Her brow furrows. “Then tell me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to know about the shit I’ve had to do to survive.”
“I told you that Iwantto know,” she says quickly. “I’ve wondered about you since you left. Even if it’s ugly and horrible...I want to understand everything. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
I clear my throat and turn away, running my hands through my hair. Because she doesn’t know how horrible the truth really is and what I’ve done. She doesn’t know that my veins are screaming right now, that my skin feels too tight, that everysecond without it feels like drowning in static. Or that if she pushed the sleeves of my hoodie back, she’d see horrendous track marks and bruises butchering my skin from injecting heroin and meth.
“You speaking as a professional or my ex girlfriend?” I ask flatly.
She hesitates, likely warring with her answer. “Both.”
“I have to go outside for a minute,” I say quickly.
Her expression folds into concern. “Jude—”
“I just...need some air.”
I move before she can stop me, grab my jacket from the chair. My hands are shaking so bad now that I can barely get the zipper up. She notices.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I step out onto the back porch, the cool ocean breeze bringing me solace for a single goddamn moment. The stars blur above the dark void where I know the ocean stretches.
My hands dig into my pockets. The small bag burns against my fingertips, the promise of peace so close I can taste it. My throat tightens again—not from the craving, but from her. The sound of her moving inside, pacing, waiting for me to come back.
She still believes in me.
God, Jude, what are you doing? You’re lying to her. But you have to.
I can’t let her see me like this, so I pull out the bag, fingers trembling. It takes me too long to untwist it. My pulse roars in my ears. When I finally lean down and snort it, relief hits like sudden sunlight. The noise fades. The ache loosens. For a second, the world stops being so agitating.
I close my eyes and sink against the stone, breathing in the illusion of health.
Behind me, I hear her open the door, her voice small and cautious. “Jude?”
I swipe a hand over my nose and straighten, forcing my voice steady. “Yeah,” I call out.
She hesitates. “You okay?”
I stare out at the ocean, glassy and hollow, like it might swallow me whole if I let it. “Yeah,” I say again. “Stop asking. I’m good.” I wince at how much of an asshole I sound. But I need to be one. If I’m sharp enough, maybe she’ll stop reaching for me.
My heart has always been Emma’s. That’s the problem. She loves like it’s a choice she makes over and over, no matter the cost to herself. She doesn’t ration it. Doesn’t protect it. And one day, it’s going to ruin her if I don’t.
When I finally walk back inside, the shaking’s gone. She’s on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The pizza sits untouched on the table.
Her eyes lift to mine, scanning my face, my posture, my hands—
I shove them into my pockets too fast.
“Feel better?” she asks, soft as ever.
I nod, embarrassed because she has to know what I did. What I couldn’t stop, not even for one stupid night.
She studies me, and I should look away. I don’t. I can’t. There’s something in her expression that pins me in place—hope, fear, love, all tangled together.
What am I doing?
The thought repeats over and over and fucking over again.
