“Nothing.”
I knew instantly that he was lying. His voice had never sounded like this before—tight with anxiety, laced with the desperate hope that I might believe him. But I didn’t believe him. My stomach clenched.
“Henry, what are these pills?” I demanded, my voice strained. My chest tightened, as if there wasn’t enough space in my lungs for air. This scene was all too familiar. Dark memories surged to the surface—memories of the beginning of the end, when my already miserable life had started spiralling into something even worse.
Henry stared at me in silence. He didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke louder than words ever could. If he had pulled out a knife and plunged it into my chest, it wouldn’t have hurt as much as the realisation that was slowly and inexorably dawning on me, despite my heart’s desperate attempts to resist it. I couldn’t believe—no, I didn’twantto believe—that Henry had betrayed me like this. Not after everything I had confided in him.
“Did a doctor prescribe them to you?” I asked, clinging to hope as it slipped away.
Henry took a step closer. “Kate—”
I stepped back. Moments ago, we had been as close as two people could be, but now the last thing I wanted was for him to touch me. I snatched Henry’s old T-shirt from the floor and pulledit over my head. “Answer me,” I hissed, my voice shaking with fear and fury. “Were those pills prescribed to you?”
He stared at me, his face suddenly pale. “No.”
An icy chill spread through my body. “Then where did you get them?”
“Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t have, but I was grasping at straws, desperately searching for an explanation that wouldn’t break my heart. I didn’t want to hear that Henry had a drug problem, but how else could I explain this? He was taking pills—and not only had he not mentioned anything to me; he was actively trying to hide them. His reaction had made that painfully clear.
Henry swore and ran a desperate hand through his hair, as if he’d rather tear it out than have this conversation. “They’re from Marko. We met at a party a few months ago, just after I’d taken over managing the hotel. Everything was a lot. The press was all over The Darlington, and I was overwhelmed. Everyone wanted something from me, and suddenly, I had to make all these critical decisions about the hotel’s future. I was stressed and overworked—which was a nightmare, because people expected me to function at peak performance for sixteen hours a day, and every mistake could have cost me my home.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he continued. “Marko noticed how burnt out I was and gave me a couple of Vitalyn pills. I didn’t take them straightaway, but eventually, I caved, and... everything got easier. Suddenly, working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week didn’t seem impossible. My mind was clearer, I was more focussed, less exhausted. The hours were still long, but pushing through didn’t feel as impossible. After that, I went back to Marko for more.”
Henry’s words felt like more than just a punch to the gut—they were a fist driving straight through my entire body. The pain of betrayal radiated through my chest, spreading like poison and freezing the blood in my veins. It hurt. And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.
I.
Couldn’t.
Breathe.
History was repeating itself, and I wasn’t ready. A desperate sound escaped me, half whimper, half gasp. Tears blurred my vision. But these weren’t tears of despair, grief, or even betrayal, all emotions that churned inside me. They were tears of rage. I was boiling inside. How could he have hidden this from me?
“How long have you been taking them?”
Henry had the decency to look ashamed, but that didn’t make his confession any less terrible. He was addicted to a stimulant. I hadn’t seen it coming, yet I wasn’t surprised. Suddenly it all made sense—how he had endured the relentless pressure and an outrageous workload that would have destroyed most people long ago.
“Since April,” he admitted.
“Fuck you!”
“Kate—” Henry reached out towards me.
I slapped his hand away. The room blurred before my eyes, my chest aching as if my heart were trying to break free.
Standing in front of me, still naked, Henry bent down to pick up his shirt. It was crumpled, like his face. He threw the shirt on and slipped into his trousers. “Please, let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? Talk!” I snapped. He was acting like I was the irrational one. Did he not understand what he was doing to me? He had let me run headfirst into my own personal hell. “You had weeks to talk. Months! You could have told me the day I told you how drugskilled my mum and ruined my life, for example. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I was waiting for the right moment.”
“Bullshit!” I shoved Henry’s chest, needing an outlet for the fury and pain threatening to consume me. “You didn’t tell me because you knew I wouldn’t stand for it. And because you can’t stop. You’re afraid I’ll take away the thing you’re addicted to.”
“I’m not addicted.”
“Sure. You’ve been taking them since April—just for a bit of fun.”
