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builtbybrokenbells · 1 month ago

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belladonna | vii (pt. 2)

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 17k

Warnings: Please heed the warnings very carefully and understand that the scenes and themes in this chapter can be extremely triggering and/or upsetting to some readers. This is a detailed and extensive list, but please inform me if I miss something, and it will be added immediately.

ALL OC—abusive/toxic romantic relationships, graphic scenes/potrayals of abusive relationships and domestic violence, choking/strangulation, mentions of SA/previous sexual trauma, roofies, non-consensual sex, coercion, mentions of grooming, verbal abuse, insults, name-calling, punching, spitting, mental illness/descriptions/behaviour of bipolar episodes, overdose, mentions of previous OD, descriptions of overdose (stimulants & narcotics), heavy descriptions of addictions/addicts/addict behavior, heavy mentions/descriptions of drug use (stimulants/narcotics), mentions of drug related bodily issues/trauma, heavy mentions of relapsing, trauma bonds, descriptions of toxic/abusive parents, death of family members, descriptions involving and describing child abuse and neglect, PTSD/CPTSD behaviors/reactions/explanations, dissociation, trauma, triggered trauma responses, near death experiences, suicidal ideation, mentions of death/dying, absent parents, death of a parent, parents with active addictions, missing persons, police stations/reports, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, crying, mentions of blood/scenes with blood/bleeding, vomit, extreme emotional distress, mentions of cheating, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, fighting, yelling, drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, sorry if I miss any 🤍

As always, please feel free to reach out to me if you need an ear, and know that you are not alone in whatever troubles you are facing. I’ve also included a list of helplines and resources for anyone who may be in need of them. I love you all so dearly.

Emergency substance abuse hotline (US): 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Canadian Mental Health and Addictions Phone Line: 1-833-553-6983

Virtual NA meetings and support (worldwide)

Canada’s complete comprehensive list of addiction helplines, inpatient/outpatient programs, and family support per province | UNITED STATES

Canada’s comprehensive list of domestic and family violence helplines and resources | UNITED STATES HOTLINE

Canada’s guide to mental health help and crisis intervention | UNITED STATES

If you are struggling with addiction or know someone who is, remember to inquire about Nalaxone kits at your nearest pharmacy, as many in Canada are active participants of the program. At participating locations and clinics, Nalaxone kits are free of charge and accessible without a prescription or healthcare card. It is a fantastic and life saving tool to have on hand while waiting for EMS. There is also free online courses for Nalaxone training to anyone who is interested.

Remember, no matter what is portrayed in fiction or media, the safest course of action for anyone suffering from an overdose (accidental or intentional) is to call 911.

If you are struggling with an abusive relationship or domestic violence, know and understand that you are not alone. You are heard, you are seen, and you are loved. We believe you, and we hear you.

Hi everyone. Just the same as the last, this chapter is incredibly personal to me, as is every emotion and scene within it. When I started writing belladonna, I knew I would be putting myself on display through my writing in a way i have never done with you before. As I sit and edit this chapter, I’ve learned that sometimes being on display and relating to others is the only way for me to heal and work through this.

This chapter is course, gritty, a bit gruesome, and fictional, as much as it is based on real life events that happen to many people behind closed doors. When opting to write about my struggles with addiction, I never wanted to come on here and sugarcoat a disease that is vile, cruel, gross and above all, deadly. Alongside this, mental health and domestic abuse is something I have personally survived through and still struggle coping with to date. I have been very lucky to be blessed with so many friends and supporters when I started posting on here, and your love has bled the courage into me. This particular story has been incredibly cathartic for me, even if writing it has been painful by times. It is my hope that by telling a story about my own struggle, that maybe somehow I can reach someone who has felt the same or been through something similar and help them. Love is the only way through, as is being honest and transparent, and I hope my honesty is conveyed and that my love for you all is so apparent in everything I do and post.

Please heed the warnings at read at your own discretion. Kindly send me a message if I have missed anything. Also, I implore you to send me a message if you need an ear. I love you all so very much. 🤍 be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes.

July 10th, 2022 - 3:46 AM

A rush of air filled your lungs, painful and tormenting as you snapped back to reality in an instant. Vincent’s hands were gone from your neck, but yours continued to claw at the same spot as if he was still holding you there. Your throat pained down to the very core as you wheezed in a second breath, finding it difficult to feel satisfied as you struggled through it. The screaming in the background, the insults and flood of obscenities were a muddled mess of noise. Everything was intense, sending your senses into overdrive and nearly making you fall to your knees.

For a brief moment, passing you by so quickly but so achingly strong, a wave of grief filled you. Grief for breathing, grief for surviving, grief for having to face whatever the fuck was to come next. You didn’t want to do it, but now you had no choice.

Just another wonderful gift Vincent always seemed to have for you.

A loud crash distracted you from the agony that stemmed from the basic, automatic bodily function, also throwing the misplaced emotion out the door with it. You knew you were grateful to be alive, even if it was hard to recognize in the moment. Your eyes cut to the source of the sound, noticing that Dylan was the one who pried Vincent off of you.

Of course it would be. He was always taking care of you, no matter if it was a nuisance or not, just because he wanted to. Dylan was the example, showing you true, selfless love every minute of every day.

When he freed you from Vincent’s grasp, he did not stop to celebrate the fact. Instead, he threw Vincent backwards with all of the force he could muster, sending him straight into one of the tables behind them. Landing atop a chair, the wooden legs collapsed under the weight, splintering and scraping him as he fell straight through it. As he scrambled to get up, fury radiating from him still as if he did not realize the extent of what he had done, you felt a pair of arms grabbing you from behind, not waiting a single second before they pulled you to safety.

Michigan.

Always there to save the day, even if he should have ran a long time ago.

He pushed you behind him, acting a barrier between you and the chaos without any second thought. Keeping you safe was his only priority, and after what he had just witnessed, he would stop at nothing to ensure it.

Before Vincent could get to his feet, Dylan grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands and pulled him up off the floor. He was seething, his face red and his jaw locked as he held back every word that was desperate to be heard. In respect of Daniel, for all he had already witnessed, he did not want to add to it. In respect of you, for all you had just been through, he did not want to make it any more traumatic. The scratches on Vincent’s arms looked painful, bleeding and raw, but nobody paid any mind to it, fearing the worst was yet to come as Dylan led him towards the kitchen without a word. Vincent was fighting, not willing to go so easily, but Dylan had a tight enough grip on him that his effort was worthless. You watched from behind Daniel, clinging to him like he was the very thing that gave you life, that would ensure that life would remain.

In the moment, it was the truth.

You could hear the back door being kicked open, then slammed shut almost immediately. The silence in the dining room hung heavy over the three of you, nobody knowing what to say or what to do. The sting of your skin was growing worse by the second, the ache in your bones quickly becoming the only thing you could think of, and the struggle to breathe was starting to scare you. The adrenaline had worn off completely and reality was beginning to set in.

“I-I gotta clean this u-up,” you stuttered out, looking at the broken chair lying in a pile of mop water. Your voice was raspy, raw and hoarse as you tried to divert the attention to something different. You couldn’t handle both sets of eyes on you, the sympathy and the fear. You felt a growing sense of shame, the need to hide or to disappear so nobody could ever see you again. They were perceiving you in a way that made your skin crawl, like you were weak and fragile, like you were going to crumble and fall in lieu of Vincent’s horrid behavior.

You cleared your throat, wincing slightly as the urge to cough only worsened. You raised your hand to your neck, shaky fingertips grazing over the most tender points. As you did so, you felt breathless all over again, lightheaded as you recalled the last seconds you thought you would ever live.

“No, Y/N, you have to go.” Katie said, rushing past you before you could get the chance, finally coming back to reality after the shock of the scene.

“N-no,” you argued, winded as another forceful cough took hold. You covered your mouth with your hand, feeling your head ache desperately as you tried to satiate the fit. When you calmed down, another wheezy breath pulled into your lungs, you noticed blood speckled on the back of your hand. “My… mess.” You uttered through gritted teeth, the tension in your jaw only making your head hurt more.

“No, baby. Go home.” She turned to look at you, her eyes still widened with fear.

Underneath her fear, something else was shining bright, something you’d never seen from her before.

Appreciation.

She spent so long angry at you for ‘stealing’ Vincent, but as she watched the night unfold, she understood all of the horrible things you had spared her from. Violence, misery, mistreatment and abuse. You took the brunt of the tragedy while she stayed jealous over someone she should have been avoiding at all costs.

Regret and remorse filled her as she understood you had inadvertently saved her life.

And by god, you did not like the woman standing before you, but you were grateful for it, too.

“I’ll clean this up—go home and get away from him, before the morning shift gets here.” She tried again, looking to the parking lot to ensure nobody had already arrived.

“She’s right, Utah. I’m taking you home.” Danny said, voicing his own opinion and leaving you with no other choice. “Now.” You looked up to meet his eyes, his expression stony and his eyes sad. The sight broke your heart, and only hurt more when you understood it was your fault.

You had never heard him sound so firm with you. You figured that this was your last chance to take it seriously before it was too late. You had put him through so much, made him a part of your fucked up world with no second thoughts, and even if he loved you, you knew it was not worth it.

“Okay,” you squeaked out, giving a subtle nod. Even the movement hurt, making you wonder if you looked as terrible as you felt. You were spiralling, your thoughts and your body, and you believed for a moment you might collapse and succumb to sleep right there on the floor. You had never felt this kind of exhaustion, never suffered through something so taxing. On top of the exhaustion, you felt ill. Genuinely, wholeheartedly sick, more so than ever before. You felt Daniel’s hand take your own, and before you knew it, he was guiding you out the front door.

As soon as you cleared the front steps of the diner, your hand went in search of the wooden railing. You barely noticed the sting of splinters in your palm as you leaned over the side of the steps, retching and sputtering as you lost every bit of control you still had left. Tears sprung to your eyes, dehumanizing you further as you realized just how pathetic you looked in the moment.

Your knuckles were white as you gripped at the railing, holding yourself steady as sobs tore straight through your chest, bleeding you dry as you put yourself on full display for Danny to see. You weren’t sure you had ever felt so weak, so unimportant, so hopeless. Whatever bit of humanity and self respect you had left, Vincent had stripped from you completely.

How could you have fallen in love with him, someone so vile and cruel, so utterly despicable and evil? How could someone who said they loved you treat you so badly? How could he say such things with such conviction, in front of everyone you loved?

What had you done to make him think so badly about you?

You thought you had done everything to prove how much you cared, loved him so completely that he never had a doubt. You tried your hardest to take care of him, to help him get better, and he still fucking hated you.

Maybe he could see something you could not.

Maybe he was right.

You had spent your whole life trying to prove to the world that you were good, that you were worthy and deserving of all of the things you never got, but maybe there was a reason why it never worked out. You had done so many bad things, walked the earth on borrowed time and still found yourself stuck in the same pit of despair, desperate for love and healing. After twenty-four years, you had to stop blaming the world and looking inward. Maybe Vincent was right, and you were the problem all along.

There was something so fundamentally wrong with you, down to the very core and including the wisps of battered soul that clung to you by a thread. You were rotten, from the very beginning and until your very last day on earth. Born from hate instead of love, cursed with the very illness that your parents succumbed to, and never changing even when you knew you were a part of the problem. You watched your father disappear, never to return and never got closure. Your mother, still nursing a bottle of liquor to put herself to sleep, hating herself just as much as you hated her. Vincent, Dylan, struggling to survive and turning to substance to make the world feel a bit better. Instead of avoiding the same path, being good like Patrick and Hunter, you were sucked straight in.

Worse yet, you chose it.

You were an amalgamation of your parents worst failures, a product of their mistakes and a living reminder of their misfortune. You were a roadblock, a nuisance and a danger to everyone around you. You wanted so badly to help, but your hands only ever knew destruction. A slave to the illness and to a system that you would never escape, not from a lack of knowledge, but because you were never meant to.

It all hurt, and you wished so badly to forget it, for it to be different. As tears pooled down your cheeks, blood lining your chapped lips as it trickled from your nose, you knew it would never be different. It could never be different. This is what life was supposed to be, and it was never your destiny to get better.

Daniel was never meant to be yours, and you were only hurting everyone further by remaining by his side, trying to twist a narrative that was already set in stone many moons ago.

It did not even matter what he thought of you now, because it could not change anything.

Your destiny was on the other side of the building, getting the shit kicked out of him by your best friend, likely not feeling a shred of remorse for what he had done to you.

Vincent was what you deserved, and all you would ever have. What you were doing with Danny was just torture, making yourself believe things could be better and that you could change it, teasing yourself with a better life when escape wasn’t an option.

You wished so badly that you would have realized it sooner before you broke everyone’s heart, but just like always, ruin was all you knew, all you had.

It was all your fucking fault, and you could not blame Vincent for opening your eyes. Far too long had you spent blind and ignorant to all you caused.

You had ruined everything, for once and for all, and nothing you could do would ever repair it.

You barely remembered getting to the car, only the burn of the heated seats through your clothes and the rush of warm air against your cheeks as you shivered in silence. Daniel did not even try to speak, barely acknowledging you until the car was in motion and the highway was passing you by. Your hands were folded atop each other, resting in your lap as they continued to shake with a ferocity you couldn’t comprehend. So many emotions were running rampant, so many regrets and plenty of fears. You had no idea what he was thinking, how much he heard, and you weren’t looking forward to finding out.

Then, without speaking a word, Daniel reached forward and pressed the button to turn on the stereo. His phone, already connected to the Bluetooth feature, was placed in your lap with Spotify open on the screen. Your gaze flickered downward and your heart warmed at the small action.

Maybe he did care after all.

Maybe he wasn’t scared yet.

Desperate to focus on something other than your searing muscles, you picked up the phone and searched for the only song you wanted to listen to: Ventura Highway.

Thinking back to that warm, sunny day in May, you wished so desperately to go back in time, just for a moment, just to experience that carefree joy with him and Sam one more time. Laying on the porch of his Airbnb, journal in hand while the two plucked at strings on guitars, you wondered if you would ever be as happy as you were then, if the two of you would ever be together like that again.

For the first time in your life, you yearned to go backwards instead of rushing forward.

As soon as the soft melody filled your ears, it seemed as though the floodgates opened. Tears poured down your cheeks, your vision blurred and your throat tight as you begged the universe to allow for it again, because something so good should be felt more than just once.

You wished to feel as free as the song sounded, to envision a life of peace instead of one of suffering, and one with him beside you. You didn’t want to live like this anymore, constantly on edge and fearful for your life. You wanted to atone for your sins, to truly change and become what you always hoped you would be, but you only wanted it with him.

Without him, it did not seem worth it.

He could see you crying, hyper aware of every choked breath and shallow sigh, wishing that he could take it all away and show you that life was better than that, than this.

Instead of telling you that, he drove straight past the side road for the Airbnb and turned the volume up a bit higher, his fingers drumming a beat against the leather steering wheel cover.

When the verse began, so softly, you could hear him singing along. You resisted the urge to turn the radio off entirely and listen only to his rendition of the song for the rest of your days.

You slipped your shoes off, pulling your feet up on the seat and wrapping your arms around your legs. With your knees against your chest, you leaned forward and rested your head against them, your head too heavy to hold upright any longer and your neck still aching. You stared out the window, listening to every word of the lyrics and still finding yourself stuck on that day on the porch.

You wondered if you knew this was where it ended, would you have done things differently?

Taken more precautions?

Talked to Daniel sooner?

You didn’t know, but what you did know was that it didn’t matter. Some part of you always understood that when the time came to tell him about everything, it would be disastrous. There was no avoiding it, no way of laying it down nicely nor gently, and no way of ignoring it. The truth was bound to come out, and you were inevitably a part of the miserable downfall. As much as you tried to avoid it, to keep it under wraps, he was always going to find out.

You couldn’t stop crying, feeling two whole years worth of suffering all flowing freely at once. You came to New York in search of something more, but as you sat in the passenger seat and listened to the same damn song on repeat, you realized you were still stuck in the same cycle, even if the environment was different. Daniel, sitting next to you, his fingers still anxiously drumming against the wheel, was the ticket out. The issue was not him, but you entirely. You weren’t strong enough to change. Instead, you wished for change while you did nothing to ensure it. Staying with Vincent for so long, letting it get to such a point, was on you. You allowed the treatment, and you made your own bed. You couldn’t be mad at his behavior, because it felt much like being upset at a baby for crying. You knew him well, and what you endured that night was unfortunate, yet perfectly in character for him.

Worse yet, for you.

This was not the first dispute the two of you found yourselves in, even if it was the most violent. What he did was horrible, and you were suffering the ill effects of it now, and would be for the foreseeable future. Still, you could not ignore the fact that you played a terrible, horrible part in it. If anything, you started it. He was villainized for his actions, but it did not feel right for you to be coddled when you committed the same crimes. You hit first, knowing exactly what would come of it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Upset at what he said, you couldn’t ignore the pressing nature of the truth.

You were no better, and you were still the woman from Utah, blaming your problems on the rest of the world when they started with you.

Haunting, but a reality you were constantly drowning in.

You were a terrible person, sober or not, and you had no idea how to stop being that person.

Like everything else, it felt hopeless.

After hearing what was said in the diner, did Daniel also think you were a horrible person, or did he believe the lies you told him to make yourself seem better?

Your chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your realizations finally catching up and beginning to suffocate you. The scabs on your hand from the shards of glass reminded you of your own instability, your own hostility and rage that you could never control. You were living, walking proof of every failure. Each scar, every cut, and all the bruises were not incriminating for others, but for you, who walked through life as a hollow body and let the demons control you. Your brittle teeth and thin hair, the breaking nails and shaky hands, the bags under your eyes and the insufferable thoughts were a product of your own wrongdoing, and you would never leave them behind.

You were the same person you often thought you would never be again, sitting in a car with the type of person you always wanted to be, but never would.

As you peeked up through your tear-soaked lashes, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the tiny mirror, you thought you might fall apart and turn to dust. It was not you, a starving artist with an abundance of love and a desire for better. It was not the addict, using and abusing those who only ever tried to help. It wasn’t even the little girl, broken and battered as she clutched her only teddy bear to her chest, hiding from the biggest bully she would ever encounter. Instead, the eyes, broken vessels seeping crimson into the whites, were your mothers, the woman who haunted every dream and shot down every opportunity and possibility, who still ruled your life from two thousand miles away.

You were not her, but that night you held more likeness to her than ever before, and the thought alone made you fear the fact that you would never escape her curse, because every part of you was made from her. She was the blood in your veins, the beat of your heart, and the soul that was fading and flickering. It was that way because she made it so—she made you. You were not her, but you would not be you without her, and for that reason you would spend every waking minute despising yourself. Your likeness was irrefutable, and as much as you hated to admit it, inescapable. Wherever you were, you would carry her along with you, even if the only thing linking you was the DNA in which you shared.

You did not break from the thought as the car slowed, nor when it pulled into a twenty-four hour gas station, long past the door to the Airbnb, to home. You did not notice as Daniel parked and got out of the car, walking into the building with his head down and his weepy eyes concealed. You were so far away that when he returned, you did not turn your head to greet him, and your hands that found their way to your neck remained in place like stone, fingers settled over the bruises left behind by someone’s broken and soulless son.

Only when you made it to your second destination did anyone find the courage to speak, and it certainly was not you.

“You know, when I was a kid, the idea of love scared the shit out of me.” His voice was much calmer than you expected it to be, louder and clearer than you could manage in the moment, and served as a comfort you did not believe you deserved. “Used to lie awake at night for hours, staring at the glow in the dark stars my dad helped me put on the ceiling. The whole idea seemed so… intense. Picking one person to trust, to share everything with, no matter what. I could barely tie my own shoes, or clean my room, or do math. How the hell was I supposed to know when I found the right person, or how not to fuck it up?”

The topic, incredibly intriguing and not what you expected him to start with, turned your head and pulled you from the endless void of self-hatred you were lost in. When your gaze fell on the boy in the driver's seat, you noticed he was not looking at you. Instead, his eyes were pointed at the windshield, admiring the view outside. His curly hair was tickling his pink cheeks, his eyes tired and sad, but unwavering as he studied the intricacies of the view. His wrist was draped over the top of the steering wheel, his back flush against the seat and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Ventura Highway was still playing softly in the background as he conjured up his next thoughts. He didn’t seem defensive, angry, or anything even close to what you thought he should be feeling in the moment. Instead, he seemed comfortable, content that he was there with you, and happy that you were there with him.

“I don’t think I understood it as much back then,” he paused, the tip of his tongue tracing over his bottom lip as the words faded from the air. “‘Cause when you’re a kid, every mistake and every failure seems like the end of the world. Get a bad grade in math, and your entire week is ruined. Lose a game of basketball in gym class, and you’re gutted. Break a vase, and you know your parents are going to ground you… it all seemed so much bigger than it actually ever was.” He didn’t look to you, but you could tell he noticed your attention had shifted to him. You were listening, and that’s all that mattered. “I always thought that when I fell in love, if it didn’t work, that would be the end of everything, and it scared me.” He shrugged, like the memory of this terrifying notion barely phased him anymore.

