“Just in case.”
“Be safe.”
“I will. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod, and with one last, lingering glance, Arlo leaves, closing the door behind him. I slump back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence around me is deafening, and now that I’m all alone since Arlo rescued me… I start feeling it all at once.
My eyes swell with tears, and I allow myself to break down within these four walls, where no one would be able to hear or see me crumble. I curl into a ball, covered with the duvet tightly as tears stream down my cheeks.
Everything hurts.
From the physical exam Freya did on me to today. I knew back then why she did a rape kit, and although she didn’t say it explicitly, I knew what her expression meant. The fact that I blacked out during the assault is what’s bothering me. Just like all the previous times, I’m bound to start remembering them at some point, and if it comes at the worst time, it will ruin me.
It will ruin Arlo, too.
My chest tightens, and I can barely breathe. The memories of when Paul first touched me resurfaced, along with the fear the teenage Blair felt. The physical and mental pain is there, and I have to force myself to take a breath; otherwise, I’ll die.
It hurts so much.
Noelle’s in a hospital bed, and we don’t know if she will wake up. It’s all because of me. Arlo can say it’s not my fault all he wants, but deep down, I know it is. She wouldn’t be bound to machines to help her breathe, he wouldn’t have started drinking excessively if it hadn’t been for me. From the day I entered their lives, it all started going downhill.
How am I supposed to live with this guilt?
How am I supposed to act like it doesn’t bother me? How am I supposed to pretend that this isn’t hurting and killing me on the inside? The thought of Noelle dying hurts more than I thought possible.
She welcomed me without a question, never pried deeper to find out how exactly I was connected to Simmons, and when I told her I killed my parents, she validated the anger, the deeply rooted hatred inside of me, and never judged me for the choices I had to make.
She made me feel like there was still hope for me. She made me realize that I wasn’t a terrible person, just a person with a terrible life trying her best to live through the shitty situations that kept happening to me.
I pant, trying to regain my breathing, but it’s difficult. The past six months hit me like a truck, and for a moment, I just wish I’d die already. Arlo would be so much better off without me. His life wouldn’t be as difficult if I wasn't in it. I’m fucking useless, and the weight of it all fell on his shoulders. He needs to find Amy Marshall, get rid of Paul Simmons, and figure out a way to get Hudson out of prison. All while making sure Noelle gets the best treatment possible, ensuring Aria takes steps forward in getting the mental help she needs, and trying to find out who the fucking mole is.
And me? I’m lying in the bed, as pathetic, useless, and weak as always, only adding to his worries. I love Arlo more than I could ever put into words. He’s my entire world, and the fact that I’m holding him back is ruining me.
I don’t know what I could possibly do to make this easier on him, except to disappear. But I know that there’s not a single corner on Earth I could go to where he wouldn’t find me. On some dark, twisted level, I’d want him to chase and run after me. That’s how sick I am.
I suck in a deep breath, hands trembling as I wipe away the tears. All of me hurts. My chest, my throat, my entire fucking body are in so much pain that it manifests in my head, too. I don’t know if I’ll hold on long enough for Arlo to finish all of this. I’d want to help him more than anything, but the fear of just being in his way is what stops me.
All the confidence he built is now in shambles after four months of being in captivity.
With a small sob, I push myself off the bed and try to regain my composure, even though my body’s clearly trembling. I get changed into some sportswear, which is definitely Aria’s, and wash my face with cold water.
Droplets fall down my chin and neck when I realize there are no towels in sight. I open the small cabinet below the sink, hoping to find a towel. Instead, I find a couple of small packets with white contents inside. With a frown, I pull one out and immediately figure it out.
Fucking drugs.
Well, given that Niko’s part of the business is drug trade, it’s not surprising to find it here. They’re using the diner as a cover-up, and most of their dealings happen inside. Upon further inspection, I see a small label on the bottom of the packet. It’s heroin, with a hundred grams in each packet.
Jesus Christ.
I take it back to the main room, wiping my face on the shirt I slept in —sue me— and stare at the packaging for a while. Something about it is so inviting; add that to the pain I’ve been feeling since returning to Arlo, I do it without thinking.
With the back of my sleeve, I wipe the kitchen counter clean of any dust, then open the package. I’ve never done drugs before, so I don’t know how to do it properly. But I pull out a small amount, using my pinky finger to create a small line.
I stare at the line.
It’s staring right back at me.
My eyes close for a moment, and it seems to be drawing me in. Without a second thought, I lean in, inhaling the powder through my right nostril. For a few moments, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if I’ve done it properly. Then, I feel it.
