Every wall I've spent the last month building up comes crashing down as I break and fall to the floor. "It hurts. It fucking hurts."
Carter sits himself next to me and sighs. "It's supposed to. You've spent so long blocking it out, that you haven't let yourself feel it. You need to feel it, Jace."
"I can't."
"You have to."
"No," I try to resist. "I won't make it through that. I'll never recover."
He reaches over and grabs my hand, not caring for a second that we're both bleeding. "Then I'll be here to pull you back. I will always be here to remind you of who you are."
IT TAKES CARTER A little over two hours to get me an emergency appointment with my therapist and for Finn to get last-minute court approval for me to go, but they manage to pull it off. As Carter parks the car, my eyes stay fixated on the bandage covering my palm.
"You're going to be all right, London," he tells me. "It might not feel like it now, but you will."
I look over at him and see the confidence he has in me, making me wish I had that in myself. With a nod, I climb out of the car and head inside.
Hannah, the receptionist, isn't here, which means Dr. Litman wasn't supposed to be seeing patients right now. She steps out of her office and gives me a sympathetic smile when she sees the defeat all over my face.
"Come in, Jace," she tells me.
I walk into the office and sit down as she closes the door. My fingers pick at the bandage, even though Carter told me not to. It's like I crave the burn. At least the stinging makes me feel something that isn't intense emotional torment.
Dr. Litman comes over and takes a seat in her chair across from me. "Your friend sounded really concerned when he called. Is everything okay?" I shake my head. "Okay. Why don't you start by telling me what happened?"
My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the words. "I relapsed."
As I say it out loud, a part of me expects some kind of reaction. Disappointment. Shame. Something. But instead, she stays completely indifferent. "Today?"
"No. A couple weeks ago, but I haven't stopped since then."
She nods and writes something down before placing her clipboard on the table. "Jace, do you know how many people relapse while recovering from a drug addiction?"
"How many?"
"Almost sixty percent. And most of those are within the first year. I'd also bet that out of that sixty percent, not many of them have recently gone through something as stressful as you."
I feel my body relax as I realize I'm not alone. "I just wanted it to stop."
She crosses her legs and listens carefully. "Wanted what to stop?"
"The pain. The anxiety. The guilt. It eats me alive every single day, even more so since my arrest."
"And what do you feel guilty about?" she questions.
Instead of answering, I just stare back at her. I can feel it all threatening to creep in. Even with the high I got before, it's still too much. It's stronger than the drugs. Stronger than me.
Dr. Litman adjusts herself so she's more comfortable and attentive. "Jace, I'd like to remind you of our doctor-patient confidentiality. In the state of California, this applies to just about everything with the exception of things that would make you a harm to yourself or others. Past crimes are included in the doctor-patient confidentiality."
I can already tell where she's going with this, and I hold my breath as I wait for the question.
"With that said, and for the sake of your mental health, I'm asking you—did you kill Davianna Sorrentino?"
"No," I answer as I get up and start pacing the room. "But I may as well have."
She tilts her head to the side. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, her death was my fault!" I throw my hands in the air. "She knew about the roof access because of me. She was fighting with Carter, because of me. She was upset, because of me. I may not have physically killed her, but I didn't save her, either."
"Is that why you mentioned possibly pleading guilty? Because you blame yourself?"
I huff sarcastically. "Well it's not like I'm innocent. If she had just stayed away from me, she'd still be here today, ruling Tallahassee with her golden stilettos."
"That's an unhealthy, and unrealistic, assumption to have." Reaching forward, she grabs her clipboard with furrowed brows. "I'd really like to dig deeper into this because I'm afraid you're showing signs of self-sabotage."
"Self-sabotage?"
She nods once. "Mm-hm. You've convinced yourself that you have done something wrong, therefore you don't deserve happiness. So you do things that subconsciously you know will destroy that happiness."
I look away. "I don't do that."
"Then let me ask you this." She waits until I'm looking at her before she continues. "How does Paige feel about your relapse?"
Paige. The memory of the look on her face as she walked out the door replays through my mind and hits me like a gunshot to the chest. She's done so much to help me, to be there for me, and I hurt her. God, I'm so fucking selfish.
"She left me," I whisper.
"Is that why you relapsed?"
I shake my head. "She left me because I relapsed."
Dr. Litman gives me a knowing look. "And why did you relapse, Jace?"
"Because I'm a fuck-up," I cave. "A lost cause. Everyone has these hopes that I'll win this case when they'd be better off just leaving me to rot!"
She comes over and stands directly in front of me. "You relapsed because you knew it would push her away. You knew she would figure it out eventually, and she would leave."
"I didn't want her to leave!"
"Maybe not, but a part of you did," she tells me. "The part of you that believes you don't deserve her love did."
My shoulders sag as I realize she's right. "But I love her."
"I know you do."
I grip my hair and tug as I pace the room, realizing that Paige is gone. She's gone. She left me. She's gone. And there is no one to blame but myself. I have to fix this.
“I want to get better," I say decisively. "I have to get better for her.”