“When I got my heart broken for the first time, it really did feel like the end of the world. I never thought I’d feel that way again, that I could love like that again, and I guess it kind of made me think that I was right all along. Took a long time for me to try again, and when I did, it ended the same way.” He let out a small chuckle as he finished, like the tale was funny instead of painful for him.

Why was he telling you this? What significance did it have to the current situation, to the relationship between the two of you? Talks of love made your head ache, because love had never been kind to you. After the events of the night, you were beginning to believe you would never truly be loved at all.

“—made me feel like I would never know what being loved is supposed to feel like.”

Oh.

Now it made a little more sense.

“I didn’t know how to love, or how to be loved, but I wanted it. I wanted to know it so bad. More than anything else, I think. Especially at the end of it.” He explained, his eyebrows furrowing together in the most devastating and beautiful way, noticeable even in the dim light pooling through the windows. You wondered if he was radiating his own light, so precious that his goodness was spilling over in the most obvious of ways, or if you loved him enough that you would notice every miniscule detail even in pitch blackness. Whichever it was, it hurt you more to know that after the night was over, you would likely never experience it again. “When I got to New York, it felt like everything changed.” You froze, all previous thoughts of unworthiness fleeing you for a moment.

Was he actually saying what you thought he was?

Could he really feel that way about you?

No, it wasn’t possible, and you refused to get your hopes up. It was too soon, and you had put him through too much. It was ridiculous of you to assume such a thing.

“I get it now, Utah.” He whispered, his voice so quiet that it could barely be heard even in the near complete silence, but you would always listen for him. Every sound, every word, every breath that left his lungs meant something to you. In fact, it meant everything, and he would never go unknown or unheard as long as you walked the same earth.

As much as you struggled to believe it was real, you understood it now, too.

You would go to the ends of the earth, suffer through disaster and despair, be whatever he wanted you to be, even if it hurt you, as long as it meant he was around.

“All of that other shit was nothing compared to what I know now.” You thought your heart may fall straight through your chest, showcasing in the most obvious ways that it beat solely for him. “So I need you to trust me when I tell you, whatever you need to say, I will listen, and I will stay. After everything that’s happened, you have to believe me when I tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips pressed together tightly, like they were trying to lock up every dirty secret and horrid confession, your body telling you he was too perfect to bear the weight of your sins. When he turned his head to look at you, when the warmth of his brown eyes struck you straight in the soul, you knew he was telling the truth, that he would not leave and he would not break under the weight of your past. At least, not in the same ways you had broken under the weight of it.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything, Utah. What I feel for you… it’s not going to change. I don’t think… not even if I wanted it to. It’s here to stay.” For the first time since you met him, you could hear the broken heart sitting in his chest, beating with only half strength as it explained that he was not as perfect and pristine as you framed him to be. Hurt could touch him, and it did affect him, and by withholding the truth, you were making him feel ways you swore you never would.

You had to tell him—it was no longer about you, but about the man you had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with. He wanted to know you, and denying him of that hurt you just as much as it hurt him.

“It’s not pretty.” You croaked, the sound of your own voice off putting to you. His eyes flickered down to your neck, and for a single moment, he was back in that harrowing and terrifying moment, not knowing how it would end, not knowing if the two of you would ever be sitting together in his car ever again, not knowing if he would ever get the chance to tell you.

“I never expected it to be.”

And maybe that was the problem all along. You forcing words in his mouth, placing expectations upon yourself that he would never even think of, pinning him with notions that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t expect anything, and you believed he expected everything.

“Before anything else, are you okay?”

You thought about it for a moment, deciding that honesty was the only thing that mattered anymore. Although you had never lied to him, you had been evading the truth since the very beginning, and you didn’t want to do that anymore. He deserved it all, and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

“No,” You tried to shake your head, wincing at the dull ache ever-present in your muscles. “Not really.”

“In pain?” You let out a hum of agreement, seeing him reach between his legs to grab the bag of shit he had gotten from the corner store. Without another word, he reached in and grabbed a bottle of painkillers, placing them on the dash as he grabbed a can of Redbull for you. You swallowed back a lump in your throat as he placed a bag of sour candy next to the rest of the items. “I didn’t… I still don’t know what to do, but I wanted to do something, and I figured you wouldn’t let me take you to a doctor, since you’re so against medical intervention in any sense.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh. It was tiny, barely there, but still a laugh nonetheless. He was right, and in no way would you have ever agreed to go to the hospital, but he was okay with you not being okay with it. So okay that he was willing to tease you about it. He didn’t know anything about your world, but he loved you enough to learn, and he loved you enough to adapt and to make you comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do anything, Michigan. Nothing at all.” Your voice was still raspy, hoarse as you choked the words out, but it was easing up the more you did it.

“I know I didn’t have to.” He replied, a bit more curt than usual so you understood where his head was at. “I want to, Utah. I want to help you, to be there for you, to listen to you. I want to be here.”

Sometimes it felt like no matter how many times he said it, you would never truly get it. Even if it didn’t seem that way, you were trying as hard as you could, but the entire ordeal was foreign to you. Silence fell upon you once again, but not because you didn’t want to talk. You didn’t know where to begin, and it was overwhelming the longer you thought about it. You knew that you didn’t have the luxury to hold back anymore, especially after putting him through everything, but you couldn’t help it.

“It’s a lot, Danny. A lot that I don’t really talk about, but I’m trying my best—I will try my best, from here on out.” You corrected yourself, knowing that you had not been trying your best. Now, you made a pact with yourself to avoid hurting him any more than you already had.

“That’s all I’m asking.” He reached over, cautious as he took your hand in his own. He didn’t want to be too much for you in the moment, but it was killing him to sit by and do nothing. Thankfully, you were receptive to the touch, making him feel much better.

“The part that I always left out… that I said I couldn’t talk about… it was never because I didn’t want you to know.” You clarified, your bones as heavy as cement as you tried your best to phrase your thoughts. Your head was still spinning, but you had to talk about it, for him. “I always wanted you to know. I’ve always wanted you to know everything about me, but I was so fucking scared, Michigan. I still am, but I’m trying my best not to be.”

“Why are you so scared?” He asked, his voice still soft and sweet, trying to show you you had no need to feel such a way.

“It’s just… it’s hard. Falling for someone so… so fucking perfect, when I’m such a fucking mess.” You stressed, your hand raising to your hair. Your fingers combed through knots, the tug on your scalp distracting you from the surge of anxiety. “It’s hard telling anyone about it, but you? Danny, you’re… everything. Everything good in the world, all in one place. I don’t want it to scare you off, o-or make you see me differently, or whatever the fuck.” You huffed a breath, closing your eyes to rid yourself of the burgeoning sadness growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Utah,” he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back to reality for a moment. You looked over at him, remembering all he said and all he had done for you. If you couldn’t trust him yet, you never would.

“You’re right.” You sucked in a sharp breath, giving a gentle nod. “I know… it’s just… fuck, Danny. This world… it’s not yours. You don’t have to understand it, and most people don’t. I couldn’t blame you if it did scare you, or you wanted to run. I get it, and that’s why it hurts.”

“Utah, it is my world.” He corrected, firm on his stance. “It’s my world because it’s yours.”

Why you had never thought of it that way, you weren’t sure, but he was right. He was invested in you, therefore making him a part of the awful things just as much as the good things. Even if this conversation had never happened, he still would have been a part of it solely because of the shit he had witnessed on behalf of his love for you.

“Okay.” You nodded, your gaze falling to his hand intertwined with yours. Off with the bandaid, the best way to do it, even if it was the most painful. Confess now, explain later. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Michigan. I know that you’ve caught on to things, my behavior, what other people have said. If anything, I’m the stupid one for not saying anything sooner. It’s why I was avoiding you all week… pretending like I didn’t get your messages and telling you I couldn’t go home with you. I wanted to reply, I wanted to go home with you, but I just couldn’t force myself to have this conversation. It’s killing me, and it has been all along.” So much for ripping the bandaid off. You had become awfully good at rambling as of late, and you could only blame it on your nervousness when in his company.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, his thumb tracing circles into the back of your hand. “We’re talking now. That’s what matters.” You gave another slight nod, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself to say it out loud.

“I’m an addict.” You blurted out, your free hand raising to your mouth as your eyes widened in shock. It sounded wrong coming from your lips, so cold and distant as you told the man you loved about your biggest struggle to date. You felt your heart racing, aching as it grew tired of the stress it had been under all night. Slowly, still horrified, you turned to see his expression, to know for sure if it changed anything or not. When your eyes fell on him, he looked the exact same as he did moments before, love still shining in his sweet face and glimmering in his eyes.

“Okay.” He whispered, squeezing your hand ever so gently.

Okay?!

In your mind, that could mean a magnitude of things, and the simple response sent you spiraling further. What was he thinking? How did he feel?

“Okay?” You creaked out, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you felt your skin begin to itch. The air in the car was unbelievably stuffy, making you feel like you were suffocating. The tightness in your chest and the breathless sensation threw you for a loop, reminding you of what it felt like when you truly couldn’t breath, when Vincent’s hands were around your neck preventing you from doing so.

“Okay, baby.” He said again, reassuring you. “Stop overthinking this. I’m listening, and I want you to tell me more. You are the same person I met at that diner, and the same girl that I fell for. I’m just listening, and I’m learning.”

Learning. Listening. He cared, and he wasn’t going to stop caring. You had to trust him, to believe him, and to stop letting fear get in the way. He was the same man you fell for, too kind and understanding for his own good, and he wanted to know these things. Okay just meant okay. You were safe with him.

“I… uh…” you paused, clearing your throat once again and wincing at the pain. “On my fifteenth birthday, things at home were horrible. We had moved in with Bruce—my mom’s boyfriend,” You added quickly, realizing you had never actually told Daniel his name. In fact, you couldn’t even recall the last time you spoke his name at all. “About a year before that, I’d say. I was drinking a lot, hanging out with a group of people who were doing the same. That weekend, nobody was around, and we weren’t really allowed to celebrate our birthdays, anyway. My mom and Bruce were out of state… some stupid fucking business meeting, which was really just dressing up and getting drunk. My friends were all busy, so I was desperate to have fun and fill the void, I guess.”

“They were fucking terrorizing Hunter and Patrick in the living room before they left. It was all I could think about, the horrible shit they said, and how Patrick and Hunter just… took it, to protect me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it on my birthday. They always took the fall, whenever they could, and even if I lived a million lifetimes and dedicated each one to repaying them, or thanking them, it would never be enough.” You paused, remembering the sound of it as if it were just yesterday, the sound of your mothers voice so loud in your ears, and the sound of Hunter’s muffled sobs from his bedroom tearing your heart straight from your chest. No matter how long, no matter how far, it would never leave you. “I just wanted it to stop, to go away, for my brain to shut the hell up so I could finally have some peace and quiet.” You cried, the wave of emotion that washed over you overwhelmingly felt as you told the story. Never, since the very day it happened, had you ever explained it in so much detail. For years, nearly a full decade, it had been kept so secret that even you found the details fuzzy by times.

But he deserved it. He deserved the truth, the full extent of the matter. He deserved everything.

His hand in yours tightened, his silent show of love, his silent show of support.

He wasn’t mad, and he didn’t hate you.

“After they left, Hunter wouldn’t talk to me. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want me to see him suffering. They were both so selfless like that…” you trailed off, remembering how truly and genuinely they loved you. You thought that you found that love in Dylan and Vincent, the kind that made them willing to do anything, including sacrificing themselves for you, but now you knew it was not the same. Dylan maybe loved you that way, but certainly not Vincent, and he never would.

Daniel, though, loved you beyond what anyone else had ever done in the past. He was one of a kind, just like Sam told you that first day you met him, and nobody else in the entire world could compare to him.

“But they were my best friends, my only real friends. Patrick left, and Hunter locked himself in his room, and everything was just so loud, and it wouldn’t fucking stop.” As if you were sitting on that bathroom counter again, you could hear the swarm of thoughts buzzing in your ears and behind your eyes. It was impossible to think, to ignore, to breathe. You dropped Danny’s hand, both of your own raising to your head as you tugged at your hair. Tears seeped through your closed eyelids, flooding your cheeks as you willed your brain to stop, to remember that you weren’t there anymore.

“Utah,” you could hear it, loud and clear, above all of the other thoughts, like it was the only thing that mattered.

You weren’t too much for him.

You were enough.

“Baby, come on.” You could feel the gentle graze of his fingertips against your cheeks as he turned your head towards him, begging you to look at him. “You're okay. You’re safe with me.” He whispered, slowly willing you to lower your hands from your head. “Whatever you need to say, however you need to say it, I’m here and I’m listening. You’re safe.”

Safe. Something you had never been before you met him, yet were slowly growing accustomed to in his presence. You never wanted to let it go, and even if you feared the feeling was fleeting, your fingers were clasped around it, desperate to keep it close.

“Sorry, I just… sometimes, when I think of it for too long, it feels like I’m right there, living it all over again.” You breathed, your chest heavy as you let your eyes scan your surroundings. In his car, not your mothers house, sober and pained, not high and empty. You were okay, and he was okay. For a brief second, you wondered if you would really be okay together, holding hands through the worst of it and celebrating the victory when the time came.

You couldn’t put that evil picture in your head. Not until he knew everything, at least. It wasn’t fair to you or him, and getting your hopes up would destroy you if he decided to leave at the end.

“Just look at me, okay? That way you remember where you are… who you’re with.” His hand on your knee gave a gentle squeeze, the softness of his actions sending a rush of relief through you. You managed a small nod, so minuscule it barely even hurt your damaged muscles, happy to know he could be your anchor even when you did not deserve it.

“So… I locked myself in the bathroom, knowing that the liquor cabinet was a no-go, and I looked through the medicine cabinet, knowing that my mother would have something in there that was worthwhile, something that would make everything quiet. I googled all of the names, what they would do for me, and I certainly found out. That night, I sold my fucking soul, so desperate to forget about how horrible my life was that I made it even worse.” You paused, your eyes flickering out the windshield as you noticed the peek of the sun in the sky. You always found it funny, knowing that even if you were falling apart, the world would continue turning with little regard for you at all. You were nothing, a spec, an insignificant mess in the grand scheme of things. The sun would rise, but it was up to you to try again. Right now, talking to Daniel, being honest with him in hopes for better, you were trying again in a brand new type of way.

“OxyContin.” You finally said it aloud, the word knocking the air from your lungs and making you sick to your stomach. Daniel stayed silent, his hand never moving from your leg as he listened. “I tried to convince myself that I was okay, that I would know when to quit before it was too late, but I was fucking wrong. The very minute it passed my lips, I was a changed woman, and in no way good. For a while, I would just pop one when mom and Bruce were too hard to handle, and I would sleep the worst of it off… or tune it out. I sedated myself every night and had myself convinced that it was okay, that it was normal.” You paused, feeling a stab in your heart as you recalled what it felt like to be so far gone the whole world was silent and still. Worst of all, even if you knew it was wrong, you missed it with a fervor.

“It didn’t take long for those to run out, and when they were gone, I was already in too deep. Weed wasn’t cutting it, and drinking only made me want it more. I knew nothing would compare to that feeling, so I went chasing it. Mixing pills from the cabinet, trying to replicate the feeling… drinking and smoking, or drinking and mixing pills. I was fucking insane, an addict from birth who finally had a taste of it. I hated being sober, because it made living at home that much harder to choke down. I made friends with some bad people, who were really only there to help me get a fix. I’d feel bad about using them if they hadn’t been doing the same thing to me.” You shrugged, wrapping your arms around your torso and hugging yourself tightly.

“We partied a lot, and I guess that really brought out a side of me that I never thought I had. There, I discovered Coke, which will always be my biggest enemy. Loved it so much I blew a hole straight through my nose.” You chuckled at yourself, sharing the only secret that was solely yours and sniffing on command from just the mere thought of it. “It was easy back then, to chalk it up to smaller things. I was bored, I was hurt, looking to pass the time until I could get the hell out of that house. I never seemed to see it as a problem, even if Hunter and Patrick could see straight through me.”

“They knew?” He asked, trying to keep his head straight with all of the information you were throwing at him.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “From the very beginning, they knew something was wrong. I mean, how could they not? I know people hear a lot of shit about drugs and addicts, but even if you aren’t that far in it, it changes everything. Sometimes, feels like it changes you as a person entirely. Don't even recognize that girl when I look back on old pictures, and I’m sure they couldn’t recognize me then, even if my face didn’t change. I was dodgy, quiet most of the time but had a temper like nothing else… no control over my emotions. I was gone a lot, always sleeping or up all night, not eating… lots was wrong, and they were the only ones who truly saw it for what it was.” You drummed your fingertips against your bare arm, goosebumps prickling your skin as you took a deep breath. “Not much they could do, though. You can’t force an addict to get clean. Just doesn’t work that way.” You shrugged softly, ignoring the sting in your neck as you did so.

You knew this, so why the hell were you still trying so hard with Vincent?

Vincent.

Vin…

Why the fuck were you still thinking about him?

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was like a parasite, eating away at you and unwilling to stop until there was nothing left. He would be your end, but it would not be any fault of his. The blame would be yours, constantly letting him rule your life in such ways. You had let it get to such a point, and you were stuck suffering the consequences. The issue was, you did not know how to stop.

He was so intricately woven into every aspect of your life, embedded in the very fibers of your being and destined to exist within the frame forever. He was your life now, even if you constantly wished it were not true, forever wanted something better. Would you be stuck this way for eternity? Always committed to a man who would ruin you? Or was there better?

Was better even meant to be yours?

Looking over at Daniel, you knew it must be, because if it were not, he would not still be there.

“Utah?” He asked, breaking you free from your thoughts and shocking you back to reality.

“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand raising to the back of your neck. Your fingers gently massaged the muscle blanketing your spine, noticing the stabs of pain as pressure was applied. Your eyes screwed shut, your molars grinding together as a general sense of malaise took hold. “Sorry.” You mumbled, realizing he was waiting for you to continue.

“Don’t be… I just want to know you. I need to… after everything we’ve been through—“

“You do know me.” You assured him, cutting him short. “More than anyone else, now. I’m sorry I kept this from you, and I swear I’m trying my best to give it to you now, but it’s hard. If I could rewrite my story, I’d leave this out so nobody ever had to know about it again. I hate that version of me, and it kills me to think that anyone would still see me as that… monster. I just… I never wanted you to see me as a monster.”

“I’ve never,” he shook his head, firm as he made sure you understood. “And I will never. Utah, I think you see yourself as that, but I don’t. Not when I met you in the diner, and especially not after seeing everything I have. You are selfless, kind, caring, and loyal, even when you shouldn’t be. You would do anything for anyone, including sacrificing yourself for them. That version of you, whatever you think of her… does not reflect who’s sitting beside me now.” Your stomach sank as you listened to his sweet words, realizing you’ve yet again pinned him with ideas he would never think twice about.

“I feel like it every day.” You breathed, your shaky hands flat against your thighs as you tried to ground yourself. “All of the horrible things I’ve done, the people I hurt, I can’t forget it. I spent so long trying to make up for it, but I still worry that it’s not enough, that I’m still this evil person who only cares about herself.”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people, Utah.” He whispered, placing his hand over yours to draw your attention back to him. “They don’t care.” He was right, but you were too damn stubborn to see it. It was easier to believe you were bad than to give yourself any credit, and it was easier to be miserable than to try and be happy, because it was all you had ever known. This, sitting next to someone who listened, who cared, was completely new and foreign to you, and it was so hard to believe it was real. “Take your time, tell me when you’re ready, but I need to know, Y/N.” He felt bad for pushing you after you went through something so horrible, but he was tired of being kept in the dark, unable to remain so helpless when it was clear you needed someone to help you.

“I know you do.” You agreed, giving him a sad little smile. You wished he would be mad, berate you for waiting so long and hiding so much because you felt like that was what you deserved, but he wasn’t like that. The only reason you felt it was so deserved was because that was how Vincent often treated you, and Daniel was nothing like him. He was trying to rebuild what another person had broken (or, what plenty of people had broken), and even you were working against him. It was time to let him in, to let him know, to love him how he loved you.

“At first, I was using ‘recreationally’, as some would call it. Mostly when we were partying, or on really bad nights. In hindsight, it was most of the time, but I didn’t care enough to call it a problem.” You paused, gulping down a large lump in your throat. You felt a panic rise in your chest, realizing you would have to tell him of the times you most often wanted to forget, the most painful and ugliest times in your life, but he deserved it. “A few months after school started, just after Christmas, m-my—“ you cut yourself off, feeling a searing pain in your chest threaten to burst through. You choked on air for a moment, your vision blurred with tears as you recalled one of the most painful days of your entire life.

