This was it.
This was addiction in real time.
I’d come too close to a truth Iggy wasn’t ready to face. Too close to naming it out loud. And now he was lashing out, scrambling to regain control of the narrative. Trying to convince me that I was wrong, that I was imagining things. That I was the problem for questioning him at all.
Gaslighting. Deflection. Anger dressed up as certainty.
It was like staring into a mirror I’d shattered after rehab.
Seeing him like this made my chest ache. And because I loved him, because I cared so deeply, the anger tangled itself up with guilt until I couldn’t tell which was which. I was furious at him. I was furious at myself. I was terrified of what came next.
Where did we go from here?
I knelt in front of him and reached out, resting my hand on his knee. He recoiled instantly, scrambling backward like I’d burned him, until he curled into the corner of the room. His face was red and wet with tears, his eyes frantic. His whole body shook, vibrating with panic.
“Iggy,” I whispered. “I think you need help?—”
He launched forward without warning and shoved me again. Hard.
“I don’t need anything from you!”
The shove turned into another. And another. Until his fists were slamming into my sternum, heavy and desperate, not quite punches but close enough to make my breath hitch.
“You don’t fucking believe me,” he shouted. “So I don’t need anything from you!”
He staggered to his feet and began pacing, back and forth, back and forth. His gaze kept darting towards his bedside table, and my stomach twisted as I wondered what was hidden insideit. Part of me wanted to look. Another part of me was terrified of what I’d find.
“Just get the fuck out, Bodhi,” he yelled. “You’re not my parent. I’ve already got two of those and they’re fucking useless.”
He jabbed a finger towards the door.
“Go and play rock star and leave me the fuck alone. I’m sober. I didn’t do Oxy, so I’m sober. Now get the fuck out!”
I rose slowly, the tears I’d been holding back since I walked in finally spilling over.
I didn’t know what to do.
Iggy was the only one who could admit there was a problem. The only one who could ask for help. And if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—what did that mean for us?
I was in recovery too. And standing here, watching him unravel, made my skin crawl. Made old cravings whisper at the edges of my mind. Made me want to numb everything. To drown it out until the bad feelings blurred and disappeared.
As much as I wanted to stay, to fix this, I couldn’t. I couldn’t support him like this without risking my own sobriety. And knowing that... knowing I had to choose myself... fractured something in my chest.
I walked towards the door, my knees shaking, each step feeling like it might be the one that sent me crashing to the floor. But somehow, I made it. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, moving on autopilot, like my body had finally hit its limit.
“Get into bed, Iggy,” I said quietly. “Try to sleep before we have to work.”
Behind me, he choked on a sob. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. Not without risking everything I’d fought to hold onto.
“I love you so much,” I whispered, my grip tightening until my knuckles went white. “But I can’t be here for you right now.”
Then I opened the door and walked away, afraid of what I’d just left alone with him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
IGGY