"Jace," she sighs. "It's good to have motivators in your life, but you can't do it for her. You need to want to get better for you. Otherwise, it's never going to work."
"You don't understand." I stand there in front of my therapist, completely defenseless. "Wanting it for her is wanting it for me because I am nothing without her! Not even a shell of the man I could be, and sure as hell not anyone I want to be."
The corners of her mouth raise as she sees my determination. "Okay. Then it looks like we've got our work cut out for us. And it starts with getting you sober again."
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, I finally get done with my therapist. While she wanted to send me to a rehab, the circumstances make that hard. I'm on house arrest, so I'm lucky I'm even allowed at her office. We could petition the courts to let me go to a facility, but that would only give the prosecution something more to hold against me. Therefore, it's up to me.
I walk out into the parking lot and am surprised to see Carter is still waiting in the car. I expected him to send Finn or my dad to pick me up. Then again, he always manages to be there for me, even when I don't deserve it.
As I walk around to the passenger side, Carter smiles at me and unlocks the door. I climb in and lay my head back against the seat.
"How'd it go?" he asks.
"Honestly? Better than I thought."
Smiling happily, he buckles his seatbelt and backs the car out of the parking spot. "I'm proud of you."
"Thanks." I look over at him and realize how grateful I am to have such a devoted best friend. "And thanks for not giving up on me."
He chuckles and puts his fist out for a bump. "Playground to the grave."
"Playground to the grave," I confirm.
"By the way," he starts, looking nervous. "Your dad called. He saw your room."
Great. "Well, at least dealing with his wrath will prepare me for the misery of wit
hdrawing."
His brows raise, and he glances over at me. "You're getting sober again?"
I nod. "We're going to need Zayn this time. I don't think Paige will be coming around to help."
The mood in the car darkens as soon as she's mentioned, and Carter sighs. "Do you think it's fixable?"
"I don't know," I tell him honestly. "But I'm sure as hell going to try."
I watch as the days pass by, but time feels like it's standing completely still. The world moves around me. It's like I'm doing everything I'm supposed to, but no part of me is actually living it.
Things are different.
Things are strange.
But still, life keeps going.
After I left Jace's that day, I spent the entire night in tears. My mom was worried. Becca was concerned. But no part of me was going to pretend I was okay. I wasn't. And even now, I'm not sure if I am. I did everything I thought I needed to do. Everything I thought he wanted me to do. But it wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
Why wasn't I enough?
I walk through campus with Charlotte at my side, but all I want is to go home. As we're almost to the building, Carter turns the corner. My eyes meet his, and he smiles that warm friendly grin he's always had, but there's something behind it. Sadness. Sorrow. Regret. But he doesn't try to talk, and neither do I.
The cut is still too fresh, too new.
Like I said, I want to go home.
THEY SAY WHEN IT rains, it pours—because why wouldn't life kick you while you're already down? I used to think no part of that was true. That it was all a matter of coincidence. But as I pull into my driveway and see the doctor is here, I'm starting to think maybe I was wrong.
Last night, my dad had another episode, and it got so bad that my mom almost called the ambulance. Even the medication he was given to help stop the coughing didn't help.
I walk in and straight to the kitchen to get something to drink, but stop as I see my mom sitting at the island. She has her head cradled in her hands, and her shoulders move as she cries.
"Mom?"
Shaking herself out of it, she wipes her tears like I'm not supposed to notice. "Oh, hi, Paige. I didn't realize you were home."
My brows furrow. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she says, but it doesn't sound convincing.
I put my purse on the counter and wrap my arms around my mom. She doesn't need to tell me for me to know what's going on. My dad is getting worse. The doctors warned us it would happen. They said it's only a matter of time before he succumbs to his illness. That all we can do is be there for him and make the most of the time we have together. But while I'm losing a father, she's losing the love of her life. She's losing her other half.
My mom cries in my arms for the first time since this all began, and allows me to comfort her. I stand there as she does, emotionally as hard as stone—never breaking. Because I'm her rock, and rocks don't bend. They break. But when they break, there is no way to put them back together. They're forever damaged. She needs me to be strong.
When she finally lets go, she gives me a thankful smile. "I don't know what I did to deserve such an incredible daughter."
"Eh," I tease. "I'm sure there was something at some point."
Grabbing my bag from the counter, I head upstairs, not stopping until I get into my bedroom. Then and only then, I let the tears fall.
Hidden away from everyone.
IT'S THE NEXT DAY when I almost break. Hospice puts my dad on morphine to ease the pain and tells us to start preparing ourselves for the day when he passes. They sit my mom and me in the living room and tell us that it won't be long now. That his lungs are progressively getting worse. That he may not make it until June, and definitely not until July.
I spend an hour holding my mom until she feels strong enough to go back in with my dad, and then I retreat to my room and crumble to the floor. Quiet sobs wrack through my body, threatening to rip me apart. And the only person I want isn't here to help me.
Because he couldn't even help himself.