Still, his hand remained on top of yours, supporting you without saying a word, listening without interrupting, and loving you even if you believed he should not be, because that’s just the kind of person he was.

“My grandfather died.” You breathed it out as if it were one word, as if it weren’t an earth shattering moment that changed your life entirely. Your throat ached, begging to cry out, to let the whole world know how you truly felt about the fact. Instead, you stayed silent, keeping it all to yourself just like always. “It was sudden, and it took us all by surprise… and my mother tried to keep me from going to the funeral.”

“What?” Even he, barely knowing a thing about your family other than your mother, knew that was the most evil thing she could have done.

“Yeah,” you scoffed a laugh, nodding ever so slightly. “She was mad at me for getting into shit at school, and I was grounded. Said I didn’t deserve to go. Only reason she didn’t stop Patrick and Hunter was because Patrick had his license. Once he passed the test, they couldn’t get him to stay home even if they paid him.” You mumbled, willing a frayed thread of your jeans around your index finger.

“You did go though, right?”

“Yeah,” you assured him. “Snuck out my bedroom window, ‘cause the cunt locked my door from the outside. I wrote her an apology letter and slipped it under her bedroom door the night before, begging her to let me go because she refused to speak to me… I did that a lot back then, especially when I was little, but it never worked. Patrick said he’d wait down the road if I climbed out the window, so I did. Broke my fucking ankle, but I still made it. Think she put me up on the second floor so I couldn’t sneak out, but it never worked.” You felt sick as you remembered the surplus of pain you suffered through that day, slipping an Oxy as they spoke eulogies of the man you loved more than anyone in the world, feeling the throb of your broken bone barely compare to the agony in your heart.

“I was high for the whole ceremony, a zombie at the reception… from there, it all went downhill, much worse than it was before. Once mom found out I had snuck out, she made sure to make my life a living hell, and to survive it… I stayed high… but before I could, I had to figure out how. I was a broke teenager with an expensive hobby, and no establishment would hire me in that state even if they were desperate. My mom was over my shoulder constantly, so I had to come up with a different solution.” You paused, checking to see if he was still following. When you met his eyes, you knew he was hanging on to every word. “There was this dealer… he was bad news in high school, and even worse when he flunked out. Did a couple stints in juvy, and a few months in jail when he turned eighteen. He liked… girls like me.” You put it lightly, grimacing at the thought. “Broken, stupid, naive… underage.” You mumbled, ensuring he understood what you meant.

“At first, he made a lot of promises, and he really wasn’t that bad. I had seen him around at a few of the parties, got a few rides home from him… he was nice enough, and he was interested in me. I’m not sure if that was the selling point, or if in the beginning I really was interested in him. The lines are all blurred now.” You huffed a sigh, leaning back into the heated seat to soothe the ache in your muscles. “Doesn’t matter much anyway… we both used each other, even if his crimes were worse than mine.” You turned your head to stare out the window, unsure if you could look him in the eye when you told him this part of the story.

“I don’t know if it was because I was a kid, or if the drugs really made me crazy, but I asked him to work out a deal… I didn’t have any ideas in mind, but he did.” You gave a dry chuckle, your stomach sick and your skin crawling as you remembered the suffocating smell of his cheap cologne, laced with liquor on his tongue and force in his touch. You felt frozen in your seat, fear gripping you like he was behind you, his breath on your neck and his body pressed against yours. You sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you turned your hand to lace your fingers through Danny’s, praying it would help bring you back to reality.

Safe.

You tried to remember what he told you, to believe it was true. When you were with him, your Michigan, nothing could touch you. You knew if you said the word, he would take you away from it all and make sure you felt safe forever.

“I don’t want this to change how you see me.” You mumbled, plagued with the same anxieties yet feeling them so much more. This situation, this memory, was your hardest story to tell, but you wanted him to know, to comfort you.

How beautiful it was to be loved by him, and finally after so long you were eager to receive it.

“Not possible.” He whispered, never once daring to move his hand from yours.

“He… uh, fuck.” Your voice cracked, raspy and raw still as you tried your hardest to tell him. “At first, he did me a few favors… called us friends and said he wouldn’t accept money from me anyway. I thought it was great, but I was so stupid.” You choked on a sob, feeling the panic begin to rise again. You tried to hold it back, to regain control, but for a brief second it felt impossible.

“You aren’t stupid, Utah.” He shook his head, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“He picked me up one night… my ankle was all healed, so I could sneak out again. We went to his house, and I don’t remember much, but I remember enough.” You explained, nervous eyes darting to the trees outside. “I was so fucked up, probably more than I ever had been before, and he just kept giving me shit… filling my cup, or whatever he could, really. I should have been more careful, but I passed out on his couch… I woke up to him… doing things… to me.” You were firm as you spoke, telling him all he needed to know. Further detail was not needed, and he certainly wouldn’t be the one to push you.

“I was so out of it, even when I woke up I barely knew what was happening. Next thing I knew I was in Patrick’s backseat. Him and I, we never talked about it again. I don’t know if I called, or he did, or what, but I know Patrick knows what happened.” You swallowed hard, even more remorseful to admit the next part. “I dunno if I just forced myself to believe that nothing happened, or I made it up, but I just… carried on like normal. Kept going back for fixes, and he eventually stopped trying so hard to hide it. Made me feel like I owed him, that I had to… so I did. For a long time.” You paused, knowing you played a part in one of the memories that haunted you the most. “I think worse things happened a lot more than that night, but I can’t say for certain, yaknow? Just didn’t have my senses, most of the time. Outta my tree, blacked it all out… yeah.” You couldn’t look at him, too fearful to see disgust in his expression. “I blacked everything out after that. I don’t remember graduating, or anything in between. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“When I did graduate, I guess you could have called him my boyfriend. Wasn’t much of one, but it was the closest I ever came to a real one… until you.” Your eyes dropped again, studying his hand in yours for a moment longer to remind yourself who you were with and that you were safe. “I moved in with my brothers, in a shitty ol’ bachelor that they shared for dirt cheap. Slept on the couch, and we struggled, but we were happier than ever… just being together, without our mother always over our shoulder. Even if I was a junkie, they were just happy I was alive, that I made it out. I wanted to get sober, to be better, even if I was stuck in the worst of the addiction. I can remember sitting on that torn, beaten up fuckin’ couch, searching for rehabs with Hunter while Patrick tried to juggle community college and a full time job.”

“Patrick always did so much for us, and I guess I didn’t want to drag him into that, too. I thought if I could get sober, do it on my own, it would prove to him that I did appreciate everything he sacrificed to keep us all safe.” You explained, always gutted at the fact you couldn’t do it for him. “I went cold turkey, spent three days sweating it out on the bathroom floor, fucking delirious and angry at the whole world. We celebrated my birthday in that damn bathroom, and the cheap cake the two scraped up change for ended up in the toilet, but it was beautiful, you know? In its own, gruesome, fucked up way. The three of us, together, poor but together, doing everything we could to be better and do better.”

“But it always ends, right?” You hummed, lips dipping down into a frown as you reminisced. “My grandmother died that summer, which set me off on a whole new kind of rampage. She left us everything. The house, the inheritance, whatever she had was ours, but I never stuck around to see it.” You paused again, trying to keep your thoughts straight as you dumped everything on him. “I took off, spent a few nights with that same guy and ruined every bit of progress I made. I didn’t go to her funeral.” You said through gritted teeth, unable to believe you prioritized drugs over the most important woman in your whole life. You still hadn’t forgiven yourself for it, and you knew you never would. No matter if you stayed sober for the rest of your life, the horrible things you had done would haunt you for eternity.

“One night, I was at that guy's house, and we were fighting. Like, the kind of fighting that used to make us hide as kids. Found out I wasn’t the only fifteen year old he liked, so I tried to give him hell for it. Guess I found out I wasn’t a match for him, and he gave it back to me ten times worse.” You tried to shrug it off, but still felt the ache in your bones where he laid a violent hand, your skin still searing with the memory of his temper. “I left with a backpack, and for the first time I really understood that I was just like my mother. Didn’t break a cycle, didn’t try harder, never did better. I went to county, got cleaned up, and couch surfed for a year. Spent all of the money I got for graduation and ended up washed up on his doorstep a year later, begging for forgiveness because I felt like I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I wasn’t ready to get sober, and I wasn’t going to face Patrick and Hunter in that state. I didn’t even look like myself, and to be honest, I wasn’t. That person, she is a stranger. Even though I haven’t been perfect, I was never that person again, and I thank fucking god for it every day.” You swiped away a few tears with your free hand. “Near the end of my stay with him, I had no idea how I was still alive, how I even made it to that point. I was death walking, wasting borrowed time on getting high and being a terrible person. Then one night, the world stopped.”

“What do you mean?” You continued staring out the window, barely hearing him as a steady roll of tears flooded your face.

Why were you still here to tell this story?

Why wasn’t that the end?

“Utah?” He asked again, begging to bring you back from wherever your mind took you. Still, you sat stoic, your misery bleeding you dry without remorse, making you wonder if you survived it solely to suffer the consequences. Death would be too easy, and this was your punishment. Recounting your horribleness to the most perfect, kind and loving man you had ever met. Even his gentleness was no match for your evil. You had made your bed, and it was time to lie in it.

“I did too much, I guess. I pushed my limit, took too many chances… was too confident in myself and overshot by miles, and other people took advantage of that. He took advantage of that, pawning me like property, like… fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut again, the same crawling on your skin making you ill as it grew. “I don’t remember a whole lot, still to this day… I remember how loud the music was, being in a bedroom that I couldn’t even recognize, and the weight. The hands.” You squeaked, sickened from the vaguest of memories you still had. “And when I started to OD, knocking on death's door, they still only cared about themselves. They dropped me off at the entrance of the emergency room, dumped me on the ground and left. They didn’t even tell anyone, or wait to see if someone would help. They didn’t care.”

“A nurse found me, called the code… they found six substances on my tox screen, two that I didn’t remember taking then, or ever before. How they saved me… I don’t know. It was a fucking miracle.” You were quiet as a mouse, unsure if you could keep talking yet knowing you had no other choice. “They called my mom, ‘cause she was still my emergency contact. All she did was laugh in their face and rub salt in the wound. She didn’t care, and she never did. Even she thought I should have died there, and for a real long fuckin’ time, so did I.”

The silence that hung between you was suffocating. Still, it wasn’t as painful as the ache in your chest, nor was it even close to the pain of telling him the truth.

“Hunter and Patrick found out… used their inheritance to draft a check for the best rehab in town. Spent six months coloring and suffering through group therapy, wondering why the hell they still cared after all I had put them through, angry yet knowing exactly why they never came to visit.” You cried silently, giving up on wiping your face clean as you understood it would never stay that way. “When I got out, I knew I couldn’t stay there. If I had any shot at getting better and staying that way, I had to leave. Nothing good ever came out of that fuckin’ place, and I should have left sooner. Figured I’d book it to New York, concrete jungle… chase my dreams and start over. Then I met fucking Vincent.” You spat his name with so much venom it caused Daniel to recoil ever so slightly.

“Trickin’ me into bed, hiding things and keeping secrets ‘till I was on his fucking hook, knowing exactly what would happen but doing it anyway ‘cause he only ever fuckin’ cared about himself.” You were vibrating with rage now, unable to swallow back the surplus of emotion filling your heart and overshadowing the sadness. “I fell for it, so I’m no better, but god does it make me mad. I feel like an idiot, always the one ending up like this when he walks away fine.”

“I didn’t stay straight when I came here, even if I wanted to. I fucked up a lot… few nights at the Pony could ruin anyone’s life. It’s always the same old fuckin’ story. Slip up, go down the drain, suffer it out in the detox box, and come back to the same old shithole to start over again. Watch Vincent OD, backslide. Get him sober, get myself sober, go to work in the morning like nothing happened. I feel like a fucking babysitter, always responsible for a grown man who acts like a fucking toddler. I wasted so much time loving him, so much time helping him, just for him to throw it in my face every goddamn time. He’s the only other person in the world who knows all of this shit… then he throws it in my face, for everyone to hear.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down before you got too deep into the anger.

“For a long time, it felt like love… the want to help someone because you care for them. Now, it just feels like an obligation, like he’ll die if I look away. Him and Dylan and I… we did everything together before you showed up, and you know… it was family. Always family, even when I hated them. If you’ve got no one to lean on in a world like this, you’re a dead man walking. We go to NA meetings together, work together, and spend our free time together. They took care of me, and I took care of them. Dylan never took it for granted, and he was always my biggest fan and my best friend… but Vincent always found a way to make it my fault, to make me feel responsible for everything.”

“I’d get him on a good week, and he was the best guy in the whole world. So loving and supportive and caring, like he wanted to be that way all of the time. He never apologized, but he tried to make up for it by just being there. ‘Till something happened, or he had a bad day, or I looked at him the wrong way, then I was the bad guy. Could never call him out on it, because he’d just call me crazy. Never had an idea about accountability, and never knew how to love someone. He’s got so many problems I’m surprised he even has the capacity to love at all.” You were venting now, rather than telling, but Daniel still sat and listened to every word, never once wanting to be anywhere else. “But when he did love me, it never felt like he truly loved me. Was always to get something from me, or make up for something shitty he said or did… I’m just the fucking idiot who fell for it. I spent my whole life desperate to be loved, so I settled for that, because the few days of good were worth it.”

“When I tried to pull back, he’d find a way to pull me back in, or he’d just be fucking miserable about it… trying to pit Dylan against me, too. When you asked, all those months ago, if he changed today would it make up for everything he’s done… Danny, nothing could ever make up for the shit he’s done. At the same time… I feel just as fucking responsible for where I am right now.”

“Why do you feel responsible?”

“Lots of reasons… for hanging on, for still caring, not knowing how to let go. He wants me stuck in the cycle and I feed into it. I fight back, I hit first even knowing what’s going to happen. He just… it makes me feel so crazy I can’t stop myself from fighting. He knows how much this stuff bothers me, and he said all of those horrible things in front of everyone tonight, and it wasn’t just to air out my dirty laundry. He said it because you were there, because he wanted you to think those things about me too, so I’d be stuck with him when you ran. He can’t have me now, so his grand idea is to get everyone to leave me so he’s the only thing I have left.”

“Utah, you know that I’m not running, right?” He asked, his voice just as quiet. “When he said all of that stuff, not for a second did I think he was right.” You finally turned to look at him again, every ounce of pain apparent in your eyes and telling of all of your misery.

“But he is.” You choked out, horrified at the thought but knowing Daniel still deserved the truth. “I’m a washed up fucking junkie, trying to fix everyone else while I drown under my own shit. I pushed everyone away, made everyone’s life hell, even when all they did was love me. I’m no saint, and I’m not even good. He was right, and so was my fucking mother. I’m everything that I never wanted to be, and I don’t know how to stop.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to contain some of the emotion begging to break free. “I can’t write a fucking book, I can’t love someone without violence, I can’t stop fucking up and hurting people… I can’t even stay sober, for Christ’s sake.”

“Y/N,” he nearly laughed, appalled that you could say such things about yourself. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Brazen with his response and unwilling to back down, he made it a point to challenge everything you once believed about yourself. “What you went through… for you to still be… Jesus, Utah. The fact that you’re sitting here talking to me right now amazes me. After tonight alone, I can’t believe you could say those things about yourself.” With wide, bloodstained eyes you watched as he took his turn to talk, not expecting that sort of response at all. “You are the strongest, most resilient, admirable person I have ever met.”

“Danny, please don’t—“

“No.” He cut you off, ignoring your pleas for him to be passive. “I’ve been quiet for too long. I’m done hiding how I feel, Utah. You can call us whatever you want, pick whatever label you like, if any, but it doesn’t change anything about us. I’m not going to bite my tongue and hold back what I think because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Stop.” You pleaded, pulling your knees to your chest in some inadvertent and humiliating way to protect your heart. ��If you say it, it changes everything.”

“No it doesn’t, Y/N.” He argued. “It doesn’t change anything, especially if we’ve been feeling this way the whole time.”

“Danny, stop for a second and think—“

“I’m thinking! I think about it every minute of every day, Utah. Thinking about how fucking amazing you are, how perfect you are for me. I don’t think you’re broken, and I don’t think you’re bad. I think you’re a girl that’s been through hell and back, that’s too fucking stubborn for her own good, who won’t let herself believe that someone could actually feel this way about her. You’re not a nuisance, you’re certainly not bad for me, and you are the very thing I’ve been waiting for. I don’t know if you feel the same about me, but I sit up every night and I pray that you do—“

“God, stop it!” You exploded, the scratch of your throat agonizing as you cried out. Panic was pulsing in your fingertips, crazing you like a trapped animal facing a predator. “Can’t you fucking see that I ruin everything? That I hurt everyone I touch? That I’m a fucking mess, and you deserve so much more?”

“What is it, Y/N?” He asked, responding much calmer than you could at the moment.

“What is what?” Exasperated and exhausted, you needed him to be direct.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to say it.”

“I can’t hear it and I can’t say it because I can’t handle it if you decide to stop.” You finally confessed the biggest thing you had kept secret from him. “I feel it, Danny. I feel it everywhere, in everything, all of the time. I can’t stop feeling it, no matter if you’re around or not, but I’m so fucking scared of it. You just listened to my miserable life story, and you’re still here, wanting to say it just as bad as I do. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone like you could feel that way about someone like me. I can’t wrap my head around the fact you want to stay, because I have no idea why.”

“Then let me tell you.” He pleaded, his soft brown eyes speaking straight to your soul. The profound emotion in his gaze nearly stopped your heart.

If you ever wanted to overcome these struggles, you had to let him help you. You had to listen, to learn, and above all, you had to believe him.

“Okay.” You whispered, keeping your defensive stance but opening your mind just enough to consider his perspective. He seemed hesitant, nervous that you might go back on your word, but your eyes showed that you wanted to know, that you wanted to understand why the hell he thought so highly of you.

“Do you believe in fate, Utah?” He started slow, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Not particularly, but I’m starting to see why people do.” Looking at him, still caring and still present after everything, you could not refute such a notion. Something of a higher power ensured the two of you would cross paths, and you could no longer ignore the universe pointing you in the right direction. He walked into your life for a reason, and it was none that you previously believed. Maybe, just maybe, he was an apology for all of the horrendous things you had experienced in the past, the very thing that would make you believe that better was possible.

“I swear to god, Utah, whatever it was that pulled me towards that dinner was irrefutable. I didn’t want to be anywhere else—I couldn’t be anywhere else. Sam thought I was fucking crazy for being so adamant about eating there, but it all made sense as soon as I saw you. I had been looking for… for this, for my whole life. I told you on your birthday that I came to New York for a reason, and I know for certain that reason was you. You turned my whole fucking world upside down, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brushed a lock of hair away from your face, the gentleness of his fingers sending a shiver down your spine. Never, in your entire life, had anyone loved you gently.

“You are the most stubborn, self-assured, independent woman I have ever met. You don’t lean on anyone, and you never ask for help, but I want you to trust that even if you never ask, I always know. I want to be the one who knows, who’s there when you need help, even if you never admit it. I never had any intentions of leaving you behind, Utah, because it would be the stupidest thing I have ever done. Letting someone like you go… is not even an option.” His hand still lingered on your cheek, so light and soft that when you closed your eyes, you could almost forget it was there.

“I’ve never met anyone so real… so unafraid and so resilient. You’re smarter than anyone I know, you’re witty and always have something to say, to challenge. I’m attracted to you Utah, I know you know that, but I am amazed by you more than anything else. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but you are the type of person everyone wants to fall in love with. After being burned, after all of the hurt, all you want to do is love and help people. You advocate for issues everyone is scared to talk about, you never back down from a fight, even if it’s better for you, and you do it all without any benefit to yourself. You are so brave and so strong, and you do all of it while still smiling, even if you don’t want to be.”

“After everything Vincent has put you through, you still went to the Pony and you stayed by his side, and I don’t think you’re stupid for it. Utah, that was the most selfless thing anyone could do, and knowing how difficult it would be for you, you did it anyway. What happened when you were a kid, what happened when you were struggling, and what just happened tonight is not your fault. Baby, it was never you that was unlovable. In my opinion, I don’t think you could ever be unlovable. The people that came before me never deserved you. I don’t know the ones from Utah, but I know Vincent, and I know he’s never been worth your time.” You could tell he was holding back on that subject, unsure of how much he should say in case he crossed a boundary he couldn’t come back from.

“It’s okay.” You whispered. “You can tell me how you feel.”

