“You’re it for me,” he whispered into my ear. “The beat of my heart resonates with yours. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
He pulled back and pressed one last kiss to my lips. Then he stepped away, giving me space, silently telling me it was time.
“Besides,” he added, smiling through the ache. “All the best things are worth waiting for. And there’s nothing better than you.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitched. “Not even drugs?”
“Not even drugs,” he said, firm and certain.
Clara called my name again. I jogged towards the gate, then stopped and turned back. Bodhi was still there, watching me.
“I love you,” I called out with a wave.
“I love you too,” he said, grinning through wet eyes. “Now go. You deserve a life that makes you happy.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
IGGY
THREE MONTHS LATER
Dr Williams’s office hadn’t changed.
Same armchair by the window. Same low table with a chipped coaster. Same faint smell of peppermint tea and old books. I sat on the couch, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in my lap, like I was trying to prove something to the room.
Or maybe to myself.
Dr Williams settled into her chair across from me, tablet resting loosely on her knee. She studied me for a moment, not clinically. Just attentively.
“Well, this is it.”
I huffed a laugh. “It feels fake. Like I’m skipping out early.”
She shook her head. Her dangly earrings—today they were oversized bunches of bananas—clinked against her glasses.
“You’re not,” she replied. “You completed the programme.”
“For the second time,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.
“It doesn’t matter how many times it takes, Iggy,” she said gently. “What matters is that you tried.”
I shrugged and started picking a loose thread on one of the couch cushions, avoiding her gaze. She closed her notebook and placed it on the table, resting her fluffy pink pen on top of it, giving me her full attention.
“Do you remember what you said to me the last time you left?”
I peeked up at her through my lashes, not answering right away. But she didn’t push, just watched, waiting patiently for me to speak. So I used the pause to think about the last time I’d walked out of the Willow. I was filled with fear, and shame sat in my chest like a lead weight. Like the word “addict” was tattooed on my forehead in cursive for everyone to see.
“I said I’d end up back here again,” I murmured. “Looks like I was right.”
She smiled softly. “You said you didn’t trust yourself.”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “I still don’t. Not completely.”
“But?” She prompted.
“But I trust myself more than I did.” I shifted in my seat. Rubbed my clammy palms on my leggings. “Enough to know when I need help. To know when I’m lying to myself.”
