I go on, my throat getting drier. “It was the unsexiest drug that did me in. You’d think it would be coke, but I’m not that classy. Never was. It was crystal meth. Alcohol, too. Coke on occasion, maybe some painkillers if someone could get their hands on them. That was at first anyway. At first you’re always picky. Then you get to the point where you’ll steal nutmeg from your adopted mother’s kitchen because you think it will get you high. Maybe you’ll pawn her jewelry and her fur coats. Maybe you’ll steal every single bit of their life, their life that they gave to you, to rescue you—maybe you’ll just throw that all out the window. Because you’re a selfish fucking coward. With no balls. Because all you care about is making this whole damn world and every cell of your existence disappear. That’s all there is. Your life becomes all about erasing life, like a memory card wiped clean. I did drugs and I stole and I lied and I hurt and hurt and hurt until that card was blank, and there was nothing new to hurt me anymore.”
I was nearly breathless from all that. The only sound in the car was from my own lungs, sucking in air, trying to come to terms with what I had just purged. I’d just told Kayla the worst possible thing that anyone could admit. I just told her, the only woman I’ve ever cared for, that I’ve ever fallen deeply, madly for, that I used to be a drug addict. There was no way her opinion of me wouldn’t be forever altered. The truth didn’t make me feel good at all because it’s the type of truth that should never come to light.
Moments pass. Heavy, weighted. The blood wooshes loudly in my head and I have to adjust my grip on the steering wheel. I keep my eyes on the road, too afraid to look at her but also too afraid of the silence.
“Brigs said you were on the streets,” she says quietly, and I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or if she’s in shock.
“Aye,” I say with a nod. “When you pawn your adopted parents’ shit for drugs, their patience for you grows real thin. They did what they could. I put them through literal hell before I put myself through literal hell. There were fights, always. I would scream and cry. I was such a fucking wanker it was unbelievable. Just a pathetic piece of shit. I can’t…I can’t even tell you how much I hate myself, that me, that person I was, and all that I did. They did the right thing, you know. They gave me an ultimatum. This is how you repay us for taking you in? Then get clean or get out. And I chose to get out. That’s what I always deserved, anyway. The mean streets. And that’s where I lived for a few years.”
“A few years?” she says with a gasp.
I can’t even swallow down the shame. “Yes. Sometimes in shelters, sometimes on the streets. Me and the strays, you know, we were the same. But a dog is just trying to live, trying to survive. I wasn’t trying to live. I was trying to die.”
And I almost did die. Charlie happened. Charlie died. It could have been me. It should have been me. But I can’t even bear to utter his name.
“Fuck,” she swears, and she surprises me by putting her hand on my arm and giving it a squeeze. “I had no idea. I knew you had issues, I mean, even just from being given up for adoption. But this? This…I can’t,” she trails off and shakes her head. “You’re just so fucking strong.”
I glance at her, frowning. “Strong?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically. “You’re strong. You’re brave. And maybe magic. How the fuck did you get from there to here, to right now? With your career and your Range Rover? How did that happen?”
I tilt my head. “It happened. It wasn’t overnight.” But it was overnight. One horrible night. “One day I just showed up at Jessica and Donald’s and told them I needed help. I begged them. On my knees I pleaded for them to save my life, to take me back. It was then that I finally realized I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. And if they were any other sort of people, they would have turned me away. I was never their son and they didn’t owe me anything. But they didn’t. They took me in. I went to rehab to get off of meth and other drugs. I focused my life on the physical. It happens a lot, you know, when you’ve abused your body so much that you want to make up for it. I became a fitness and health fanatic, and eventually joined a local rugby team. Rugby became my new obsession, you know? I had the speed, the strength, and that anger that I now know will never go away, and all of that combined was like a super fuel. I became really good, really fast. The rest is history.”
“Some history,” she says. “I had no idea. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
“I never wanted to tell you, obviously. I could have murdered Brigs for bringing it up like he did, even if his heart was in the right place.”
“I can see why you’d want to keep it all inside, but…isn’t that tiring? Doesn’t that hurt you, to keep so much of who you are hidden from the world?”