“I feel… that he’s an egotistical, arrogant, selfish fucking idiot. I feel that if he lays a hand on you again, we will not be sitting here talking about it. I feel that he made you feel like you deserve nothing when you deserve everything. I feel that he didn’t deserve you and he never will, that he should get the worst that life has to offer, and that he deserves to watch me love you the way you deserve, the way I do love you.” He paused, getting angrier the longer he spoke. He was trying to remain calm, to voice his feelings in a way that would not make you fear his emotions like you feared Vincent’s, but you knew in every context, he could never be Vincent. “I love you, Utah, and I don’t fucking care if you want to hear it or not. I love you for all that you are, every version of you—past and present, and hopefully future. I want to spend everyday with you, doing literally anything. When you’re beside me, the world feels right. That feeling isn’t going to go away, and I don’t ever want it to. I love you, Utah, and more than I’ve ever loved anyone else.”

“Michigan,” you breathed out, suffocating a sob as it tried to pass your lips.

“Utah, if you said the word, I’d take you to Nashville right now. I’d take you away from all of this, give you a life where you don’t have to wonder if you’re loved, one where hurting isn’t normal. That’s all you’ll ever know if you give me the chance, and I can promise you that. Baby, even if we had nothing, no money, no place to stay, I would feel like the richest man in the world as long as I had you.”

“Danny, you need to know what you’re getting yourself into.” You whispered, your hand back in his and suddenly the ache in your chest seemed less severe. “I am not that perfect person, and even if I’m doing better now, I might not always be doing this well. I fuck up, and I make the wrong choices, and sometimes it feels like drugs are the only thing that will ever matter to me. I love that you love me so completely, so selflessly, and I’ve been begging for someone like you my entire life, but I still have a lot of work to do to be better. I still go to NA meetings regularly… and I lied to you. I lied to you about all of this because I was too scared to tell the truth.” You paused, gulping down a large breath.

“That first day we ever hung out… I didn’t have a fucking doctors appointment, Danny. I haven’t been to a doctor in years, because I can’t fucking afford it. I was at the NA hall because I woke up and knew that if I didn’t go, I’d be right back at square one. I wanted to use so bad I completely forgot we had plans.” You huffed out a sigh, appalled at your behavior and remorseful that you dragged him into such a mess. “I fucked myself up forever, mentally and physically. I destroyed and betrayed myself for nothing, and I know I’d do it again without a second thought. I’m not the girl of your dreams—fuck, I don’t even think I can have kids, Danny. I can’t give you the life you deserve, even if so badly I wish I could. I can’t promise to be good forever, and I don’t want you to suffer through it.”

“Utah, I want to be here. I want to suffer through everything with you, and you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m going to celebrate with you, too… and be bored, and mad, and sad and all of the things, because it’s worth it to me.” He explained, his lips pressed tightly together as he formulated his next sentence. “I knew, Utah. From the very beginning. The key tags, the tokens on your bedside, the involvement in all of the political issues, the evasiveness, the hurt and betrayal you felt because of Vincent’s addiction, the bathroom at the Pony. I knew what I was getting into, Y/N. I wasn’t going in blind.”

Of course he knew.

He wasn’t stupid, and you were a terrible liar.

The disappearing at the same time through the week, the emblem embossed on the surface of the leather key tags, the tokens sitting right by your bedside so you can look to them first thing in the morning, the sour candy, the three drink limit you gave yourself every time you went for dinner, the Oxy in the bathroom, the pictures and the journals. He knew, but he wanted to hear it from you before he said anything. He loved you enough to be patient, to be understanding and willing to learn. He didn’t think you were a bad person, and he wasn’t afraid.

So why were you still so afraid?

The burns from the past were fresh, but the longer you spent beside him the less they seemed to ache.

“I want to be there when you publish your book. I want to be the person you lean on when you get tired. I want to protect you, to keep you safe. I want it all, Utah. I really, truly do. You mean so much to me, and I don’t care about those things. Kids with someone else… wouldn’t even feel right, because it means I would have to give you up. You are so much more than you think you are and I am willing to go through every up and down with you because I love you.” He continued, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand as a physical reminder of the truth.”

He believed in you, he trusted you, and he loved you.

How beautiful it is to be loved at all, but especially so when it was by him.

“God, Danny,” you sniffled, swiping the puddles from your under eyes. Your chest was tight, your bones aching and your skin burning. “I just… I’m scared. I’ve never been loved like this—it’s never felt like this before.” He gave a hum, agreeing with you, knowing exactly why. You turned to face him, finding yourself lost in the sea of brown once again. The soft twinkle of his irises under the lowlight felt like a spell casted over you.

It didn’t matter how afraid you were, because it would never overshadow how you felt about him.

You promised him the truth, and if you continued to swallow it down, you would lose him indefinitely.

You had to tell him. You had to trust him.

“I love you, Michigan.” You whispered. “I love you so much, and I never planned for this, but I’m so happy it happened. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want you to be that person for me, and I want to be that person for you.” You confessed, feeling more tears fall to replace the ones you wiped away. “Everyone that came before… I thought that I loved them, but I don’t think I did. Never, ever has it felt like this.”

“Come here.” He said, unbuckling your seatbelt with haste. With his help, you climbed over the center console and made yourself comfortable in his lap. You extended your legs to the passenger seat, resting your head on his shoulder as he held you close to him. You could feel the thud of his heart against his chest, slow and steady as the heat of his body soothed your tired soul. “I want to figure it out with you, Utah. Just let me do it.”

“Okay.” You whispered, giving a gentle nod. His hands on your body felt so soft, so inviting and nothing like the violent ones that were around your neck just hours before. He held you with every ounce of love and affection he had in his body, cradling you with respect as he silently showed you how much you meant to him. “I want to do that, too.”

All of a sudden, Ventura Highway floating through the speakers was no longer an evocative ode to the version of you that you would never be again; instead, it carried you through the softest and tenderest moment of your entire life, serving as an anthem for the freedom you found within his company. The world felt right sitting in his arms, like no hurt could touch you and made all the pain that came before obsolete. You knew, without a doubt, this was where you wanted to spend your days. Being held by him, being loved by him. It would never be like the conditional and violent love that came before, the possessiveness or the toxicity.

It was just love, the way that it was intended to be felt.

“Can I call you my girlfriend, or is that too much?” He asked, his tone light and soft, joking as he tried to lessen the tension in the air.

“No, I think that’s okay.” You confirmed, twisting a stray curl around your index finger. “I would like it a lot, actually.”

“Me, too.” He hummed an agreement. “If we’re going to do this, I do have a few rules though.” He added, unwilling to back down. You gave a muted hum, too exhausted to speak any further. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me anymore. You don’t have to. I always want to listen and I always want to help. You’re not alone anymore.”

“Okay.” You thought that one was easy enough, something you should have done from the very beginning and would do everything in your power to follow through with from here on out.

“I want you to keep telling me stories, to help me understand better. You’re right—we are different, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it. I want you to help me understand, so I can help you.”

“Okay.” You repeated, still intently focused on the lock of hair wrapped around your finger.

“No more Vincent.”

The silence came back, this time heavier and stronger than the last.

Although the thought of cutting Vincent off entirely hurt to think about, you would no longer pick Vincent over Daniel. You never should have done it in the first place. Tonight was the morbid end to an even darker era, and even if agreeing to the fact hurt, it was for the best.

“Okay.” You agreed.

“I just… it’s not healthy. I’m not jealous, Utah. I know you want to be with me… but being around him, letting him in… it’s not safe, and I will not let that happen again.” You both knew what he meant, and you both knew he was right. “I know you work with him so it might be hard, but after what I saw, I know that Dylan has your back.”

“He does.”

“I’m glad you have him, Y/N.”

“Me too.” You agreed. Dylan, undoubtedly, was the best thing that had happened to you until Daniel walked into your life. You were forever grateful for his friendship, even if the circumstances in which he showed you his loyalty were unfortunate. “Is that it?” You asked, unsure if earning his love could be so simple.

“One more.” He replied, his large hands resting just under the hem of your shirt, the skin-to-skin serving as a bigger comfort than anything else. “Well, two.”

“Okay.” You managed a small chuckle, unable to refute his charm even if you felt like the world was ending.

“I want you to get checked out at the hospital. I wanted to take you before, but I knew you wouldn’t let me.” At that, you grimaced, knowing you couldn’t foot the bill even if it was just for a simple check up. “Please, Utah?”

“Yeah, alright.” You cleared your throat, figuring that it would just add up on top of the old ones. Hopefully someday you would be able to tackle them. “Last one?”

“I want to come to an NA meeting with you.” He said. “I don’t know about this stuff, Utah, but I want to learn. I want to be there for you, to support you and to love you.” He explained further. “If you want that, of course. I want you to be comfortable.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, mulling over the idea in your mind for a moment. It wouldn’t be hard to bring him, and certainly no worse than the things you had told him already. In fact, it might be nice to have someone with you, someone who cared. It would help him learn how to help you, and from what you could see, that’s all he wanted to do.

To be loved is to be seen.

To be loved is to be heard.

To be loved is to be known.

To be loved is to be changed.

He saw you, he heard you, he knew you.

It was time for you to allow yourself to be changed, and to do it with him by your side seemed to be the most pleasant way to do it.

“Yeah,” you even managed a small smile. “I think that would be alright, Michigan.”

“Okay.” He hummed, resting his head against yours ever so gently.

“So, that’s it?” You asked, your hand lowering to his bicep as he pulled you closer. “Does this change anything?” You couldn’t help but inquire, unsure what the next steps would be.

“No, Utah… I really don’t think it does.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, a small smile on his lips as he did so.

In all truthfulness, you really didn’t feel like it changed anything either. The only thing you had ever done since meeting him was love him. The only thing he had ever done since meeting you was love you. The only thing that changed was your willingness to let him, and your willingness to say it aloud.

After an entire lifetime of begging for it, the cycle was finally deconstructed, one small anecdote at a time. You could only hope that you were strong enough to follow through with it, that you really were the person he thought you were. Now that you had a taste of what it was like to be truly loved, you could never imagine returning to a life of being unloved ever again.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco @aintthatapity @dont-go-home-without-me @dyslexicchild13 @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama

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baejax-the-great · 2 years ago

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If we are talking poison/healing/whatever drugs, here is how administration is ranked by speed of effect:

Inhalation/smoking

Intravenously (aka an injection specifically into a vein--this is different than an epipen, for example, which is an intramuscular or sometimes a subcutaneous injection)

Snorting a powder

Other injections-- Intramuscular or subcutaneous

Suppository

Ingesting a liquid (faster if on an empty stomach)

Eating

It takes about an hour for anything to get through your stomach, though this will be highly dependent on whether or not food has been consumed recently. Drug absorption does not occur until a drug has passed from the stomach to the small intestine. Oral administration of an antidote could be useful when the drug/poison was administered in food--depending on what kind of antidote it is, it can bind the poison rendering it unable to be absorbed or blocking whatever mechanism of action it has, or prevent it from being broken down into toxic metabolites, and it can do this in the stomach before the poison has reached the victim's system.

Without an antidote, if a poison has been swallowed, purging is the next best solution. Get as much out of the system as you can before it's absorbed and hope whatever was absorbed was not enough to kill you.

These two methods are fully useless for an inhaled poison. Inhaling an antidote is an option, nasally or possibly through a nebulizer or something like that. IV admin of an antidote would also work fairly quickly and is A+ for getting your hero out of a bind. IM injection, like an epipen, also works fairly quickly. Anything else will be pretty slow, so depending on how quick/devastating the poison is, you'll be SOL.

In the real world, an example of this is Narcan (Nalaxone). Used in the case of an opiate overdose, it can be administered intramuscularly, intranasally (inhaled), or intravenously. Anything else would be too slow to be effective.

IM injections are preferred over IV because any person with a hand can work it. Best case scenario, you apply alcohol to the skin of the thigh, belly, or occasionally the sort of bottom meaty part of your upper arm, wait for it to evaporate, and then jab that sucker in. Most people are not trained to find veins.

All of that said, in a magical world with magical items with magical healing properties, you know, you do you. If drinking a potion can mend a bone, I don't see why it couldn't stop a poison. But inhaling that potion might work faster. And eating a solid will never quickly remedy a poison that is already in the blood.

#`writing ref #god digestive tract is NOT my specialty #much better at knowing how poisons attack central nervous system #every single fast acting poison is gonna attack your motorneurons/NMJ/muscle in order to stop breathing/heartbeat #all that blood leakage shit is nonsense #drugs #poison #yes I'm THAT irritated by shadow and bone that I looked up fucking digestive tract bullshit in order to make sure I remembered college bio #needles #injection #sorry tried to tw this post hope i caught the worst of it #opiate mention

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cleaverqueer · 1 year ago

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Working on a 'Nalaxone Carrier' patch for the jacket I'm keeping it in :)

#think its gonna stay on Romeo #and ill just wear it exclusively til i get enough doses to carry it in my other jackets

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egopathic · 2 years ago

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Hi! Would you mind tagging the nalaxone post for drugs? Thank you

i am absolutely not fucking doing that.

i will not trigger tag a post about opioid overdose awareness so that actual addicts/people who know addicts can’t see it. seems pretty shortsighted, stupid and selfish. block me.

everyone else: look into getting some free naloxone/narcan from your local pharmacy, please.

#questions and answers #this is making me froth at the mouth

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kohakuhibiki · 1 year ago

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Look post self nalaxone, tsé chu presque cute genre.

#c'est fucking grim mais calisse que le monde #des fois #y #se #magazine des ti clacks

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fallen-grace-smd · 2 years ago

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Odd stuff I do for my writing

"My boyfriend is overdosing on DDT!"

"Where did he get DDT?"

"I don't know but he drank 3 liters. Get the nalaxone."

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bunnygrl-femme · 3 months ago

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Carry this stuff, even if you don’t use!!!

Seriously. I cary nalaxone (generic Narcan) and fentanyl test strips, and the most only substances I use are alcohol and the occasional THC gummy.

But I care about my friends, neighbors, fellow party-goers who do want to use. And if I can help reduce the risk, potentially save a LIFE, by carrying a nasal spray and a test strip, both of which fit in the little pocket of my purse? Of COURSE I’m going to do that!!

Learn how to administer nalaxone. Learn how to use test strips. Distribute them to your friends. Keep the party going, reduce the harm, help your community 💕

I know i’m functionally a gay DARE officer at this point but I do in fact feel some sort of way about Cocaine being back in vogue. Surely I sound like a square + narc and I’ll concede ok do whatever you want, nobody can materially stop another person from using drugs if they really want to 🤷🏻 I don’t really care that it’s hip to do party drugs, moreso I want to articulate a general level of caution and concern that I never see a sidecar of harm reduction and safe using practices along with the commonplace clips of people straight up snorting coke I’ve seen for “brat summer!!!1!!”

You 🫵 are not immune to ingesting fentanyl or any number of other additives. Do you think drugs at the gay club are different than the drugs people are taking under bridges and in gutters? I promise they’re not! So if you want to use drugs and continue being alive, do your part to be safe. Protecting yourself protects others and your community.

Do not accept drugs from strangers. Test your drugs with fentanyl test strips. Carry narcan and know how to administer it. Never use alone. Have an exit strategy if you’re using drugs in a public space. Know the contact information for your local harm reduction groups, overdose emergency hotline, and if you need/want it, addiction treatment orgs. This is all the bare minimum for community care if you intend to be out in the world using drugs. Mainly I encourage you all to be buzzkills if it means you don’t have to die of an accidental overdose. Overdose is the leading cause of death for Americans under 40. I have a whole lot of social workers in my network and however bad you think the synthetic opioid crisis is, it’s worse. The war stories I’ve heard from my people on the ground are… The shit of nightmares. Don’t let it be you or anybody you love.

If you live in the state of Georgia, DM me for a longer list of resources.

Fentanyl information (harm reduction.org)

Get Narcan

How to use fentanyl test strips

Call 311 to find out where to get Narcan in your community at no cost to you

#public health #harm reduction #addiction

23K notes · View notes

builtbybrokenbells · 3 months ago

Text

belladonna | vi

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC, OC X OC

Word Count: 23k

Warnings: Please heed the warnings carefully and understand that the scenes and themes in this chapter can be extremely triggering and/or upsetting to some readers. This is a detailed and extensive list, but please inform me if I miss something, and it will be added immediately.

ALL OC—Overdoses, active OD/mentions of previous OD, graphic scenes/descriptions of overdose (stimulants & narcotics), heavy descriptions of addictions/addicts/addict behavior, use of/heavy mentions of drug use (stimulants/narcotics), heavy mentions of relapsing, trauma bonds, abusive/toxic romantic relationships, descriptions of toxic/abusive parents, PTSD/CPTSD behaviors/reactions/explanations, dissociation, shock/descriptions of being in shock, trauma, triggered trauma responses, near death experiences, suicidal ideation, mentions of/toxic/abusive relationships, mentions of death/dying, brief mentions of seizures, absent parents, death of a parent, parents with active addictions, missing persons, police stations/reports, neglect of children, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, gambling, brief mentions of guns/bullets, poverty, crying, mentions of homelessness, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood/scenes with blood/bleeding, vomit, extreme emotional distress, mentions of cheating, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, fighting, yelling, name calling, insults, drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles

Emergency substance abuse hotline (US): 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Canadian Mental Health and Addictions Phone Line: 1-833-553-6983

Virtual NA meetings and support (worldwide)

Canada’s complete comprehensive list of addiction helplines, inpatient/outpatient programs, and family support per province | UNITED STATES

Remember, no matter what is portrayed in fiction or media, the safest course of action for anyone suffering from an overdose (accidental or intentional) is to call 911.

Hi everyone. I think an apology and explanation is due before we get too far into this. This chapter is the main reason for my sudden absence from Tumblr, and after 28 days of writing this and trying my best to perfect and encapsulate the feelings and emotions of this particular chapter, I finally found the courage to post it and share it with you. This chapter is incredibly personal to me, as is every emotion and scene within it. When I started writing belladonna, I knew I would be putting myself on display through my writing in a way i have never done with you before. As I sit and edit this chapter, I’ve learned that sometimes being on display and relating to others is the only way for me to heal and work through this.

This chapter is course, gritty, a bit gruesome, and fictional, as much as it is based on real life events that happen to many people behind closed doors. When opting to write about my struggles with addiction, I never wanted to come on here and sugarcoat a disease that is vile, cruel, gross and above all, deadly. I have been very lucky to be blessed with so many friends and supporters when I started posting on here, and your love has bled the courage into me. This particular story has been incredibly cathartic for me, even if writing it has been painful by times. It is my hope that by telling a story about my own struggle, that maybe somehow I can reach someone who has felt the same or been through something similar and help them. Love is the only way through, as is being honest and transparent, and I hope my honesty is conveyed and that my love for you all is so apparent in everything I do and post.

Please heed the warnings at read at your own discretion. Kindly send me a message if I have missed anything. Please send me a message if you need an ear. I love you all so very much. 🤍 be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes.

June 29, 2022 - 2:15 AM

“Holy shit, Utah.” Danny huffed out a breath, his drooping eyes tired yet somehow still full of life. He was eyeing the stack of your old journals he piled high, still collecting them from boxes shoved in the corner of your living room. “When you say you write a lot, you really mean it.”

“Always have.” You shrugged, sitting cross-legged on a kitchen chair as you watched your brand new vinyl records spin round and round. Your bloodshot eyes were an obvious indicator of your high, and the giggles that fell from your lips when you heard the crackle of dust under the needle only solidified it. The joints Dylan and Vincent gifted you were top notch, and half of one (shared, of course) nearly had you on your ass.

You looked back over your shoulder, a lazy smile on your lips as your gaze landed on Danny. He was sitting on the floor, eyes wide as he continued to place the books atop each other in a makeshift Jenga tower. It was tilted to the left, swaying under the weight of every new book he added as it threatened to collapse. He seemed to notice it too, taking the initiative to start a separate pile right next to it, determined to do the same thing all over again.

“Most of those came with me from Utah. Well, arrived from Utah, I guess.” You corrected yourself. He looked to you, his head cocked to the side as he awaited an explanation, knowing very little about your travels to New York. “When I moved here, I really only had one bag. Some clothes, my laptop, and the journal I was currently using… and one empty one. I was determined to get the hell out of there, and that meant I didn’t really have a whole lot of time to plan… or pack.” You explained, giggling at the painful memory. Right now, you were floating, happier than you had ever been—the sorrows that backpacked to New York with you seemed far away, like it had little effect on you anymore, even if you knew it would haunt you along with the sobriety the morning brought. “I hitchhiked to Salt Lake, bought a bus ticket with the last money left in my account and left on the next one out.”

“I spent my first few weeks at a shelter until I got back on my feet. I applied for some jobs, and John took a chance on me at the Fox. He helped me out of a shit place, and some days I really feel like I owe him my life. Once I had employment, I was able to apply for subsidized housing, which landed me here.” You continued, your eyes fluttering closed as ‘Dirty Work’ spun to a close for the hundredth time that night. “When I got my first paycheck from the Fox, I called my brothers up and told them I’d cover all the fees for them to pack up my stuff and ship it out… plus a little extra for having to deal with our mother while they cleaned out my room.” At that, he gave a little laugh, agreeing with the fact despite how little he knew about her.

