Shiloh’s description of the hell she had to go through. The rapes, plural, because seven men raped her.
Fuck. My laughter turned to sobs.
Taking that man’s life in order to save her own life, and the life of another child they were going to put in her place.
The panic attack last night after I rubbed her shoulder.
The gun this afternoon. The gun she needed because she would always live in fear of someone else hurting her.
The gun I was worried she might try and use to hurt herself.
The way she said she hated me when I could see how much she didn’t mean it.
The way every cell in body was screaming at me not to leave her alone, not to let her out of my sight, for fear that I might be burying her body for a second time.
I choked on air, struggling to breathe. My hand fumbled with the door until I pushed it open. I climbed out of the car, landing on my knees on the pavement.
Everything felt too much. No one was made to deal with so much suffering, and I realized I was astronomically unequipped to handle all of the truths she had yet to share. For the first time in months I longed for numbness. I longed for an escape. I longed for adrink.
That realization had me punching the side of my car in an impulse of rage. Pain lanced up through my hand and up my wrist.Fuck.I cradled my hand to my chest and fell back on my ass.
I flexed my fist, feeling the rage consume me. Rage that I was falling apart when I didn’t want to be. Rage that I couldn’t go back in time and save Shiloh. Rage that I would never be able to take away her pain or fix everything. Rage that I wasn’t capable of handling my own shit. Rage that Shiloh might never feel safe again. Rage that she was forced to hide herself and that I would have to hide with her.
That urge. That urge to disappear into a bottle was excruciating.
God. Please. Make it stop.
I managed to suck in a deep breath, and, in a moment of clarity, I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans. I unlocked the phone and dialed the one person who would understand exactly how I was feeling.
I balanced the phone between my shoulder and ear, wiping at my face while I prayed for him to pick up.
If he doesn’t pick up it’s a sign that I don’t need him.
I shook the thought away.Stop. You’re not drinking, Nox. If he doesn’t answer you get up off your ass and you find yourself a meeting.
“Hey,” Rick called. “What’s up?”
I sniffled and cleared my throat, the shame creeping in, urging me to hang up the damn phone. “I really want a fucking drink.”
Rick breathed down the line, and I tensed for his response. “Okay, Nox. Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” I sniffled again, trying to get the crying under control. There was a pause of silence, and I scratched my nails against the pavement, small loose rocks jutting into my skin.
“Alright. I see you’re at an apartment building, right? Are you at a party?”
“No. I’m just parked on the street. I’m alone. I don’t have any alcohol here. I just…” I laughed at myself, at how fucking pathetic I felt. “Fuck. I didn’t think this would happen to me. I was good. I hadn’t even thought about it in months.” I slammed my palm against the side of my car in frustration. “You dragged me to five meetings last week and I didn’t feel a damn thing.”
“I’ve got your location pulled up. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Listen, thinking about it doesn’t mean you’re going to do it, Nox. This is a win. You called me. You didn’t give in.”
“I know. I know,” I paused, taking a deep breath of cool air, grateful to at least no longer be crying. I waited until my thoughts stopped swirling, finally breaking the silence, “I just thought…I dunno what I thought. I guess, that I wouldn’t have to deal with temptation like this. I didn’t think I’d want it so badly.”
“Recovery isn’t linear, Nox. Some days are going to be harder than others. It doesn’t mean you’re sliding backwards. Put me on speaker and pull up your list on your phone.”
I sighed, doing as he said and pulling up my notes app where I kept my list of reasons for getting sober.
“Alright, I got it up.”
“Good, now read it out loud.”
