BONNIE
A vodkatonic stares at me from a curved glass, a curl of lemon teetering on the rim. I bite my tongue and stare, my knee jerking up and down as the enclosing seconds go by. The drink straw creases beneath my thumbnail.
One. Two. Three. Four.
One sip won’t hurt you.
One sip can be forgotten about.
It’ll just be a slip. It’s no worse than yelling at your friends, at your mother, at your stalker.
You’re a fucking fool.
You don’t deserve to have the strength to say no to this.
You’re weak. Worthless.
That’s why they targeted you. They knew it, and you should know it, too.
I should have died three times by now.
First with Kelsey. Second on Halloween. And third at Radio Eleven.
She shouldn’t have saved you on Halloween.
She should have let me rot in a ditch after they were done with me. It should have been my body they found after. Maybe then, this pain wouldn’t be getting to my head. Then, I’d be withmy mom, not living with the regrets of things I never said to her—things Ididsay to her when I shouldn’t have.
I wouldn’t be living with the fact that I just shoved away the person who took me to a rehab facility to get clean.
God, what is wrong with me?
Reed’s fist bangs on the door so hard I’m surprised the thing doesn’t cave beneath the weight.
“Bon?”
I barely react as he twists the knob, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t barge in like someone ready to take on the world and save me from all the bad and ugly things haunting my mind.
Because he’s Reed.
He pauses in the door, his throat bobbing as he stares between the drink on the counter and me sitting on the stool at the bar.
“Hey,” he finally says.
It’s a simple word, and it staggers between us as he drops his duffle bag on the ground and locks the deadbolt behind him. I eye the paper bag in his arm but don’t ask about it as he treads to the island block.
The moment the paper bag hits the counter, he begins moving around my kitchen as if it’s his own. I barely register him taking ingredients and pans out, and once he seems organized, he opens the cabinet door, grabs a short glass, fills it with water from the fridge, then slides it even with the vodka as if presenting a choice.
I stare between them for a beat.
It’d be easy to switch the lemon when he isn’t looking, to tear into that drink and quiet my mind.
It’s tempting.So fucking tempting.
I could numb this pain and forget about it for a while. I could slow down the racing thoughts, the bodily pain, and the dread swirling through my veins.
Still, I know it would only last a few hours, I’d have to keep feeding the beast to keep it all at bay.
I reach for the water with trembling fingers. A tear falls from my eye when the cool liquid hits my lips, a breath of relief leaving me. The water swishes in my mouth, seeming to wipe away the taste of blood, its coolness drenching my raw throat.