“But, they’re the best, and instead of mailing it out, they stuffed Patrick’s mini-van full of boxes and drove 32 hours to get here.” You rolled your eyes, remembering how angry you were with them for wasting their money and time to do so.

“By that expression, makes me believe they aren’t the best.” Danny gave a soft smile, picking up on your mannerisms long before now. Studying you had proved interesting—everything he learned only made him more confused and even more intrigued. You had the ability to make a good thing seem horrible, and the worst of things seem like a walk in the park.

“No, they definitely are.” You conceded, lifting the needle and placing it back to the second song on the first side of the vinyl. By the rate you were going, your copy of the album would look the same as your childhood one did, but you didn’t care. It had been years since you got to experience the song on vinyl, and you weren’t ready to give up the even happier version of the old memory.

You and Danny had driven Sam back to the Airbnb in the early afternoon, only to go for dinner at a fancy restaurant and blunder around the busy streets of New York, hand in hand. You returned back to your apartment, leftovers in small takeout containers and your heart more full than your belly. You sat on the couch, a complete tangle of limbs as you watched the sun sink through the windows Sam had coined as beautiful.

Eventually, you smoked the joint previously mentioned, and landed on the living room floor as you let him dig through boxes of your old life. It made it easy for him to know you better, without the struggle of you having to tell him all of it.

“Hunter and Patrick… they’re too good to me. Always have been. If not for them, I'm sure I wouldn’t have survived. Before I moved here, I wasn’t in a very good spot—the worst I’ve ever been actually, and they stuck by my side even when they shouldn’t have. This… New York was my final step in getting better, and it hurt them to see me leave, but they were so proud. Seeing them here, after everything I put them through, was a lot. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. We had a really good few days, but leaving them behind hurt me enough, and watching them leave me behind nearly killed me.” You continued, resting your chin on your hand and feeling your elbow dig further into your knee. You were high enough that the pressure didn’t phase you.

“Why did you have to leave?” He asked, not knowing he was prodding at the most painful part of your entire history. Still, you cared for him enough to try, even if you weren’t ready to give him everything.

“I was mixed up with a bad crowd, and it was starting to take a toll on me. Mentally, I was just… gone. Completely numb and exhausted, and didn’t really care what happened to me. Think everything that happened at my mother’s house, when we were kids, it finally caught up to me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I didn’t. I shoved it so far down and masked it with coping mechanisms that only seemed to hurt me more. Bandaids when I needed stitches… or in some cases, to cut the whole limb off.” You gave a dry chuckle as you looked out the window, noticing a few twinkling stars above the city smog.

“You can talk about it, if you want.” He whispered, still stacking the journals but with much less enthusiasm. You believed he was only doing it in an attempt to keep his hands busy and look less interested than he truly was. If you felt too invested in such hard topics for too long, you had a tendency to back off or shut down.

As he did so, a picture fell out from one of the books, fluttering to the ground as his eyes followed it. He placed the book atop the growing tower, reaching down and picking up the Polaroid to get a closer look. He squinted, the low light of the room making if difficult to decipher the picture he held in his hand. After a moment, he let out a small gasp of shock.

“Utah, is this you?” He asked, catching your attention. Carefully, he stood, walking to your side as he flashed the photo in your direction. You grabbed it from him, looking for only a moment before feeling a wave of sickness twist your stomach.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat of its rasp, feeling the scratch of smoke still affecting it. “Not long after high school.” In the picture, yours and your brother's faces were all squeezed into the frame, cheek to cheek as you smiled as wide as you could.

It was a beautiful memory, a part of your old life that you missed so dearly; being with your brothers through thick and thin, never experiencing any troubles on your lonesome. Seeing it made you sad, feeling the year and a half of loneliness creep up on you all at once. At the same time, a different wave of sadness washed over you, seeing a picture of a woman you forever wished to run away from.

Your face was gaunt, pale and tired. The bags under your eyes were bold, and there were a collection of small scabs on your cheeks from your constant skin-picking. Your lips were chapped, dry and cracked, and your eyes themselves held no life or light. Your teeth looked brittle even through the still picture, making you run your tongue over the back of them instinctively (a deadly habit you had picked up after you started to sober up, reminding you why you needed to stay sober.) You knew they’d only worsened since then, reminding you of one of your biggest insecurities. Your face was slender, no fat left on the bones that were nearly poking through the skin (that appeared to be hanging off). Your hair was dry, thin, and brittle. It looked as though you could break it all off with a single tug.

The picture was taken at the height of your addiction, just after graduation when you moved out of your mothers house and had a taste of full-fledged freedom. Issue was, you had only ever known how to abuse it. Your graduation money went towards a half years worth of fixes, and nowhere near any kind of post-secondary education. Your brothers were happy that you were alive, but you could see the worry etched deep into their features.

You wondered if Danny noticed the things you did, if he cared as much as you did. When you looked up at him, you noticed him studying the photo with a glimmer of admiration in his eye, forcing you to realize he could never view you in the same light you saw yourself in.

“You look so different.” He noted, his eyebrows furrowed with curiosity. He seemed to be trying to place the obvious disconnect between you and the younger version of yourself, but he was struggling.

“I was different.” You answered it for him. “Completely different person, and hopefully won’t ever be that one again.” You continued, wondering if he would pick up on your subtle hints and figure it out himself. You still dreaded the day you would have to explain to him the entirety of your story.

You were dying of a sickness more sinister than he could comprehend, and in the photograph, you were clinging to life by a thread. You looked ten years older than you did now, and you weren’t even surprised he did not recognize you upon first glance.

“And these are your brothers?” He asked, noticing the glaring similarities in your faces. You gave a hum of agreement, nodding ever so slightly. “You all look so much alike.”

“My parents weren’t good for much, but they sure knew how to make carbon copies of themselves.” You joked, handing the Polaroid back to him and effectively ending the conversation.

He walked back to his earlier post, catching the hint and going along with it. When he sat down again, you faced the window and leaned forward, using your strength to unlatch the lock on them. When they pulled free, the rusted hinges let out a tired groan, and you pushed it open. The screenless opening pelted you in the face with warm summer air, causing you to take a long inhale and let the wind breathe courage through you. At the same time, little to your knowledge, Danny had stopped stacking the worn and well used books, instead picking one from the top and flipping it open. Even if you knew what he was doing, you wouldn’t have stopped him. Now, the two of you were close enough that whatever was written would come out eventually.

Now stuck thinking about the photo and your brothers, you were plagued with a feeling that only ever seemed to eat away at you. You thought of Danny’s earlier words, about talking if you wanted to. You decided that for once, you would say it aloud instead of letting the noise suffocate you.

“My mom was a monster.” You eventually spoke, the chirp of crickets filling your ears, covering the crinkle of garbage that the crows were picking through. He froze, his eyes flickering from the scrawl of the journal pages to you, only to realize you weren’t even looking in his direction. “God, that feels good to say out loud.” You laughed, feeling lighter just from the small confession alone.

“Keep going.” He urged, wanting you to know the safety of your heart if you were to place it in his hands. You were afraid, but you knew if you chose to confide in him, you wouldn’t regret it. So far, you hadn’t, and he showed no sign of slowing down.

“She was everything a mom shouldn’t be. She used fists instead of words… insults instead of advice, and she was absent even though she was always right there. I don’t think she ever really had any desire to have kids or start a family, it just happened. Patrick was an accident, and Hunter was even more so. Me? I was the mistake. Least that’s what she always said, anyway.” As you spoke, he flipped through the journal and skimmed the lines, desperate for a taste of the woman you used to be. “She was an alcoholic, a user, an abuser, and the biggest bully I’ve ever met. Her and my dad met in high school, when they were real young and stupid, and made three irreversible mistakes. They bought a poor excuse for a house for dirt cheap when she got knocked up with Patrick, and dad skipped out for the first time not long after.” He was listening, and you knew that. So, without stopping, you continued to tell a tale you had sworn to never speak of again. You traced the scarred stick and poke on your finger as you formulated your thoughts.

“By the time I was four, my parents were so dysfunctional and broken that they almost had no choice but to put it on us. My mom dabbled in some drugs, but her kryptonite was always the bottle. My dad, though… he was a fan of anything he could get his hands on. He was gone more often than not, and every time he came back, he was barely recognizable. Just when we started to get used to the newest version him, he’d disappear and it would start all over again. I remember sitting in the living room, comforting my mom while she cried until it eventually turned to anger. It didn’t take long for me to learn when to hide.” His eyes flickered to you, but he didn’t dare interrupt.

“My dad went missing when I was five—a sad little lapse of time when we didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Mom started to worry when he was gone longer than usual, and he wasn’t asking for money or breaking in to steal and pawn off our TV. We went down to the police station to file a report, just to be safe. I remember sitting with the chief, and he gave me this little teddy bear… it was ratty and was missing an ear, but it was mine. First thing that was ever just mine, you know? For a few years, I carried it with me everywhere, ‘till my mom got pissed off at me for something and threw it out.” You paused, your face burning as you recounted the worst years of your life. You still missed that damn teddy bear with everything in you, and you probably always would.

But it was never about the teddy bear at all. It was always about the lack of love you received from the one person who should have gave you the most.

Your chest ached with a fervor, and for a moment you thought you might finally succumb to the pain. Still, you persevered and gave him everything you were willing to dish out.

“He came back around, though. He always did. He wasn’t dead, but he did hop the state line to hide from some people he owed money to. He looked rough, but it didn’t take long for us to get used to that version of him, just like always. He stuck around for a little bit, and we all kind of thought he was going to stay that time. Just before Christmas that year, him and my mom really got into it. It was the worst they’d ever fought, and we saw a lot from them. Screaming, breaking things…” you trailed off, your eyes glossy from emotion rather than substance as they flickered to the street below you. Not even tracing the poorly done tattoo served you any comfort. “We all went downstairs to break it up, just like always, but before I got to the bottom of the stairs, Patrick picked me up and brought me back to my room. Told me to hide in the closet until he came back for me. I still don’t know what they saw that night, but it must have been bad.”

“And that was the last time I saw my dad.” You concluded, swallowing back bile as you ignored your racing heart and sweaty palms. You figured for sure he thought you were crazy, that he was already planning an excuse to get the hell out because he couldn’t deal with your shit anymore, but neither of those things were true.

“Ever?” He asked, his eyes twinkling with a saddening curiosity. He hated to pry, but he was so damn determined to know you he jumped at the chance to learn more. You looked back over your shoulder, shocked at his question and wondering if he was feigning interest in hopes to make it less awkward. When you saw the sincerity in his face, you almost doubled over in pain.

Why did he care so much?

“Yeah, ever.” You confirmed, whispering the words so softly that you barely heard yourself. “We had a ceremony for him when I was ten, but it was nothing special. Buried an empty casket and called it a day. For a while, the three of us held on to hope that we jumped the gun, but I think after seventeen years, it’s safe to say we made the right call. Not like he was a dad at all, but the bastard didn’t even say goodbye before he kicked the bucket.” Your anger and spite for the situation was still abundant within your heart, and your chest ached when you thought of it for too long. You didn’t want to be angry with him, or at anyone for his death, but at the end of the five stages of grief, you were stuck in one, perpetual cycle of anger that you never could rid yourself of. Anger for the situation, for your lost childhood, for his lost life at the hands of a disease that almost took you, too.

“What happened after that?” He asked, approaching carefully so you knew it was with good intent.

“Life just… carried on.” You shrugged, curious as to why it hurt so much less when your eyes were on him. Even if you didn’t understand why, you gave into the feeling and stood from the chair. You took a seat on the other side of the stacked journals, just wanting to be closer to him without having to express it aloud. You were giving much more to him than you’d ever given to anyone else, and you were trying to keep some semblance of normalcy. “My mom pretended nothing happened, wanted us to do it too. We got home from the funeral, and she never changed her ways. Sent us upstairs and told us to be quiet ‘cause she didn’t want to listen to us bitch about it all night.”

“Oh my god.” Danny let his shock slip, his expression showing guilt as soon as the words passed his lips. “I’m sorry, Utah. I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay.” You assured him, giving a soft smile. “It’s a lot to hear, which is why I was so scared to tell you. Don’t want it to scare you, or make you think differently, or whatever.”

“No, Y/N.” He shook his head. “That’s not… not even close.” He extended his arm out, his palm cupping your cheek as his thumb caressed your burning skin. “I want to hear it. I want to hear everything. It just.. it hurts to know that you had to go through that. It frustrates me to know my favorite person in the whole world still suffers because of it, and it pisses me off that anyone could have the heart to do it to you in the first place.” He explained, his eyes never leaving yours. “So please, Utah. I want to hear it. I swear it’s not going to change anything.”

But he didn’t really know.

How could he assure you it wouldn’t change anything until the minute it left your lips? How could he promise something he had zero clue about? If he did leave, you couldn’t blame him. If anything, you wanted him to. As much as you loved his company, he didn’t deserve the turmoil you would bring to his life, the struggles and troubles of your beaten down and broken mind. He deserved the world, bright and shiny, and you could not give him that, no matter which version of you he got.

“Please don’t back out on me now. I want you to tell me, but it’s also going to make me feel things. Not because I think less of you, but because I care about you.” He tucked a lock of hair safely behind your ear, borderline begging for you to understand. “I’ve been waiting for you to open up since the day I met you, and I don’t care if I’m being greedy. I want more, Utah. I want everything, no matter how terrible or awful.”

“Stop.” You bit back a smile, reaching around the stack of journals and shoving him gently. “Stop doing that.”

“Get used to it.” He shot back, carefully maneuvering around the journals to land a quick peck on your lips.

You hated to admit it, but you already were. It wasn’t growing accustomed to the support that was the issue, but rather surviving the loss of it when he was gone.

“Fine.” You huffed, the lingering feeling of his kiss definitely a successful persuasion tactic. “My mom was horrible before that, and just the same after the fact. She was a bully—a lying, conniving, narcissistic, self-serving bitch. Nothing we ever did was good enough, and she made every one of her problems ours. She was always angry, crude and cruel, and she never took care of us. The house was dirty, and she was always drunk. We were always supposed to be quiet, and we’d get in trouble if we weren’t. When she wasn’t yelling or insulting us, she was giving us the silent treatment, or she was gone. Sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days. When she was feeling nice, she’d drop us off at our grandparents house, but most of the time we were there alone.” You sighed out the last words, wondering how it felt so good and so bad to confess it all at the same time.

“She hated my grandparents because they were my dads parents. I don’t think we ever met hers, to be honest. They probably wanted nothing to do with her either, appalled that they raised such a horrible person. Even though she talked bad about them all the time, she used them for all they were worth, just like she did with everyone else. We had a few social services visits, but she was such a good actor that we never got taken away.” You grimaced at the thought, knowing it was the only time she ever put in any effort to make the house look presentable. “When I was twelve, she met a new guy. At first, we couldn’t believe how much she changed. Now I know it was just to get him where she wanted him. Not that it would have been that hard, anyway.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the memory of the miserable man.

“She got a full time job, and the house was spotless. She stopped being so physical with us, but she was still the same old, miserable cunt under the surface.” You didn’t like to use the word often, but you knew for her, it was more than fitting. “When we first met the guy, he seemed nice. Then we moved into his house, and he showed his true colors. Probably why the two are still together.” You shuddered. “He was rich rich. Pool in the backyard, fancy dishes in the kitchen, two and a half bathrooms… all that stuff, but we weren’t allowed to touch anything. He barely acknowledged us unless it was to yell or to side with our mom when she got on one of her power trips.”

“She got a job at his office, and to everyone else, seemed like the perfect woman and mother. They still nursed a bottle of brandy before bed, and she still hated us, though. Kept up appearances, but never actually tried to change. We practically lived in our bedrooms because it was hell to be in the same room as the two of them, and they kicked Patrick out when he was seventeen. Hunter kind of… detached when dad ‘died’, and when we moved there, it got even worse.” You quoted around the word ‘died’, because still to this day, you could never be one hundred percent certain. “So I kinda took care of myself, which admittedly, was the worst person to do it. I’ve learned in my twenty-some odd years that the last person I can rely on is me.” You mumbled, swallowing hard as you confessed. “But, because of that, I have a really hard time letting anyone help. It’s a hard situation to be in, knowing I can’t do it on my own but too stubborn to lean on anyone else.”

“Can lean on me.” He offered, still flipping through the journal pages. He’d moved on to a different one now, still listening but making it a little easier on you. “Been asking you this whole time.”

“I know.” You whispered, saddened at the idea. It wasn’t that easy, even if you wished it was. “I want to.”

“We’ll work on it.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. You watched him, your eyes sparkling with an emotion you refused to admit to, and wondered how he made it seem so easy to love you. Before him, nobody ever did. Loving you seemed like a curse or a nuisance to everyone who stumbled upon it, but he accepted it with open arms and begged for it to come again.

“She really fucked me up.” You concluded, switching topics so you did not have to dwell on the feelings running rampant in your stomach. “She’s all of my fears rolled into one big pile, and she’s made me hate myself just because I look like her. I don’t talk about it often because I feel like I should be over it, but it still bothers me so much. More than anything else in the whole world. I’m always looking over my shoulder, so self-critical, waiting to fail all because she pushed that narrative.”

“You don’t just get over that kind of thing, Utah.” Danny’s eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. “It stays with you for life, unfortunately. You get to choose whether it kills you or not. You get to choose what you do with it.”

“So far, I haven’t chosen very well.” You gave a sad smile, the thought haunting.

“I’d have to disagree.” He replied, his eyes quickly glancing up at you. “After everything, you’re still good. You want to help people, to help yourself. Even if you fell down a few times, it has to count for something.” You thought about it for a moment, your mouth running dry at the prospect of his words.

“Yeah, s’pose so.” You gave a bleak nod.

“For the record, I think you’re doing fantastic.” He said, still reading the journal so he didn’t come on too strong. He had learned in the long few months he’d spent by your side that you ran when things felt too serious. Always being mindful of nonchalance, he was doing the same thing now. “Even if you think you’re not, I promise that you are. Working your ass off to make ends meet so you can follow your dream. Not many people have the drive to do that.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice cracking as your eyes welled with tears. That’s all you had ever wanted, to do good and be good, and to know he thought so was almost too much to bear. “Don’t say you’re proud of me.” You couldn’t handle it, and you feared if he did, you would fade away into nothingness.

“Too bad, ‘cause I am.” He grinned, not one bit sorry about it.

“Fuck you, Michigan.” You laughed, the action causing tears to leak from the corners of your eyes. You raised your palm to your face, swiping away the physical reminders of your painful life. The coolness of your skin offset the burning of your cheeks, bringing you back to earth for a moment. “I just… I know I can’t change anything, and I know that staying stuck in it will only ever make it worse, but I just wish they cared a little bit more. Not even asking for them to be perfect parents, or anything crazy like that, cause I know that would never happen. I just wanted them to love me, and love me more than they loved to get fucked up… more than they loved themselves, even just for a minute.” You let out a shaky breath, more tears blurring your vision as you let all of the pent up emotions out.

“To feel like I was worthy of loving, that I didn’t do anything to make them feel this way towards me, or do all of those horrible things.” Your eyes flickered to the back of your hands, and through the fast flowing tears, you could see faded white circles on the skin, reminders of a million cigarettes your mother smoked and used as punishments. “I’m a walking reminder of the people I hate the most, and it kills me. Nothing takes it away, no matter how hard I try to forget. It’s always a part of me, and I’m terrified that in sixty years, I’ll be the woman I fear more than anything else. I’m scared that right now, I’m exactly what she thought I would be; wasted potential, wasted space, and a poor excuse for a human.”

“Hey,” Danny said, reaching out as he wiped tears from your cheeks. “I can never understand it, Utah. I don’t know what that’s like, and it’s okay that I don’t. I don’t need to understand it to know that you are worth the entire world and more, that sometimes I really believe you’re the best thing to ever walk this earth. Nothing will take away from what already happened, but you need to know that you deserve better. You deserve everything. You’re worth loving, and it’s pretty damn easy to do it, too. You could never be her, Utah—you’re the best damn girl in the whole world, and she can’t hurt you anymore.” He paused, scooting a little closer so he could reach you more comfortably. “What happened was awful, but I will spend the rest of my days doing everything I can to convince you that she’s wrong.”

There it was again; the promise of forever, despite the end being closer than you could begin to comprehend.

You ignored the inadvertent confession of love because you were nowhere near ready to accept it. Well, that, and because the two of you had already done it a million times or more. Because of your fears, you’d grown to be well versed in saying ‘I love you’ while never having to say it at all.

“Stop it.” You said through gritted teeth, his sweet words only making it more painful. His love was too good, too strong, and it was challenging every miserable moment of your life and conquering it in an instant. He made it worth the pain. That in itself wasn’t a crime, but you were terrified of losing the feeling and reverting back to the person you were before you met him.

