An ache flared in my chest. Poor John. “When did he lose his mum?”
“Three years ago. How long have you been taking them, Beth?”
I licked my lips nervously, popping them back into my purse. “On and off since I was eighteen.” My mouth quivered as fresh tears blurred my vision. “No one knows. Not even my parents.”
Callan rubbed a hand over my thigh. “Why?”
“Because apparently I can’t handle life.”
“No, not why are you taking them—and that’s bullshit, by the way—I mean why haven’t you told anyone?”
“You don’t think I’m a failure?” I swiped at the tears as they fell.
“Of course not. Do you think I think John is?”
I shook my head, sniffling.
“Sometimes, we need a wee bit of help. There’s no shame in that.” He reached to wipe his thumb over a tear. “It worries me that you think you need to hide it.”
“I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I admit out loud why I feel the way I feel that somehow, it’ll get worse.” I sobbed, covering my face with my hands.
Callan pulled me into his arms, soothing me, pressing sweet kisses to my hair, murmuring that he had me, that he was here. All this time, I thought if he saw this side of me, he’d run a mile.
Instead, he held on tighter. So tight.
Eventually, I calmed enough to sit up. Callan pressed another kiss to my temple and stood. He moved away, and I watched as he poured a glass of water and grabbed some tissues out of a drawer. I accepted them and smiled gratefully, chugging back the water before dabbing at my face. No doubt, I looked a right mess.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here if you want to.” He squeezed my knee. “Bottling things up … it doesn’t help.”
“Apparently not.” I gave him a dry, sad smile. “I was doing okay, you know. Then the business took off, and all my fears about failing restarted the anxiety and intrusive thoughts. So I went to the doctor and I got the prescription … and it was helping. But then you and I …” I gestured between us. “And I think … it was Amanda,” I admitted, fear almost holding me back. At Callan’s quizzical expression, I pushed through. “Do you remember Amanda?”
Callan nodded. “She was your best friend at school.”
“She liked you.”
“I remember.”
“I always felt guilty about it. It was the other reason I stopped talking to you.”
Understanding dawned, and Callan gave my knee another reassuring squeeze.
“The summer after graduation, before uni was to start for all of us, everything changed.” I sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled. “Amanda was going off to St. Andrews, and I was staying in Edinburgh. Our friends were scattering. We organized a big knees-up in the city. Everyone got wasted so fast, and I was over it quickly.” I ran a trembling hand through my hair. “Amanda was always a bit reckless. Anytime on a night out, I felt like her babysitter. Making sure she wasn’t getting too drunk or hooking up with dodgy guys. She got smashed that night, way drunker than me, but I was still drunk and not thinking clearly. I left. I would normally stay, but I went home. My phone died and I didn’t know.” Grief welled in my chest like a massive, painful gust of air and I blew it out, my body shuddering with it.
Callan grabbed my hand, anchoring me.
I looked into his sad eyes, and I knew he had an inkling of what was coming.
“Someone spiked her drink.” Warm tears rolled down my cheeks again. “They overdosed her on GHB. Her respiratory system failed.”
Callan leaned his forehead against mine. “Beth, I’m so sorry.”
“She was my best friend,” I whispered. “Since we were five. We did everything together. And I was angry at her because she was leaving me for St. Andrews. It was irrational and stupid, and I knew that’s why I left her that night. She tried to call me. I found a voicemail on my phone after. She was still in the club. I could barely hear her … but she said she didn’t feel right. That she couldn’t breathe. That she was scared. She must have collapsed not long after she got off the phone. But my friends told me by the time the ambulance got there, it was too late. If only I’d been there or picked up the damn phone. Maybe I’d have stopped it from happening.” I sobbed as the guilt overwhelmed me.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Callan drew me against him again. “Beth, it wasn’t your fault. The blame lies with the bastard who spiked her drink.”
And we’d never know who that was.
They’d killed my friend, and the police never found them.