It's then that I almost break. I pick my phone up off the ground. I almost call him and tell him that regardless of how much he hurt me, and regardless of what he chooses to do in his spare time, that I need him. But I can't, because allowing myself to be close to someone I'm eventually going to lose is like gripping the thorns on a rose. It's beautiful, but it hurts. And even when it withers, the pain is still there.
So I put my phone down.
And I wipe my eyes.
And I become my own hero.
AS I STEP INTO my parents' room, I catch sight of my dad. He's lying in his bed, trying to look strong, but I know better. He can hardly sit up in bed without help anymore. But still, a wide smile stretches across his face when he sees me.
"Hi Angel," he greets me.
I swallow. "Hey, Dad."
My mom kisses my dad's cheek and gets out of bed. "I'll give you guys some time."
She grips my hand as she passes by, and she doesn't need to say anything to know what she means.
Thank you.
I'm here for you.
It'll be okay.
But it won't be okay, because he's dying, and I don't know how I'm going to get through it.
Tears spring to my eyes at the thought. I do my best to hold them back, turning around for a second to keep my dad from seeing it, but he notices. He always notices.
"Honey," he says softly. "Paige."
I hold myself together as much as possible and turn around, with my head held high and my shoulders straight. My dad gives me a sad smile and shakes his head.
"Don't do that." It's not an order, but a plea.
Still, I focus on my breathing to stay whole. "Don't do what?"
"That." He weakly lifts his hand and gestures up and down my body. “You do not have to be strong for me, Princess. You can be sad, and you can be angry. Hell, scream at God if that’s what you want. You are entitled to all the feelings that this brings because it's hard. But please, don’t try to hold yourself together for my sake. I’m your father, and I will be here to hold you until I take my very last breath. You do not have to be strong for me.”
My lip starts to quiver as I look at the man that I've always loved the most, and the dam breaks. Tears pour from my eyes, and I rush across the room until I'm falling onto his bed. The emotions running through me are strong enough to bring anyone to the ground. I lay my head on my dad's chest as I cry in his arms. He kisses the top of my head, running his hand through my hair.
"Don't leave me," I sob. "Please don't leave me."
"I have to, Princess," he answers honestly. "But I promise you I'll never be far. When the heat of the sun hits your face, or you feel that warmth run through you, that'll be me. Never seen, but always felt."
I lay there for hours, just allowing my hero to be strong for me once more. I'm not sure whether it's for me or for him, but eventually, we both fall asleep like we used to do when I was little. When I didn't want to go to bed, or when I had a nightmare, he would lie down with me. We fall asleep together, and it feels like I'm six again, and everything is going to be all right.
AFTER THAT DAY, AFTER I finally let my guard down, it's like something changes between my dad and me. I spend every waking minute in his room, doing everything I possibly can with him. We watch old home movies and crack jokes. We even figure out ways to prank my mom. She acts mad about it, but she's not hiding the smile she has on her face when she leaves the room from everyone.
"What are you working on?" he asks me while I type away at my computer.
I shrug. "Just an essay for school. Nothing special."
"Essays suck the life out of you. I always hated them."
Looking up, I can't help but smirk. "So, it's the essay’s fault? Not the twenty years of chain-smoking cigarettes?"
A hearty laugh echoes through the room. "Ouch, kid. Way to kick your old man when he's down."
"Did you expect anything less?" a f
amiliar voice says.
Looking over toward the door, both Mr. Trayland and Mr. London are standing there. It looks like they came from somewhere important, because they're both in suits. My dad instantly tries to sit up, but can't, so I help him by adjusting the bed and fixing his pillows.
"What are you two doing here?" he asks, skeptical yet happy.
Mr. Trayland walks toward the bed. "A little bird told us the news. Though I have to admit, I'm wondering why we didn't hear it from you."
"No one needs to see me like this," my dad tells him.
I go to excuse myself, to give them some time together, when Mr. London puts his hand on my shoulder.
"How are you holding up?" he questions. "You okay?"
Looking him straight in the eyes, the corners of my mouth raise. "No, but I will be."
And for the first time in a while, I mean it.
It might not be today.
Might not even be this year.
But I will be.
If someone asked me what the worst part of relapsing is, I would say having to go through withdrawal again. At least the first time, I had no idea what to expect. I knew it was going to be bad, but I never expected how bad it actually was. This time, however, I know exactly what's going to happen. It makes the urge and craving for drugs that much worse.
Then there's the fact that Paige was a lot more caring and affectionate than Carter and Zayn. The two of them each take turns sitting with me and making sure I'm never alone, not even for a second.
I spend three full days in bed, completely immobile. My head feels like someone is squeezing it as hard as possible and attempting to rip it straight off my neck. By the time the vomiting kicks in, I start to seriously think I might die. The only thing that manages to even slightly wake me up is the need to throw up, and once I'm done, I feel the darkness take over as I pass back out.
The limo pulls up to Delaney's house, where all the girls are waiting for us. Carter, Grayson, Wyatt, Hayden, and I all climb out as the girls come walking through the door. They all look gorgeous, but there's only one who stands out in my eyes.
Change My Game: An Emotional Second Chance Romance (North Haven University Book 2) Page 20
