, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself.

I looked like I was in mourning.

Maybe I was.

“Ready?” my cousin asked.

“No.”

I picked up my purse anyway and walked out with her.