I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the goddamn floor. The only light shining in our dark house came from the same place I let my darkness take over me. My heart was pounding out of my chest. My palms became clammy and sweat pooled at my temples. The walls of the hallway were closing in on me.
The fucked up voices already screaming, “No! No! No!” In my mind. I gripped the back of my head, wanting to rip my goddamn hair out. Trying to decide if I should leave or face what might be waiting for me on the other side of that door. I took a deep breath and made myself walk forward, each stride brought me closer to my own demise.
No more excuses.
No more lies.
No more I’m sorry.
I pushed the partially closed door open and walked into the room. Briggs' head was bowed, her body slumped over with her purple hair slightly hiding her face. She looked so broken. So defeated. So fucking sad. As if every last part of her had died. My closed box was securely placed in her hands, her grasp so tight that her knuckles had turned white.
She knew.
She finally peered up at me after what felt like maybe a few minutes, hours, days… everything blended together now. Nothing made sense in my life anymore. All I knew was my whole world was sitting on that bed.
The good and the bad.
My angel and my devil.
With a solemn expression she asked, “This what you’re looking for, Austin?” She held up the box, finally looking me in the face.
I swallowed hard. It felt like knives going down my throat, directly toward my heart. Just from the look on her tear-stained face. It was always the same goddamn look.
Hurt, disgust, disappointment.
Making me feel like a worthless piece of shit.
“How long?” she said barely above a whisper.
My eyes shifted back and forth between her and the box. Battling between the woman I loved most in the world and the box that held the things I hated the most but craved.
“How long have you been fucking lying to me?!” she screamed loud enough to shatter glass.
I didn’t even bat an eye as I replied, “Since the night I relapsed.”
She grimaced, the impact of the truth crashing into her. She stood from the bed with the box still in her grasp. Walking over to the furthest corner of the room, away from me.
“I don’t even get high anymore, baby. It’s not even about that. I need it to take the edge off. I swear to you that’s all,” I rasped out, trying like hell to keep it together.
Tears slid down her face onto the box in her hands.
Our baby.
My lies.
The truth.
“You need this shit," she said, lifting the box up. "To be with me,” she wept her voice breaking. “That’s why? Because of me, right? That’s what you’re taking the edge off of?”
I shook my head no, grabbing the back of my neck.
“Then what? What excuse do you have now? What lie are you going to tell me? Do you even know anymore, Austin? The truth from the fucked-up fiction you created in your head to justify why you’re an addict.”
“Briggs.” I stepped toward her, but she put her hand up in the air stopping me dead in my tracks.
“I’m just as fucked up as you are! I’m your fucking enabler! I make excuses and lies for you because I love you! Because it kills me to think that you’re not the man I fell in love with! The man that protected me from every bad thing in this world! The man who was my first friend! The one that made me feel safe and loved for the first time since my parents died! The same man that’s looking at the box with all his fucking drugs in it, rather than looking at me!”
My body was physically starting to cave in on me. Pushing me further and deeper into the black abyss of an addict. I hadn’t used since I found Briggs in the kitchen that afternoon, before I left to go to the shop. My head was throbbing, my body clawing at itself, and the ache spreading through me was so fucking crippling. I blamed my relapse on the pain that the miscarriage caused.
I kept using because the guilt I felt from blaming her was unforgiving. It didn’t help that I kept seeing our babies when I was high.
Everything about it was so fucked up.
Every time I used, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it again, that this was the last time. I couldn’t bear the pain of her knowing, of her finding out that I fucked up once again. I was a fucking coward. I couldn’t have her see me get sick and know the reason behind it. I honestly used to take the edge off, but today was the first time that I wanted to use to cope with all the emotional bullshit.
I wanted her to know the truth. I wanted to say all of this to her. To know every last secret, every last lie, every last demon in my fucked up existence. To finally be honest with her like I should have done before I relapsed following the miscarriage. But I couldn’t get the words to come out of my mouth. I could barely form any coherent thoughts, the overpowering crave to use took over my mind, body and soul.
My nose started running, my teeth chattered, my body locked up. The hot and cold sweats were kicking in, creeping upon my skin. It wouldn’t take long for the nausea and the cramping to hit either. Turning me into the man with no desire for anything, other than taking away the pain from my body betraying me.
As I betrayed her.