“Get used to it.” He said, firmly and unrelenting.

“I can’t.” You shook your head, recoiling at the sound of his words. “I can’t get used to it when I know you’re leaving.”

There it was, the elephant in the room finally addressed. As the words left your lips, you wished to swallow them back down and forget about them entirely. The look of pain on his face was haunting, and it hurt you even worse to know you had caused it.

“Utah, you don’t actually think I’m going to stop caring once I leave, right?” He asked, almost nervous to hear the answer. “Baby,” he continued, shoving the towers of journals out of the way. He crossed the invisible boundaries the two of you had subconsciously drawn, taking you into his arms without a second thought about it. “This summer… these last few months have meant everything to me. I’m not just saying all this stuff because it sounds good or feels right in the moment—I mean it. Knowing you, caring about you, being with you, has been the most fantastic experience yet. I came to New York for inspiration, and I found something way beyond what I ever thought was possible. I found you, and I’ll be damned if I let that go.”

“But you don’t know.” You argued, melting into his touch despite your brain begging you to run and hide, to leave before it was too late and he left first. “You could meet a million better people in Nashville. You could realize that I wasn’t as great as you thought I was when you were here. You could change your mind, find someone who can be what you deserve, and you wouldn’t have to worry about me. You wouldn’t have to stress, or care, or worry about anything other than you being happy. I can’t hold you back, and I can’t stand in your way.”

“Utah, that’s not even possible. You are the best, and you would never hold me back.” He said, his lips hovering just over your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Moving to Nashville and pursuing music has been the goal—the dream. At the same time, it’s going to be blind luck if we even make it. Part of the reason we put it off so long is because we’re scared, because we don’t know if it will be what we dreamed of. When we packed for New York, we were stuck. No writing, no inspiration, no idea. We came here to find it, and if we didn’t find it here, we were going to move on to somewhere new.”

You stopped everything; stopped crying, stopped panicking, stopped worrying, because all you wanted to do was listen. When it came to him, nothing else mattered.

“We got here, and before anything else, before we settled into the Airbnb, before we explored the town, I met you. My first morning in New York, I was nervous, tired, and uncertain. I thought for sure we bit off more than we could chew. I went to that diner alone, looking over that menu and worried about failing, wondering what the hell I was thinking, and I looked up and my entire world got flipped upside down. The sweetest smile and the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen, and for some reason that I still can’t understand, you looked at me the same way I was looking at you. In ten seconds, I knew why we came to New York, and I knew that I had nothing to worry about anymore.” He continued, his steady heartbeat against his chest calming as he confessed to everything he was feeling.

“I didn’t think you’d text me back, and I went home to Sam and talked his ear off all day about the pretty girl from the diner just off the highway. That night, we sat down and we wrote. Songs I never thought we’d even start, we finished. I told Sam I wanted to stay because it seemed like the right spot for us, but it was always because of you.” He said, the smell of his cologne suffocating you as you laid your head on his shoulder. For a moment, you truly believed that death was a friend so long as it was in his arms. “The more I got to know you, the more I felt that you were the very thing I was supposed to find. Since I met you, Utah, everything makes sense again. Music is easy, it’s fun, and I remember why we started doing it in the first place. I don’t feel like I’m walking through the clouds all of the time. I know where I want to be and what I want to do, and you’re the reason why.”

“Me too.” You struggled to suck in a breath, feeling like you were choking on the air as it passed into your lungs. Your chest was tight, your head pounding as you worried his hand was burning straight through your skin. “I felt like I was headed nowhere, that I went through all of this stuff for nothing and I’d be stuck at the Fox for the rest of my life. You changed it. You made things brighter.”

“That’s what I mean, Y/N. I know this stuff scares you, and to be honest, it scares me too. I don’t think either of us planned for this, but I don’t regret it, and I certainly don’t want to forget it. I want to know you, Utah. I want to be with you, just like this, and I don’t want it with anyone else. We don’t have to label it—we can be friends that care a hell of a lot too much, and that’s fine, as long as I’m the one who gets to listen, and I’m the one who gets to hold you like this.” He paused, seemingly overcome with emotion at the simple thought of someone else being this person for you. “You give me too much, make me feel too much for me to let this go. You think you don’t do anything for me, or you don’t deserve what we do for you… baby, you are everything. You do more than you could ever possibly imagine.”

“Danny,” you whimpered, the sentiments so powerful they were nearly tearing you in two. Your words were muddled with tears dripping from your eyes, dampening the fabric of his t-shirt. Why did it hurt so bad to be loved? Why did it hurt so bad to be treated so well? “I don’t know how to do this… I don’t know how to love, I don’t know how to be loved, but I want it so bad. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life, and I want it with you.” And for you to say that, you must have wanted it incredibly bad.

What had he done to you?

“We’ll figure it out, Utah.” He promised, pulling you closer to him. “Please figure it out with me. When I go to Nashville, I’m not leaving you. I want to figure it out, even if we’re a million miles apart, or if we’re right here together. You’re worth it.” It was so hard to take him seriously, to believe he could mean the things he was saying and that he was committed to staying.

“Do you mean that?” You asked, unsure if you wanted an answer.

“Of course I do.” He assured you, easing the fear ever so slightly. You sat in silence for a moment, neither of you sure where to go from there and terrified to say something wrong. “Do you want to figure it out with me, Utah?” He eventually asked, the uncertainty eating him alive. Your lips pressed tightly together, the tears slowing to a stop as you thought about it. You did want to figure it out, and only ever with him. There was no doubt about it, so why was it so hard to say it aloud?

“Yes.” You whispered, nodding your head against him.

At that, the two of you seemed to let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. You felt better to admit it, and he felt better from hearing it.

“Okay… so we will.” He concluded, his thumb gently grazing your bare arm as he let it drift over the skin. For the first time since you started seeing him, the future didn’t seem so bleak. “Why don’t you come with me?” He asked, seemingly out of nowhere. Your heart stopped, the aching in your head ceasing and your blood freezing solid in your veins.

“What?” You whispered, afraid to move and terrified to remain in his arms. Your entire nervous system seemed to be eating itself, leaving you in a puddle of anxieties on the floor where you once sat. You felt yourself seeping through the cracks of the floorboards, dripping into the musty basement below, becoming nothing while the question hung heavy in the air.

“To Nashville.” He clarified, as if you had no idea what he was talking about. “Come with me.” The feeling of his arm around you suddenly felt suffocating, constricting as you felt the urge to run.

Stop running, Y/N.

He wanted you to join him, to be a part of his life indefinitely. He wanted it so bad he was willing to take the risk, but were you? Could you risk everything all over again?

Your conversation with Dylan only a few days prior rang loudly in your mind.

“Then chase it, sweetheart. If he feels the same, don’t stick around for us. You gotta be happy. You gotta take care of you.” Dylan said, more serious than ever before. “You waste your time and energy keeping us alive, then you wonder why you can’t get ahead. We’d be lost without you, but I’m scared we’ll lose you if you stay, too.”

“You've got a good head on your shoulders and I know you could make it anywhere in the world. If he asks you to go with him, go. I know you worry about us, but you’ve been searching for a ticket out, baby.” He explained. “If this guy really is all that, it’s worth chasing. I’ve never seen you this happy.”

“You can make anything make sense if you try, angel.”

Could you make it anywhere in the world? Was the head on your shoulders as good as he thought it was?

You knew about life in New York, and although it was terrible by times and everything but what you moved there in search of, you knew it. You were comfortable with it, knowing exactly what to expect and what it would bring. How could you leave and start over, especially knowing that it could turn out worse than this?

Fear ruled your life now, in every way possible. It was the driving force of every decision, the very pillar in which you’d built your current life upon, and the thing that kept you alive. You weren’t sure if chaos is what you needed anymore, because you felt as though it was the very reason you’d led yourself down such dark paths. Although miserable, your job at the Fox and your shitty low income rental was comfortable and reliable. If you jumped the gun and went to Nashville, you were becoming the very person you tried not to be. You didn’t want to be impulsive or rash any more. You didn’t want to chase a whim or a possibility. You needed more, and you weren’t sure if Nashville would give you that, or if it would further shatter your already fragile, personal ecosystem.

You had only known Danny for a short while. Could you give up everything to start over with him?

At the same time, you had to ask yourself, what the hell did you think you were giving up?

Poverty, struggle, ghosts of your addictions and the monsters of Utah that still lived in your closet. A rocky relationship with a man who barely ever loved you, and certainly never more than himself, or drugs. A friendship with Dylan, who was absent far more than he was present. An apartment that was filled with mold and falling apart every time you turned a corner, and a job that would get you no further ahead.

You weren’t giving up anything spectacular, and certainly nothing that would ever benefit you.

So why were you still so afraid?

Maybe it was because you were still in denial about loving him. Maybe because you couldn’t yet face the biggest demon of all; your crippling fear of abandonment.

What if you left and started over with him, only for him to decide you aren’t what he wants?

Worse yet, what if you agreed, and by the time September rolled around, he didn’t want you to come?

He still did not know the full story, the truest version of you that you rarely ever shared. You felt it unfair to agree to such a proposal without him knowing all of the details. He deserved more than that, and you still feared you could not give it to him.

Although, after everything, Danny had consistently proved he was willing to stick by your side no matter what kind of baggage you carried with you, no matter how heavy it was. You truly felt in your heart that he would not run, that he would not hide, and he would not change his mind.

That was why it scared you so. Not his possible lack of commitment, but rather his profound desire to stay.

Not once in your entire life had anyone ever wanted to stay, and now that someone did, you had no idea how to handle it.

“Utah?” You snapped from your thoughts, looking back at him with wide eyes and shock-parted lips. Your lungs burned for a breath of air and your mind was swirling with every previous thought and all new ones that stemmed from them. What should you do?

“I… Danny.” You finally choked out, feeling the words get stuck in your throat. You cleared your throat, swallowing back the lump of nervousness blocking your windpipe, never once breaking eye contact with him. “That’s… that’s a big deal, you know? Huge deal, actually.”

“I know, I know.” He conceded. “You don’t have to answer right now, but keep it in mind. Consider it, please. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Are you sure?” You were still in shock, disbelief plaguing you worse than ever before. You felt guilty for seeming so appalled, but at the same time, nobody had ever wanted to love you so badly.

“F’course I am, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He chuckled. “I want you there with me, Utah. Don’t care how crazy or stupid it seems. I just do. Like I said, you can take some time… but just talk to me about it. Don’t get in your own head and trick yourself into believing that I don’t want you, or whatever else you come up with.”

Damn him and his observant nature.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking his hand in yours to show him that you were being serious. “I will think about it. I will talk to you. I promise.”

“Okay.” He reiterated your statement, smiling to himself. Just as he spoke, your ringtone sounded from across the room, the volume grating and worsening the already tense nature of the situation. “You can grab that, s’okay.” He assured you, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “This conversation can definitely continue some other time.”

“Okay, thank you.” You breathed, slowly removing yourself from his arms.

As much as you wanted to keep talking to him, you were grateful for the distraction so you didn’t have to focus too long on the pressing topic at hand. You stood, stretching your legs before you stepped towards the couch where your phone lay atop a torn cushion. From his spot on the floor, Danny watched as you grabbed the device as soon as the ringing ceased, sending the caller to voicemail.

“Huh,” you hummed, shrugging as you saw Dylan’s name flash across the screen.

You wondered what he needed so late, and why he had to call. Usually Dylan never clicked the dial button, and ignored every incoming call he received. Before you could ponder it for too long, the ringing began again. You hit accept, placing the phone to your ear and immediately hearing a rush of background chatter. You rolled your eyes, realizing it was probably an attempt from both boys to get you down to the Pony to celebrate your birthday.

“Hey, Dyl.”

“Y/N?” He asked, his voice shaky as it sounded over the hum of background noise.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You could hear him sniffle, your stomach plummeting almost immediately as the sound reached your ears.

“Are you home? Please tell me you’re home, doll.” He seemed frantic, panicked as he awaited your answer.

“Yeah, I’m home. What’s wrong?” You noticed he must have pulled his phone away from his ear, muffled shouting in the background that vaguely resembled his voice tipping you off.

“Baby, it’s Vin. I need you.” He continued, speaking before the phone touched his ear again. “I wouldn’t call if it weren’t important. Please.” Your blood ran cold, your palms sweaty as your eyes squeezed shut. You wondered if your head was in the right place, if your fears were misguided or somehow perfectly correct. “Doll, m’serious.” The slight slur of his words sent your feet running across the linoleum flooring automatically, your hand wildly searching for your keys on the mess of your kitchen table.

“Heading down now. Don’t move, don’t touch him, and don’t talk to anyone.” You ordered, your fingertips grazing the frayed lanyard that adorned your high school logo. You pulled them free from the mess they were hidden under, hearing a few loose items go scattering to the floor. “Okay?”

“Okay. I promise.” The waver in his tone made it seem like he was holding back tears, only forcing you to move faster. You hung up the call, not even glancing back at Danny as you slipped a hoodie over your head.

“What’s wrong?” He called out to you, concerned about your sudden shift in mood.

“Ahh,” was the only thing you could force out, your brain jumbled and words failing you. “Pony. The boys are in trouble.” You blinked hard, finally managing to convey the message. In an instant, he was on his feet and stepping towards you. You were in such disarray that you didn’t even react, moving towards the door to slip on a pair of shoes.

“What kind of trouble?” He asked, still hot on your trail. You reached a hand out and laid in on his chest, giving a soft shake of your head.

“You should stay here—really, you should.” You rushed out, your eyes glistening with fearful tears. Danny could not be a part of whatever you were about to walk into, because if he was, you were certain he would have more questions than he could contain. More than you could answer. “Please. Maybe even go back home. I might be a while.” You nervously shifted on your feet, your hand trembling even as you held it against his chest. Your emotion was radiating through you, seeping from your pores and only making him worry more.

“Are you kidding? I’m not leaving, Utah. Whatever it is, I can help.” He argued, only causing your head to fall forward and begin to ache further.

“Danny, you can’t—I can’t… trust me.” You knew exactly what you would walk into, and having him see it too was not something you were willing to accept.

“Y/N.” He warned, showing that he wasn’t willing to back down.

“Ugh—fine, okay!” You let out a growl of frustration, your fingers flicking the lock open and closing around the door handle. You didn’t have time to argue with him, and you certainly did not have any extra energy to waste. “Just… do what I say and don’t ask questions, okay?” You yanked the door open, stepping into the hallway with him close behind.

“What?” He asked, slamming the door shut behind him. Greatly displeased about your request, he made sure to voice his opinion and broke one of the very few rules you had just put in place.

“Danny, please.” You pleaded, rushing down the steps and out the main entrance. The warm summer air smacked you in the face as you tumbled onto the sidewalk, already hearing the buzzing of a crowd by the entrance to the Pony.

“Okay.” He agreed, gruffer than you’d ever heard from him before. He wasn’t happy about the arrangement, but if it meant he could tag along to make sure you were safe, he’d agree to it.

With a momentary sigh of relief, you shoved your way through the crowd of people hovering outside the door, mostly made up of ex-gangbangers and sleazy wannabe’s. Short-skirted women hung off their arms, the smell of hairspray and cigarettes thick as you heaved open the heavy glass door, which had recently been proved to be bulletproof.

Inside was no better, although a little less populated. The ancient bartender sent you a nod from the counter, and the poker table was crowded with the regular attendees. The few booths that lined the walls were mostly empty, save for a few slumbering patrons who would still be there when the sun rose in the sky. Your eyes trailed to the bright flashing lights of the slot machines, but did not linger there for long. You stepped forward, straight towards the narrow hallway that led to the single-stall bathrooms.

As you progressed downward, you noticed a shadow of a man against the door to the men’s room, head in his hands under the flickering light above. You raced towards him, reaching him within seconds as your hand grabbed his bicep to pull him out of whatever train of thought he was stuck on.

“Dyl,” you greeted, breathless with a racing heart as he looked up at you. His eyes were bloodshot, the bags underneath darker than usual as a ring of red lined his nostril. In the moment, you felt anger surge from the very top of your head, pulsing into your fingers and down to the tips of your toes. Your grip on his arm tightened, your teeth clenched tightly together as you resisted the urge to smack him. “What the fuck did you guys do?”

“M’sorry doll—it just happened so fast. I didn’t know who to call, or what to do, an’ you always know.” He explained, stress wrinkling his eyes and tears shining over his blown pupils. His hands pulled at the strands of his short hair, and you could feel the pain radiating from him.

“Tell me what happened so I can help.” You tried again, your hand raising to his cheek so you could force him to look at you. Danny was close by. You could feel the warmth of his body pairing with the thick air of the bar, quickly making you feel like you were suffocating.

“We came down here for a few drinks and a game of poker. That’s it, I swear.” He explained, fidgeting with his hands as you forced his eye contact. “Weren’t even planning on scoring, but we was playin’, and someone wagered an 8ball, and we didn’t think we’d win, but we did.” He was rambling, sniffing hard as he recalled the events of the night.

“Just coke?” You asked, firm as you needed a straight answer.

“I-i don’t know! I think so, but he was all dopey when we got here, didn’t think much of it ‘cause that’s just him… figured he got laid and was in a good mood for once. We split it in the bathroom, cause it ain’t nothin’ to us, you know? A-an’ he was fine—we played pool, and then he came back here and he disappeared. Came to check on him, an’ he was all loopy. He was mad at the world, like worse than normal, and he was all sweaty and confused, like he didn’t know where we were or what we was doin’.” You could tell that Dylan was also feeling the effects of the drug full force—his hands were vibrating, his skin burning to the touch and his heart rapid against his chest. He was taking large gulps of breath, and you were unsure whether it was to calm himself or because he felt like he could not breathe.

“He started twitchin’, an’ he couldn’t hold himself up, so he was slumped ‘gainst the counter. I tried to get him home but he kept pushin’ me off. He started to get sick, n’ I knew what was comin’, so i called you. You know this stuff, you know? You can fix anythin’ doll. You’re the only one he listens to. You’re the one he was askin’ for. You’re the only damn one we can count on.”

Anger was the first emotion that came to mind; pure, unadulterated rage because of their carelessness and lack of self-awareness. Also, anger because after being treated like garbage by Vincent, you were the first one to run to his rescue, just like always, all for him to use it against you later on down the line. You wanted to be done, to stop getting involved in their bullshit and avoid all of the triggers and setbacks for yourself, but you couldn’t. You cared too damn much, even if you didn’t want to anymore.

Second to your rage was fear—horrific, paralyzing, blood-curdling fear. How long did Dylan wait to call? How bad would it be when you walked inside? Was this the time he pushed his luck too far?

Also, what the hell was Danny thinking, standing behind you listening in on this?

“Is he awake?”

“Last time I checked, but he’s a damn mess.”

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” You muttered. “Do as I say and don’t ask me any questions, both of you.” You heard a murmur of agreement, deciding that was good enough.

‘Okay, Y/N. Put your brave face on. Emotions to the side, help him and get out.’ You repeated it in your head until you found enough strength to place your hand on the knob.

“Just stay here for now, okay?” You said to the other two, turning the knob and pushing the heavy door open. The rusted spring on top groaned in agony as the tension was applied, and the broken doorstop scraped against the grimy floor tiles.

When you first peeked inside, you saw nothing out of the ordinary; the regular dirt of the bathroom remained, and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead was a picturesque reminder of a cheap horror movie. You stepped inside, cautious and quiet as you turned your head towards the waterlogged wooden countertop, the tap dripping steadily and adding another ambient sound alongside the humming radiator.

“Vin,” you breathed, your stomach twisting with nausea as you saw him sat down on the floor, half propped up against the counter cabinets and the wall. His head was hung low, his neck slumped forward and his hands limp by his side. “Hey, Vin?” You tried again, taking a knee beside him and grabbing his face in your hands. When his head was eye-level, you noticed his eyes were still open, but just barely. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second, and his skin was sickly pale.

He barely responded to your words, but he knew it was you. Ever so slightly, he raised his hand and landed it sloppily on your hip. His eyes searched yours, finding comfort in your presence as his tongue darted out over his lower lip. His grip on you was loose, but you knew he was holding on as hard as he could, just to assure you he was still there. You raised your hand to his forehead, placing the back of it to his sweaty skin. He was dripping, his body still vibrating ever so slightly as you noticed that he was no longer burning up.

“Hey, baby, please keep those eyes open, yeah? On me. Don’t look away, don’t fall asleep.” Your hand was shaking as you used the sleeve of your sweater to dry his face.

“D-don’t feel good.” He stuttered out, his chest heaving with his breaths. He sounded like he was choking on air as he wheezed it in, his eyes drooping lower with every second that passed.

“I know, honey. I’m going to help, but you have to tell me what you took.” You urged him to keep talking, trying to swallow your panic as you watched him closely.

“Don't want to die.” His voice was weak, his words coming out more similar to a whine as his eyes met yours. In that moment, you thought you were going to crumble and crack, that your calm exterior would fade and you would die alongside him.

