Some escape to the university and never look back. Others, like us, get trapped in its gravity.
"We can get you help," I tell her, the same words I've said a dozen times before. "Rehab in Pittsburgh. Meetings. Whatever you need."
She looks away, focusing on the window where dawn is just beginning to lighten the sky above. "I can't do it, Garrett. I've tried. I need it."
"Youneedto live."
"Thisisn'tliving." Her fingers tighten around mine with surprising strength. "This is just... existing. Waiting for the next fix."
We've had this conversation before, each time she hits bottom. Each time, I think maybe it's the wake-up call she needs. Each time, she proves me wrong.
"When can I leave?" she asks, already thinking about her next score.
Fucking idiot.
I want to scream at her: do better for me. Live for me. Give us a chance to be what we were, but I don’t.
"Doctor wants to monitor you. Brain damage risk."
She smiles bitterly. "Brain's already damaged, Blood. Has been since the day I was born in this fucking state."
I don't have an answer for that. West Virginia's beauty hides its poison—coal dust in the lungs, pills in the bloodstream, and hopelessness in the heart.
A nurse enters to check Vanna's vitals, and I step into the hallway, leaning against the wall.
Exhaustion hits me suddenly, my legs nearly buckling under the weight of the night's events.
"You look like shit."
Leah appears beside me, offering a cup of vending machine coffee.
Her shift must be ending; dark circles shadow her eyes, matching my own.
"Feel like it," I admit, taking the coffee. It tastes like tar but I need the damn caffeine.
"The conference room's empty," she says, nodding down the hall. "Got a minute?"
I follow her into the small room with its view of Mountaineer Field in the distance.
The wall is plastered with WVU healthcare awards next to opioid crisis response protocols—the perfect encapsulation of this town's dual nature.
"This is the third OD in six months, Garrett," Leah says without preamble, closing the door behind us. "She's killing herself, and you're letting her."
"What am I supposed to do? Lock her up?"
"Let her go." Her voice softens. "Get divorced, sign the papers, stop being her safety net and move on with your life."
"She has no one else."
"That's her choice! She's pushed away everyone who ever tried to help her." Leah's frustration breaks through her professional demeanor. "Her mom’s gone. Her dad’s as good as gone. The only person she hasn't completely alienated is you, and that's only because you refuse to see what's happening."
"I seeexactlywhat's happening."
"Then why are you still here? Why do you come running every time she calls? Why do you keep paying her rent when she spends every cent on drugs?" Leah takes my hands, her eyes pleading. "What are you going to do now, Garrett?"
I stare out the window at the rolling Appalachian hills, trying to distract myself, distract myself from my fucked up life.
"She has no one," I repeat, knowing it's not an answer. "I'll be here until she kills herself."
