“Bodhi—”
“You look hungover too, Iggy,” I cut in. “You look like you had a wild night. Which is funny, considering you’re supposed to be sober.Weare supposed to be sober.”
“I am sober,” he said, sharp and defensive, but I barely heard it.
“Jesus,” I huffed, dragging a hand through my hair. “I gave Trix my credit card.” I laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Did you use it to buy drugs? Alcohol?”
“No!” he snapped. “We bought face masks, hair dye, andsnacks. Check your statement if you don’t believe me. We only used it once.”
I stepped forward and dropped into the space between his knees, gripping his thighs hard enough to leave bruises.
“I want to believe you, Iggy,” I said quietly. “I really do. But—fuck. Look at you.”
“What’s there to look at?” he shouted, fists bunching in the sheets. “I didn’t do anything wrong. We had a pamper night. That was it.”
He grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. “I dyed my fucking hair. Look!”
I shook my head. “I just... I don’t think that’s all you did.”
He surged to his feet so fast I stumbled back and landed on my ass. He stormed to the window, slamming his hand against the sill.
“Iggy—”
“I had a good fucking night,” he bit out. When he turned back to me, his eyes were wild, tears streaking down his cheeks. “You ignored me all day.Youleft me by myself. I was lonely.”
He scrubbed at his face, angry and desperate all at once. “I was fucking lonely, Bodhi. And those girls didn’t do anything except keep me company when I felt like shit. They made me feel good. And now you’re here making me feel like shit all over again.”
“So, if I asked Bella and Trix whether you drank with them...” I said carefully. “Or did drugs with them... they’d say you didn’t?”
The frustration in my chest burned hot and heavy. Because I knew. I could see it. The signs were there, written all over him. And because this pact—this whole we’ll keep each other honest thing—had been his idea. He’d been the one who insisted on accountability. On truth.
And now he was lying straight to my face.
But tangled up with the anger was guilt.
Guilt because he’d needed me, and I hadn’t been there. Because I’d seen he was struggling and told myself giving him space was the right thing to do. That I was respecting his boundaries. And now it felt like I’d missed something obvious. Like I’d ignored a cry for help because I didn’t want to push.
The rational part of me knew better. Knew this wasn’t on me. Iggy was an adult. His recovery was his responsibility, just like mine was mine. We couldn’t carry each other through this forever. The pact wasn’t a safety net that replaced self-control or accountability.
I wasn’t his keeper.
But this wasn’t really Iggy talking anymore.
That was the addiction. The fear. The panic clawing its way to the surface.
He was standing right on the edge, staring down into relapse. He had been ever since he’d taken those pills from Ghost. And I didn’t know what he’d done with the girls last night, but looking at him now, I knew one thing for sure.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t recovery.
“It’s okay to fail, Iggy,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You just need to start again.”
“I didn’t fucking fail,” he snarled, shoving my chest. I stumbled back a step and lifted my hands in surrender. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do Oxy!”
“But did you do anything else?”
He fisted his hair and yanked hard enough that my chest tightened, like he might rip it out by the roots. Then he dropped into a crouch and screamed into his knees.
“I didn’t do Oxy!” he bellowed. “I’m still fucking sober!”