“Don't talk like that, Vin.” Your response was firm, but your voice wavered as you held his face in your hands. “Did you take anything else? Just blow? Please answer me.” You had to break your stare, closing your eyes tightly for a brief second after watching a drip of blood fall from his nose and line his chapped lips.

He nodded his head to the floor, slow but effective as it averted your attention to the bag of tiny, white pills that lay beside his limp hand.

For a moment, tunnel vision began and the only thing that existed in the room was you, and the damn bag of OxyContin tempting you just by existing. The air was knocked straight from your lungs, your chest burning and your head throbbing as your gaze remained fixed on the very thing you once believed would kill you. The powder lining the bag made your sinuses burn as you imagined snorting it, and you felt your mouth begin to water at the simple idea of swallowing them down. The chalky feeling in your throat was a phantom sensation, but it was so strong, so intoxicating that it felt impossible to breathe.

For a single moment, Vincent did not exist before you, nor was he in dire need of your help. The two boys waiting patiently outside the door no longer mattered, and the red key tag hanging heavy on your lanyard, stuffed so carefully in your pocket meant nothing.

There was nothing in the entire world, no earthly being or invisible force that could rival the gravitational pull that tiny little bag had on you. There was no amount of sense or reason that could force you away from it, and your commitment to sobriety disappeared the minute it was in your sights, demolished when the demons themselves were within reach.

No matter how healed you believed you were, drugs still ruled your entire life. That was as hard to choke down as the urge to use itself.

A gurgling groan from Vincent allowed for a moment of clarity, making you see the truth of the situation. Without even realizing it, you had reached out and grabbed the bag in your hand, clutching it so tightly that your knuckles began to ache and turn white. You took in a gasp of air, giving your head a violent shake as you understood the implications of your subconscious actions.

“Dylan!” You whined, biting the tip of your tongue as you fought the urge to vomit. You kept applying pressure until the hint of metal filled your senses, knowing it was the only thing distracting you from the sound of your own psyche. As if they were waiting for your call, two heads popped in the doorway. It didn’t take long for Dylan to understand what he was dealing with, and in a single second, he was kneeling next to you. “Take it.” You choked out through clenched teeth, but made no move to hand them over.

“Give them to me, doll.” Dylan reached out a nervous hand, wanting you to come to that decision on your own to avoid a fallout.

“I won’t—I can’t.” Your words were guttural, terrified of your own mind as it refused to let you hand them to him. “Please, take them. Please, Dylan.” At that, his hands clasped tightly over your own, his eyes pleading with you to do the right thing.

“Come on, angel. This isn’t what you want. It’s not worth it.” He bargained with you, keeping his voice low.

“God, don’t you think I fucking know that?” You snapped, the vicious, venomous version of yourself quickly making an appearance. Very rarely did that side of you show, but it was always because of the same thing. “I wish it was that easy—I wish I didn’t want it.” Guttural, desperate, and exhausted, you didn’t need him to reason with you. “Take it from me, Dyl, ‘cause I won’t give them to you. I know you don’t like it, and you don’t want to do that to me, but you have to.” You pleaded. “Don’t be afraid. Don't be nice to me. I love you, and I need you to be mean. I’m going to get mad, and angry and upset, I’ll call you names and say shit I don’t mean, but it’s the right thing for both of us.” You continued, nodding to Vincent on the floor. You couldn’t stop the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as your fingers clamped further around the bag in your hand.

Dylan grabbed your face in one of his hands, leaning forward and placing his forehead on yours. The feeling was grounding, reminding you of life after the high, of the things much more important than the urge to use that seemed to be taking over. You were shaking, every nerve ablaze and desperate to be freed.

“I love you, doll. Don’t hate me for it.” He said, his fingers gripping the thin plastic as he tried to pull it from your grasp. He held your head to his, forcing you to look at him to remind you of what was at stake as he wiggled his fingers under your own, your clammy palms making it all the easier for him. Not that your strength could ever rival his, but in the moment, he struggled to overpower you. Something inhuman took over when it came to drugs, something so sinister it made your head spin.

Eventually, he freed the pills, quickly closing them in his hand and stuffing them into his pocket. Immediately, you sprung forward, a switch flipping in your brain as your hand began grabbing at his wrist. Your nails scratched at his skin as you did everything in your power to get them back.

“Dylan, baby, please. I changed my mind.” You gasped, desperately pleading when you realized what you had given up. It didn’t seem so hard to resist until they were gone.

“No, doll. Absolutely not.” He shook his head, his hand remaining in his pocket as he watched your feeble attempts at overpowering him. A feral noise escaped you, a mix between a growl and a whine as panic began to creep up on you.

“Dylan, I’m not fucking joking.” You tried again, using all of your might to pull his hand free. He didn’t budge, staying strong despite watching you turn to a mess in an instant. He may have hated seeing you so pained, but not as much as he hated seeing you use.

“Neither am I.” He was stern, beating himself up for subjecting you to this even though he had no other option.

“Fuck you!” You spat, putting as much venom in your tone as you could muster. He recoiled at the sound, his eyes taking in your burning cheeks and fiery eyes. “Useless, no good for nothing, self-righteous, fucking prick.” You couldn’t help yourself, the worst version of you resurfacing and desperate to be heard after being repressed for so long. Dylan wasn’t hurt; if anything, he was biting back a laugh at your ridiculous behavior. If anyone knew the mind of an addict, it was him.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart. You don’t mean that.” His calm, soft rebuttal made you even angrier, but there was a soft spoken voice in the back of your mind pleading with you to see reason. “I love you—you’re better than this.”

You were better than this. At the end of the line, you were far more than the person you presented yourself as in the moment. You knew that, you knew how evil the addiction could make you, how vile you were when you craved the high, but it didn’t matter. Right now, it was the only thing you could think of, the very reason your heart beat and the driving force for each breath that filled your lungs.

“Please, doll. Think about it. Get through it. For me, for Vinny.” He whispered, his lips placing a delicate kiss on your forehead as he talked you through the worst of it. The need was pulsing under your skin, throbbing behind your eyes, drying your veins of the blood and replacing it with desperation. Your throat ached, your chest tight as you tried to listen to what he was saying.

You couldn’t do it; you weren’t strong enough to withstand it. You could feel the pillars you’d rebuilt cracking, wearing under the pressure and threatening to collapse.

And then you felt it—a small, barely there pressure on your hip, hardly even moving the fabric that lay under the hand that moved.

Vincent was still there, giving as much as he could in the moment, reminding you that you were better than the substance that used you.

“Oh my god.” You broke, taking in a gulp of breath as you snapped out of the trance you were previously stuck in. Vincent needed you, and more than he ever had before. You couldn’t let your mind beat you, especially when someone was relying on you. “Take everything. His wallet, the drugs, all of it—take it.” You snapped, a whirlwind of emotions ravaging you all at once. The anger, the fear, the unrelenting and undying urge, it was still there and growing worse by the minute. You pushed it back down, trying again to shake off the claws dug deep in your skin. You ignored the desires begging you to give in, covering it with concern as you squeezed your eyes shut and remembered why you were there. “Where’s his keys? His car?”

“I-in the shop.” Dylan confessed, stress clear in his tone from the moment the two of you shared just moments before. Your sudden shift was giving him whiplash, like two completely different people were in front of him at once. “We walked here after work. Was gonna crash at Lil’s house.” Lillian, Vincent’s on-again-off-again fling that was worth no more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. A no good, selfish woman who let addiction get the best of her and had zero intent to change. The same woman he ran to every time the two of you fought, and the very same woman who encouraged every behavior you were begging him to change.

“Fuck, Dylan!” You exploded, overcome with anger in a moment of weakness. “The fuck do you expect me to do? Carry him there?”

“I don’t know, Y/N!” He yelled back, just as passionate and reliant on his emotions.

“Call an ambulance?” A third voice cut in, much calmer and much more relaxed than the two of you. Your head snapped towards the door, seeing Daniel standing with his arms crossed over his chest. You couldn’t read him, only worrying you more as you tried to pick apart his stony face. How much did he see? How much did he hear? How the hell would you explain yourself now?

If you thought telling him the truth would hurt before, it was nothing compared to the storm that was coming.

“Can’t do that.” Dylan shook his head, reaching into the pocket of Vincent’s jeans to grab his wallet.

“Why not?” Danny continued. “He needs professional medical help—don’t think either of you can do that. Call a damn ambulance.”

“Can’t afford it, Danny.” You shook your head, shutting the idea down before he could bring it any further. “Wonder if Al will let me borrow his old station wagon?” Al, the bartender for the last forty years, had come to your rescue a time or two when you faced similar situations. You knew that if all else failed, he wouldn’t let you down. “Wonder if that piece of shit would even make it to the county.” You felt like collapsing, exhausted and at your wits end. You wiped Vincent’s face again with the back of your hand, cleaning the bodily fluids in a feeble attempt to preserve his virtue.

You knew that no matter what you did, both of you had shattered any bit of faux strength you so often tried to show others. You were at your weakest, and he was knocking on death's door for the hundredth time.

“I’ll ask’m.” Dylan grabbed the last bag on the floor, hiding just under Vincent’s ass, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then, he rose to his feet, pushing past Daniel who was still standing stoic in the doorway. He needed to get the drugs away from you, and get the three of you on the move. The only two people in the entire world he held any semblance of love towards were succumbing to the same disease, and he had little idea of how to help.

“Call 911, Y/N.” Daniel continued now that the three of you were alone, hoping to speak some sense into you.

“I can’t.” You said through gritted teeth, holding Vincent upright as his eyes began to roll back in his head. He was slumping down, falling to the left and sliding closer to the floor, and you weren’t nearly strong enough to compete with his dead weight. “That’s 1400$ I don’t have. Besides, they’ll ask questions, and we can’t answer any questions right now.”

“Yeah, questions that will save his life.” At that, something switched inside of you. Your skin prickled with indignation, white-hot energy filling your entire body as Dylan came back inside with a set of keys clutched tightly in his hand.

“He’s violating his parole. He’ll go to jail.” You snapped, cushioning the side of Vincent’s head as it fell into the cabinets beside him. “He’ll get stuck with a bill none of us can afford. It’s going to hurt him far more than it’ll help him.” You finally understood the depth of the differences between you and the boy arguing. “Besides, it’ll take them longer to get here than it will for me to drive him there myself.” You were right in believing he could never understand, and you couldn’t overlook the judgment in his eyes as they flickered to your blood spattered palms. Vincent’s nose continued to drip, your palms catching the brunt of it and the rest landing on his white shirt. You needed to get him out of there before he started seizing, or something worse, and he was not helping.

“Y/N—“ he tried, but you held up a hand to silence any further thoughts. He could see the shaking of your limb, realizing how emotionally attached you were to the situation in an instant. In the initial shock, it was easy to overlook how pertinent the issue was to you, how deeply it seemed to be affecting you. After all he had seen, the drugs in your hand, the ferocity in your tone when Dylan took them away, the terror in your expression now, he understood that more than anything, someone needed to help you.

You were running in circles to help everyone else while you began to drown.

He wanted to be there for you.

“Are you going to help me, or just fucking stand there and make it harder?” You barked, your eyes brimming with tears. Instant regret washed over you, making you feel even worse as you realized how little he deserved such a response. “I’ve done this before. I know what to do, and I can do it again, but I just can’t do it alone.”

“Okay.” Danny conceded, saddened at the sight of you gripping at loose ends. You were near insanity, running the facts over in your head to try and find a solution, and he was making it harder for you, even if the easiest answer was right under your nose. He promised he’d do as you asked, and as it seemed, time was of the essence.

“D-Dyl, I need you to help me get him off the ground.” You stuttered out the command, your cheeks damp with tears as you watched the little color left in Vincent’s cheeks begin to drain even further. “The wagon’s out front?

“Yeah, doll. Made sure of it.” Dyl approached you, ready to move him once you regained your composure.

“Kay, get him up.” You replied, keeping one hand on his head as Dylan slipped his arm under Vincent’s. You did the same on the other side, struggling slightly as the two of you stood from your crouching position. Dylan was much stronger than you were, and you were barely a help even as you got him on his feet. You stood in front of him, keeping a firm hand on him to steady him as his eyes flickered from closed to open a few times. “Hey, you’re okay.” You whispered, your heart aching as you took in the entire state of him.

“Love… you.” He wheezed out, the words hitting you hard and prompting no feelings in which the sentiment normally would. The only time he ever said it was when he thought he wouldn’t get another chance.

Then, to add a little extra salt to the wound, he coughed and sputtered for a moment, his head falling downward as he lost the strength to hold himself up. You barely registered what happened as his shoulders lurched forward and he lost control of all bodily functions. Danny recoiled in reaction to him choking on the vomit that forced its way from his stomach, landing less than gracefully down the front of you and onto your shoes. Unphased, you slipped his arm around your shoulders and with Dylan’s help, brought him out of the bathroom without sparing a second glance at Danny. He followed behind, not daring to speak another word.

“Just get him to the backseat.” You whispered, mostly to yourself as you took steps in time with Dylan, who was still vibrating as he rode his own high. “I hate you guys, you know. I hate you so fucking much.” You muttered, knowing that not a word of it was true, because love was the very thing keeping your feet moving. “I told you I wasn’t going to do this anymore, that I couldn’t do it, and here I am, like it never fucking mattered at all.”

You were feeling so much all at once that the only way to express it was through anger. Dylan knew, even as he took the brunt of your harsh words, that you would do it all over again in a heartbeat, just like they did for you when you needed it. The three of you, thick as thieves, partners in crime, always had each other's backs. Since the very day you met them, it had been that way. They picked you up off the floor at your worst, and you did the same for them, even if it was nearly killing you all to do so.

Sometimes, when you were alone and stuck in your thoughts, you wondered if what the three of you had was real love and friendship, or just a bond formed to help you survive the horrors of your lives.

Before you made it to the front door, as if it were divine timing, a body stepped in the way, blocking the exit and furthering the stress you were already experiencing. You looked up, meeting the beady eyes of a bleach blonde who you’d come face to face with far too much for your liking. Her hair was stringy and her skin was more sallow looking than usual, making your already upset stomach churn again. When you first met her almost two years ago, she was pretty, full of life and all smiles. That didn’t last long once her addiction got the best of her, and you barely recognized her anymore. Twenty two and her face bordering forty, you felt her time was coming sooner than anyone else expected.

“Lilian, get the fuck out of my way.” You spat, your teeth grinding together as the smell of her tacky perfume reached your nose. One too many times you’d walked in on her in Vincent’s bed. One too many times had her recklessness and carelessness resulted in your own heartbreak. One too many times had she enabled Vincent within an inch of his life.

“Where you takin’ him, doll? Thought he made it pretty clear he didn’t want nothin’ to do with you.” She said, her eyes barely on the boy in question, knowing exactly what was happening and only intending to give you a harder time. Was she really using this as a pissing contest? A reason to fight over a relationship with a boy you didn’t even want?

“Didn’t see you in the bathroom trying to save his life.” You hissed, holding Vincent a little tighter to you. Without even wanting to, you found yourself possessive over him, pitted against a woman who you barely knew because of his careless and reckless behavior. “Forgot, you only give a fuck about him when it benefits you or pisses me off.”

“Lillian, now’s not the time. Get the fuck out of here.” Dylan took your side, also feeling the effects of Vincent’s dead weight hanging off him.

“Right, but I believe you got somethin’ that belongs to me.” She gave a twisted little smile, reaching forward and grabbing the corner of the bag of Oxy’s hanging from Dylan’s pocket. She dangled it in front of your face for a moment, flaunting the fact she was partially responsible for the situation you found yourselves in at the moment. Losing all rationality, you saw red.

“You? You fucking gave it to him!?” You seethed, held back only by the weight of Vincent’s arm around your shoulder. “You’re fucking responsible for this?!” Instead of replying, she laughed in your face, lighting the fuse on a deadly bomb. “I should fucking kill you—“

“Not worth it, doll.” Dylan cut in, his gaze flickering to you with desperate eyes. Then, his gaze cut to Danny, also fearful of how this entire ordeal was affecting him. “We have to go.”

“Right,” you choked out, caught between two feelings that were tearing you apart. “Stay the fuck away from him, Lilian, I swear to god.” You warned, taking a step to the side so you could get around her. Dylan followed suit, and without any further delay, Danny held the door open and the two of you.

The night was still warm, the summer air clinging to your filthy skin as you struggled to guide Vincent towards the bartender's old car. Always unlocked, you instructed Daniel to open the back door so you could get Vincent inside. With a bit of a struggle, you and Dylan managed to get the boy down on the backseat, laying him on his side atop the leather covers just in case he was sick again.

“Keys.” You held out a shaking hand to Dylan as he closed the door. He gave you a sideways glance, a grimace on his lips as he challenged you without speaking a word. “Give me the keys, Dylan!”

“Don’t know if you should drive, doll.” He hesitated, the metal keyring dancing around his index finger.

“You’re high.” You shot back, knowing out of the two of you, you were the better option. You reached again for the keys, but he pulled them away from you, wasting another precious second.

“Jesus, I’ll drive.” Danny snapped from behind you, the most sober and level-headed out of the three of you. Your head turned to him, your eyes watery and wide as you once again realized what you were putting him through. “Give me the keys.” Danny ordered, and your eyes flickered to Dylan, realizing that he was just as shocked and sorrowful as you were.

“Yeah, okay.” Dylan conceded, trusting him enough to hand them over.

“Let’s go.” Danny ordered, more serious than you had ever seen him before. You mustered a small nod, motioning for Dylan to get in the front seat.

“You tell him where to go.” Your voice quivered as you spoke, placing a shaking hand on the back door handle as you opened it up again. “I’ll sit with Vin.” Dylan had no problem with the arrangement, following your decision without any hesitation. Once the three of you were in the car, Danny turned over the sputtering engine a few times before the car came to life.

The roomy backseat made it easy for you to tend to Vincent while remaining somewhat safely seated. He was on his side, facing the front of the car while you sat on the edge of the middle seat, turned towards him. You had a tentative hand on his face, brushing his wet hair from his sticky forehead. You felt the seat sinking beside you, the cold ominous air of death surrounding you as you prayed for it to leave him alone.

Religion was never something you found yourself akin to, except for moments like this. You would exert every ounce of energy, every single breath and every sliver of hope to save his life, and if that meant praying to a god or an entity you did not truly believe existed, you would do it in a heartbeat. Muttering under your breath, you pleaded for his life to an empty sky above, wondering if anyone was listening, or worse yet, if anyone cared.

Had the three of you pushed your luck so dangerously far that there was no more grace to be given? Had Vincent laid in the backseat of this very station wagon with sweaty skin and rolling eyes so many times that there was no more mercy to be spared? Had he evaded death enough times to anger the reaper himself? Was death creeping over your shoulder because you had taken too long to help him, or because help was no longer worth a dime?

Every bump in the road seemed to affect his already thready pulse further. Every lull in speed when a potential cop car passed made your stomach churn with sickness. For a single moment, as you listened to the whir of wheels on the cracked pavement below, you wondered if this would be the last time. If he pulled through, would he clean himself up? If he died, would you finally be able to heal and move on?

No.

Death was not the outcome, and the grim sat beside you in the backseat would not threaten you. Peace would not be possible if he succumbed to the sickness, and grief was a one way ticket to death for yourself.

“Vincent, I swear to fucking god, if you die on me.” You were beginning to grow delusional, delirious as you spoke to the near corpse laying beside you. He wasn’t dead yet. His heart was beating, and he was breathing. You knew deep in your heart that he could hear you, whether that be actually hearing you or in a greater, more spiritual sense. If talking to him kept him going (and kept you sane), you didn’t give a damn what the boys in the front seat thought of it. “You don’t get to die on me. You don’t get to leave me here. You don’t get to do this.” You growled through clenched teeth, feeling tears stream down your cheeks as you watched your blood splattered hands cup his pale cheek.

You were so concentrated on the boy below you that you did not even notice the flickering eyes in the drivers seat, checking in on you every few seconds through the rear view mirror. You did not notice the concern etched in his features, the fear, the confusion, nor the worry. You didn’t notice Dylan’s shaking hand as he pointed Danny in the right direction, or the flickering streetlights that were passing you by. You didn’t notice anything other than the shallow breaths still managing to move Vincent’s chest, and his fluttering eyes below the closed lids.

If he pulled through, you would praise every single god to exist to mankind. You would kiss the ground and send your love to the clouds above, and you would never doubt the power again (that’s what you told yourself every time, though). But, you couldn't help but fear what would come next. What painful conversations would ensue in the barren parking lot of the county hospital? The stark white room with fluorescent overhead lights? In this very car, or in your apartment after you were home safely?

