“How long have you been back using? Or did you never stop? Have you been on this crap the whole time we’ve been back in each other’s lives?”
His eyes snap up to mine. “No. When I said I was clean I was telling you the truth.”
“So when?”
“I took my first hit in Chicago.”
I gasp. “The first show of the tour?” My words come out tinny and small.
Even though I had thought this to be the case, it’s still just so hard to hear.
“Why?” my voice wobbles. My throat is thick with tears.
He shakes his head, shrugging. “I was just on edge and … I needed something to take it off to get me through the show. It’s not a big deal, Tru.”
“Not a big deal?! Are you being bloody serious?!” I expostulate.
“I’m not addicted,” he shakes his head “How many times have you used since Chicago?”
He shifts on his feet. Not meeting my eyes, he says, “Once, twice – max.”
He’s lying. Fear starts to spread through me like weaving spider webs.
“How. Many. Times?”
He sighs and leans back against the tiled wall. “Does it matter?”
“I’ll take that to be every day then.”
He doesn’t argue the fact, so I get my answer. And my blood runs cold.
He’s been high for the last two weeks straight. High when we’ve eaten dinner together. Watched TV together. Every time he’s kissed me. Made love to me. He’s had this crap in his body.
It tarnishes it all.
I feel lied to and cheated, and so very angry and it just all suddenly bursts right out of me.
“I can’t believe this, Jake! You promised me you would never get back on this crap! Back at Lumb Falls you promised!”
“Yeah, well things change.” His voice is low and cold, and he doesn’t sound like the Jake I know.
The Jake I love.
Tears are squeezing at my eyes. Feeling suddenly lost and adrift, I lower my hand which is still holding the little bag of cocaine.
I see Jake’s eyes follow it down like his life depends on it.
Disappointment, and an ache so raw, courses through me and I fear it will tear me right open.
I’m losing the man I love to this trash in my hand, and I have no clue how to stop it from happening.
“Look it’s not a big deal,” he says. His voice has changed again, it’s gentle, his expression softened. “I just take a little bit to get me through the day that’s all. It’s nothing for you to worry about, baby.”
“You shouldn’t need this crap to get you through the day at all,” I whisper, my voice breaking over the words. “It’s not right, Jake. You know this. You’ve been here before.”
“I’m not addicted. I’ve got it under control this time.”
“And that’s exactly what an addict would say.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from bursting into tears. “Just like the addict who pissed on stage in front of thousands of people … like the addict who nearly drowned.”
His eyes narrow. His jaw is clenched, I can see it working under his skin.
I know he’s trying to hold his anger in. For now.
“That was different.” His voice is measured, even. “I wasn’t in control then. I’m in control now – and I didn’t have you then, baby.” He tries to step near me, but I hold my hand up stopping him.
“You have me now, but you’re still using this crap. That doesn’t stick, Jake. That’s not a well formed reason you have there. I don’t think this is different to the last time at all. I think you’ll end up right back where you were, floating face down in a goddamn swimming pool dead if you keep up with this!”
His gaze practically tears through me. I know that was harsh but I need to shock some sense into him.
“I know things are hard for you at the moment. I know you’ve been struggling since your dad died, and the story getting out about that night – what he did to you, and I know you’re under pressure with the tour and–”
“Do you?!” he hollers at me. The level of his anger actually makes me jump out of my suddenly cold skin. “Because honestly I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue! What do you do Tru? You write a stupid little column in a crappy fuckin’ magazine! Me? I run a fuckin’ music label and a band, taking care of everyone else, while simultaneously touring, so you know what – I don’t think you know shit all about the kind of pressure I’m under!”
I feel winded. I know that’s not him talking, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Thanks, Jake. It’s good to know how I sit in your eyes.”
I push past him, heading back into the living room.
He follows me.
Stopping, I turn around. I’ve only got my one card left to play.
“I know you’re struggling, that’s clear, and I know your life is pressured at the moment, but I can’t put up with the drug taking.” I hold the bag of crap up again, for the last time. “It’s me or this?”
“What?” His eyes widen with disbelief.