I’d only known Mila for a few weeks, yet I knew without a doubt that the shit between us wasn’t supposed to end this way. I’d always believed that people came into my life for a reason. Mila’s presence had made me realize my life was missing something. Her absence felt a lot like the sun had been plucked out of the goddamn sky. I felt it in my fucking soul.
After our last fight, I’d Googled courtesans to find out what the hell she was talking about. Women born into poverty who used their body to raise their social status and feed themselves… I could see why she’d referred to herself as such. I’d also pieced together enough details about her past to understand why she’d started down that path. Broke and alone, she’d done what she had to do to survive.
Now, she was dealing with the fallout.
We weren’t much different. I’d done the same, self-medicating to keep from throwing in the towel and taking my own life. The fallout for my actions included jail time and rehab. Mila had morphed into a chameleon, and was on the run from some religious nut-job murderer. We seemed to share a lack of faith in ourselves and a penchant for hurting those closest to us. The only real difference between us was that she hadn’t found a support system yet.
No, she’d found us, she just hadn’t accepted our help.
Tugging my phone out of my pocket, I considered sending her a message, but thought better of it. I was still dealing with my own demons, and had no business trying to help Mila. Maybe a nice, stable guy like Toby would have better luck. Maybe he could encourage her to finally trust someone and come to terms with her past.
The thought only worsened the ache inside of me.
Feeling all sorts of shit I couldn’t figure out, I ambled out of her room and into my own. Dinner would be ready soon, but I didn’t have much of an appetite.
I was losing someone important to me and it hurt. Way worse than I thought it would.
A couple of months ago, I would have found something to take the edge off. My back injury wasn’t the only pain numbed by morphine. I’d often used it to erase the sting of all of my shortcomings, limitations, and loneliness. But I couldn’t do that anymore. I had too many people counting on me to stay clean.
And strangely enough, I didn’t even want to self-medicate.
Glancing at the beer glasses on top of my dresser, I called my sister.
“Cars!” Annie said, answering.
Just hearing her voice made me smile. “Hey kiddo, how are you?”
“Great! I was so nervous, but I nailed my first interview. The manager at the coffee shop said he’d be calling me in for a second one with his boss soon. How great is that?”
Glad to hear her so happy, I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Sounds like you got it in the bag.”
“I know, right? And I’m gonna be the best barista in Vegas. I’ma be slingin’ coffees and slayin’ tips.”
Her excitement was contagious, tugging a chuckle from my chest. “I bet you will.”
“How’s Seattle? Is it raining there?”
Having had this conversation several times before, I laughed at her ridiculousness. “It’s July. It doesn’t rain year-round.”
“Yeah, just from September to June. I don’t know how you live in a city with no sun.”
She was on one today. “At least my skin doesn’t sizzle every time I step outside,” I replied.
“Point,” she conceded. “So… what’s up? How are you?”
I wouldn’t lie to her. Closing my eyes, I massaged my temples. “It’s been a rough day, but I’ll live.”
“You still clean?”
“Yeah. I’m… coping.” Realizing the truth of my words, I felt a small burst of pride. I felt like shit, but I was handling it. And that was progress.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked.
There was no way in hell I was talking about my girl problems to my fifteen-year-old sister. “Nope. I want you to distract me. Tell me all about your first interview.”
“Ohmigod, Cars, there’s so much to tell!” She sucked in a deep breath. “The manager who interviewed me looks like a cross between Homer Simpson and Jason Statham.”
I tried to picture that mashup, but couldn’t. “How is that even possible?”