You couldn’t help but think back to the bag of pills, how heavy it sat in your hand, how alive you felt for the first time since you gave it up for good. Your heart had never beat so frivolously, so intently for something in your entire life. You could feel your throat close around the powdery outside, every scratch and lump it created on the way to your stomach. You could feel it with such intensity that you had yourself fooled for a moment, believing you had really swallowed them down instead of handing them over to Dylan.

Your entire body ached with need for the one thing you pledged to stay away from, every nerve ending on fire and a lesser, more evil version of yourself clawing its way to the surface. You tried to fight it, to ignore it, but every time you cast your attention in another direction, it only screamed louder. Your head felt like it was going to explode, like your skull was cracking and splitting in half from the throb of the grey matter against it. Your muscles ached and your joints felt rusted, and you wondered if you could pull through it this time or if it would be the inevitable end of another wasted streak.

You didn’t want to be this person; you fought so hard, lost every tooth and nail in the gruesome battle, and still somehow ended up at a loss. You were tired of losing to the call of substance every single time, exhausted from wasting so much energy to end up being something you were always meant to be anyway. Recounting the failures of your parents moments before you found Vincent in the bathroom of the Pony only reminded you of one, terrifying fact.

The only thing you had ever been taught was how to be an addict.

Everything else, you had to learn, to grow and figure out yourself along the way. Right now, facing two different realities for yourself, the choice seemed easy, but it wasn’t the one you wanted. Who teaches you how to stay sober? To resist the temptation every time? To appreciate life despite it only ever being a shitty, torturous thing? Who taught you how to be good? To be better than what your parents were?

You.

You taught yourself.

But what the hell were you to do when you couldn’t depend on the only person who ever taught you right from wrong? What the hell could you do when you couldn’t depend on yourself?

Vincent twitched below you, his chest rising and falling in a jagged manor as he struggled to draw in a breath. You could see the life draining from him, slowly slipping from the mortal body he once lived within. His limbs twitched, and for a moment you feared the dreaded seizure you supported him through once before, but this was different. The air was different, his breathing and his movements. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel the same. You leaned down, trying to get closer to his mouth to hear the sound of his breath. It seemed shallow, choppy as it got caught in his throat, and there was a slight gurgle rattling deep under his breastbone.

“Please, Vin.” You pleaded, closing your eyes and resting your head on his still frame. Your tears were soaking through the filthy, torn white tank top form fitted to his body. “Don't do this to me. Not after everything we’ve been through. You can’t leave me here like this.”

“We’re here, doll.” Dylan said, reaching around from the front seat and placing a loving hand on your arm. “Time to get him inside. He’ll be okay.” You barely registered he was speaking to you, your head still resting against Vincent as your eyes began to close.

For a single moment, all of the pain and all of the agony bled from every one of your pores, fleeing you completely. You surpassed a threshold of hurt, feeling your entire body begin to numb. It started in your toes, slowly spreading up your legs, and then it began in your fingertips.

“He’s not gonna make it.” You managed a raspy warning, feeling the numbness trickle up your neck. You��d seen this before, this situation, but never quite the way it was happening now. It was different, and dread began to eat away at you. The numbness, although terrifying, felt nice. It was a break from the usual feeling ravaging your soul, and you wanted to close your eyes and succumb to nothingness alongside him.

“Don’t say that, Angel.” Dylan got out of the car, quickly moving to the backseat. You barely noticed him open the back door beside yours and Vincent’s head. All you could focus on was the gurgling noise in Vincent’s throat, preparing yourself for the worst.

You came so close, but it just wasn’t enough.

That seemed to be the mantra of yours and Vincent’s tragic tale.

“Y/N, get up.” Dylan ordered, his voice far away in your mind, echoing through the emptiness inside your head. “Y/N!”

Still, nothing.

Not enough.

“Baby,” this whispering voice was different. It was calm, collected, comforting. It made your eyes flicker upwards from their fixation on the scummy fabric on the back of the driver's seat. It gave you hope. “Get up so we can get him inside. He’s going to be okay.” Your eyes met a pair of warm, brown ones. The same ones that breathed inspiration into you when you were at your lowest. The very ones that got you through every hard day since. The exact ones that made you feel loved when you thought it to be impossible.

“I can’t.” You whimpered, your cheeks stained with tears as you struggled to keep your eyes on him. “I can’t let him go in there and die alone.”

“You can. He’s not going to die.” Danny said, firmer than before. “You’re going to take him inside, and they’re going to help him.”

Logically, you knew you were wasting precious time. On the other hand, your desolate heart only felt comfort at the thought of Vincent being within arms reach.

“Okay.” You whispered, moved only by Danny’s gentle touch on your knee.

You sat up, allowing for Dylan to pull Vincent from the car. He struggled to stand him on his feet, finding it much easier when you slid from the backseat and took his other side. Your movements were mechanical, robotic—no emotion or feeling in them at all, and only a care for this to be over. Wordlessly, the two of you dragged him towards the automatic doors, the feeling of dread growing larger as you saw the flickering overhead lights of the rundown lobby.

Dylan barely made it through the second set of doors before he was bellowing out for help, calling to anyone who would listen. The frail looking woman at the reception desk immediately looked up to see what the disturbance was, but as soon as her eyes landed on Vincent, all malice fled her face. She pressed a call button on her desk, bustling over to the three of you and nearly tripping over herself in the process.

The whole moment went by in a blur of pale blue scrubs and shouting. Your eyes seemed to be going blurry, tunnel vision threatening to take over as you felt the (literal) weight of Vincent being taken off your shoulders. A group of nurses helped him onto a stretcher, asking the two of you a round of rapid fire questions that all flew directly over your head.

You heard Dylan give them the least bit of information possible, just enough to help but not enough to get involved.

Overdose. Oxy and Coke. About an hour. Not that I know of. No. No. Yes.

You repeated it in your head, trying to bring yourself back to earth. The numbness continued to grow worse as you looked down at your stained skin, the crimson color making your skin prickle with pins and needles. You flipped them palms to the floor, looking over the appendages as you tried again to repeat Dylan’s answers in your head. White static filled your brain, a low ringing sounding deep in your ears. You flipped your hands over so you could look at your palms.

Overdose. Oxy and Coke. About an hour.

You looked up from your hands, noticing the stretcher being wheeled back behind a set of large wooden swing doors. Someone was doing chest compressions as they rolled Vincent away.

About an hour. Not that I know of.

The room was spinning, the lights too bright and the noise too loud. Still, it couldn’t be any louder than the incessant ringing in your ears. It couldn’t bring you back to earth. You feared that nothing could.

No. No. Yes.

“Come on, Angel. Let’s go outside.” Dylan’s hand landed on your shoulder, but you were unmoving. Your blood felt still in your veins, your lungs not daring to expand so you could draw in another breath. With every second that passed, the faster the room swirled. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t think.

Oxy and Coke. No. About an hour.

You blinked hard, studying the crevices in your fingernails that were caked with dirt. The lines in your palms were painted red, the dry substance beginning to flake off and only leave behind a slight residue of color.

Yes. Overdose. Not that I know of.

It was a jumble of words, not even the short slew of answers making sense anymore. Dylan had given up, opting to force you outside rather than wait for you to come-to. He didn’t want to stick around for any more uncomfortable questioning, and he didn’t want you to be their next subject. The night was hot, the air laying over you in a thick, uncomfortable blanket.

Overdose? Coke and… Yes.

You fell to your knees on the pavement, your body too heavy to hold upright. Your head fell forward on your shoulders and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to pull yourself back together. You were so far away from reality that you did not even notice the aching sensation in your knees from the contact.

You felt someone kneel before you, taking your face in their large hands to help bring you back to earth. Behind your eyes the details only further muddled together, and you wanted so badly to focus on the warmth of the touch instead of the horrors in the blackness.

“Y/N.” the voice echoed across the empty parking lot, muffled from the ringing and lost in the endless swarm of thoughts. “Utah.”

Michigan.

He was there, right in front of you, still with you. He didn’t leave, he wasn’t afraid, and he still cared. Your Michigan, your knight in shining armor, the rainbow glowing brightly against the gray rain clouds.

“Overdose. Oxy and Coke. About an hour.” You breathed aloud, finding the strength to open your eyes. It was coming back to you, the whole picture rather than the speckled images flashing just behind your eyes. You could notice the prickle of feeling begin to return to your fingertips, your heartbeat still agonizingly strong as it pulsed under your skin, but no longer so much so that it was throwing you off course.

“What’s wrong with her?” Michigan. You could hear him talking to Dylan, asking in desperation as he digested a scene he had never been a witness to before. He had never seen you like this before, and he was terrified for your wellbeing. Michigan. Your Michigan.

“Just in shock, man.” Dylan made a feeble attempt at consoling him. “Seen it a few times… she’ll snap out of it.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Danny was taken back at Dylan’s constant coolness, even in a moment like this.

“Seen it a few times before.” He repeated, hoping that got his message across loud and clear. “She’s a hell of a lot stronger than any of us. She’ll be good, promise man.” Dylan assured him. “Now, we gotta get Al’s car back to’em ‘for his shift’s done.”

“What about her?” Danny looked back to you, still on your knees in the ambulance bay in front of the entrance of the emergency department. Your hands were clasped tightly over your ears, trying to silence the ringing that was driving you to insanity. At least now your eyes were open, and you were looking at him, but he was unsure if you were seeing him. He had never quite seen the expression on your face before, your eyes blank and empty, your features etched like they were stones, unmoving and emotionless. Your entire body was still aside from your hands trying to force themselves further over your ears.

“She’ll be fine.” Dylan repeated, placing a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “She’ll come back ‘round, and she’ll be pissed if we stay.”

“I can’t leave her here like this, Dylan.”

“You can, and you will.” Dylan replied, firmer as he nodded his head towards the car. “We can go back, and you can get your car. I gotta get out of here, but you can come back if ya want… she’ll be a little less loopy. Trust me when I say, I can’t be here if the cops come askin’. You shouldn’t be either.”

“What about her?”

“She will be fine.”

And you would be. You knew the drill better than all three of you combined, and once your composure came back, you would know exactly what to do, and you would be happy the other two weren’t there to fuck it up for you or Vincent.

“I know her, man. I know trust ain’t somethin’ that comes easy, but you gotta believe me.”

“Okay.” Danny whispered, his eyes cutting back to you, still stoic as you remained in the same position. He leaned forward, his hands clasped over yours still covering your ears, and placed a gentle, tentative kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be back, Utah.” He seemed like he wanted to say more, to say the very thing you both had forbade yourself from feeling, but he couldn’t. The time wasn’t right, and telling you now would only cause more trouble than anything else. Instead, he said it with his eyes, knowing that you did not recognize the look even if he so badly wanted you to know he felt that way.

Within a moment, Danny had pried himself from your side and the two boys got in the car. You did not even come to when the engine backfired as they sped from the parking lot. Your eyes remained focused on the distance, still looking but certainly not understanding.

You could almost hear the ticking of a clock as the second passed by, but you remained frozen in place. After a while, the numbness in your arms subsided, and the feeling in your face returned. Your memory flashed between two different places; the bag of pills in your hand, and the picture of Vincent lying in the backseat. Both places, the sound of the morbid rattling in his lungs played over and over again and the feeling of his chest catching on every rush of air was felt under your palms.

You wondered if you stayed here forever, if no more hurt could touch you. If you laid down on the pavement and gave into the rapidly growing nothingness in the deepness of your chest, would it all just stop?

You had two choices; get up and carry on, be the strong person Vincent and Dylan needed, or succumb to the looming doom that you always feared would catch up to you.

Two choices, both just as consequential and tempting, but neither getting you ahead of the demons you tried so desperately to leave in the past.

If you walked back into the hospital, you would run into said demons head on and pray they wouldn’t take you hostage again. If you died, even if you died sober, the addiction would still win.

The third option was standing on your feet and walking away. To go as far as your legs would carry you, only in the direction away from the mess of a second life you’d built, until you collapsed and death took you for its own anyway.

For a brief period in time, you questioned if the reaper sitting so close to you in the backseat of the station wagon was there for Vincent, or for you.

Maybe, your fates were still delicately intertwined like that had been for the last year, even if you tried so hard to cut the ties holding you together.

If he dies, so do you.

Death clearly wasn’t an option, nor was running, so you did the only thing you could; you got up and continued on, just like you had a million times before.

Getting up off the ground, fighting your way from rock bottom had never been the hard part. The struggle seemed to lie within the immediate aftermath. What the hell were you to do next?

You brushed the loose gravel from your scraped knees in a robotic manner, straightening up and turning back to the sliding doors you did not remember exiting through. Four steps was all it took for you to get inside the entryway. Two more steps and you were back under the flickering tube bulbs behind plastic panels in the ceiling. Three steps to the right and you were facing the waiting room for family and friends alike. One turn of your head and you located the public washroom, single stall and separated from the waiting room by one heavy, wooden door. Five steps forward and your hand clamped around the handle, and a half a step until you were inside.

The door closed behind you with a loud thud, causing you to jump in surprise. You felt your bones rattle, threatening to break through your skin. Every aspect of your being, all of your physical forms trying to separate themselves from each other. You advanced towards the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you flicked the tap on. You didn’t know the woman looking back, sober, high, or strung out in shock. No version of you would have known the face in the mirror, with her sunken eyes and empty gaze. The cracked lips and puffy cheeks, managing to look pale and blazing red all the same.

You did not break eye contact with the stranger as you stuck your hands under the forceful stream of water, the searing heat not even breaking your focus or causing you to retreat.

“Overdose. Oxy and Coke. About an hour.” Even your voice was foreign to you, but you tried your best not to let it deter you. “Not that I know of. No. No. Yes.” A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you repeated the words without a hint of forgetfulness. You finally broke your staring contest with your reflection, looking down to your hands that were now rinsed free of any blood or dirt. Instead, your skin was scalding from the heat of the tap, aggressively red as you continued to hold them under the water. You raised one to the soap dispenser on the wall, pushing the button over and over again until the foam sanitizer was overflowing from your cupped palm falling onto the counter below.

You brought your hands together and began to scrub. All the way up to your elbows, in every crevice and crack, under your fingernails and between every finger. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but when you returned your hands to the water and rinsed the suds away, the heat stung your skin aggressively. When the soap was washed away, your eyes still seemed to notice bloodstains on your pale skin, and more than that, you still felt dirty. Repeating the process a second time, you thought it would help. Instead, it seemed to make it worse.

You lost count of how many times you switched from the soap dispenser, to scrubbing, to rinsing, but by the time the dispenser was out of soap entirely, your hands were raw from the heat and the friction. You swallowed back a bitter taste as you cupped your hands under the water and splashed some on your face. You let out a hiss of pain when the boiling liquid washed the dirt from your stress-worn features, but carried on to repeat that process until you couldn’t withstand it anymore.

By the time you returned to the waiting area, your shirt was soaked with water droplets and your skin was desperate for a break, even if you still couldn’t shake the feeling of filth caking it. Your shaking hands raised to your line of vision, ready for the final inspection, but nothing but disgust raised in your chest as you remembered the patterns of speckled blood and dirt that once decorated them in perfect order.

“Excuse me?” Your head snapped up to the entryway, eyes wide as they landed on a nurse holding a clipboard. With a vibrating finger, you pointed to yourself as if to ask if she was talking to you. She gave a bleak nod, motioning for you to join her in the hallway. One foot in front of the other, you finally found yourself in a deserted area of the hallway, face to face with a health professional you assumed to be trying to save Vincent’s life.

“Is he alive?” You asked, steady and calm, your own voice shocking you as you spoke. You blinked twice, trying to be normal.

Just be normal.

“Unfortunately, we can only release information to the next of kin. Are you next of kin?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Don't know the guy from a hole in the ground.”

“Right.” She nodded. “At all?” You shook your head, catching her gaze as you tried to piece together her intent.

Fuck.

She remembered you. It was the same nurse who questioned you the last time you were here.

“Not at all, ma’am.” You reiterated your claim, trying not to give any semblance of recognition from your eyes.

“So you can’t answer any of these questions?”

“Try me.” You shrugged, keeping your tone steady and calm, carefree and cool.

“Patient’s name?”

“No clue.” You shook your head. “Reminds me of a guy I met a long time ago. His name was… oh, fuck… Alex?” You chuckled to yourself, looking off into the distance as you feigned a fake smile. “Not the same guy though, don’t know his name.”

“Date of birth?”

“Could be an Aries, but that’s just a guess. Probably doesn’t help you much.” You rattled off another ridiculous answer. The nurse did her best to hold back the eye roll trying so hard to escape.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure you understand the seriousness of this situation. If you have any information that can help, we need to know.” She rattled off the same spiel you’d heard a million times.

“Fine—I don’t know his name, or his date of birth. Met the guy at the bar tonight, he had a little too much fun.” You snapped, sticking to the same recycled story you used every time.

“You’re sure?” She asked again, raising an eyebrow. You felt less bad about giving her the run-around, knowing if they had time for questions, he was okay.

“Positive.”

“Alright.” She noted something on her chart. “The police will likely have the same questions, but I’m not the police. What’s said between us is solely to help him, not to get either of you in trouble.”

“His blood type is O+, and he has no allergies.” You muttered, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. “He has no next of kin.” You added, giving her a tight lipped smile.

“Seems odd to know that about someone you just met.” She replied, a frown decorating her lips.

“Like I said, Doc. Just met the guy. Don’t know his name or where he comes from. Call it intuition, or whatever helps you sleep at night.” You shrugged, stepping backwards and out of the conversation. “I’d really appreciate it if you could save his life.”

𓇢𓆸

June 29th, 11:58 AM

The time passed slowly, despite the early morning being filled with so much excitement. The cops did in fact ask all of the same things, but you were even more tight lipped than you were with the nurse. Danny returned not long after the cops held you hostage with their questions. He brought you a change of clothes and your pack of cigarettes and a lighter, assuring you he would wait outside as long as you needed. He promised to take you home as soon as you were ready, and expressed his gratitude that you were alright.

You couldn’t help but notice his lack of questions.

You wondered if when the smoke cleared, he would pack up and disappear without ever asking anything at all. You couldn’t blame him if he did, but the thought did sting. Maybe Nashville was out the window after all.

He didn’t overstep any boundaries, opting to wait outside to give you the space you needed, but made you promise to find him if you needed him. You appreciated his presence, but felt guilty for dragging him into such a mess.

And a mess is exactly what this was, no matter which way you looked at it.

Once Vincent was stable, the same nurse who questioned you before returned to advise you of the fact, breaking the rules entirely. And, because of your helpful comments, she sneakily slipped what room he would be in. After a while of debating whether you should sneak to his room or not, you decided that you didn’t wait around for nothing. Following the colored arrows on the floor, it was easy to find the barebones private single room in the back end of the emergency department. The tiles were squeaky and everything smelled heavily of sanitizer, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors hooked up to the boy served as a comfort, knowing that no matter what, his heart was still beating.

For hours you sat in the uncomfortable padded armchair pulled close to his bedside, your hand loosely in his own as you flip flopped between listening to the beeping or the ticking of the clock on the wall. You watched as the sun rose high in the sky, beaming in through the small panel windows on the stark white wall. The sheets covering Vincent seemed scratchy, and the pillow below his head was flat, but for the first time in a very long time, he seemed peaceful. His youth was always so much more noticeable when he was asleep, the stress lines dormant and anger a far away place. Even now, as sick as he was, he didn’t seem like he was bothered by anything at all.

His chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, much different than it was the last time you saw him, and the color had returned to his face, although still a little lacking. You took the time to admire him, just like you would have months ago while he slept away the early mornings in your bed. He was beautiful, his features sharp and soft all the same. His hair was curled and dark, and his eyelashes the same as they rested over his cheeks. It tugged on your heart slightly when you thought of such things, and even though you loved him so much and cared so deeply about him, it wasn’t the same. You weren’t attracted to him like you were before, desperate and animalistic to be with him one more time. Feral as you fought for his affections and always lost sooner or later. It didn’t feel the same as it once did, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Were you only so attracted to him, so eager to be with him because he was the only thing in your life that made you feel something? Whether good or bad, pleasurable or painful, when in his company, your chest was always filled with some kind of emotion. Back then, you were desperate to feel, to catch a break from the burgeoning nothingness and never ending loneliness, to fill a void you thought only substance could solve. Now, you didn’t feel that same draw, and you cared about what kind of emotion you felt in his company, because there was somebody else showing you something better.

You weren’t lonely, or numb, or any of the things you once were when you clung to Vincent’s karmic love. You cared about him, loved him, but were not in love, and did not want to be with him. When you looked at him, you felt more bad than good, and it was hard to digest. Someone who you once thought was your whole world was now just a part of it, the same as anything else. The things you once felt for Vincent now hit you tenfold when you looked at Danny, but they weren’t nearly as painful or scary as you used to think they were.

The love you had for Vincent was not the same as the love you had for Danny. It never was and it never would be.

Your relationship with Daniel wasn’t built on lies and deception, nor did it hurt you when you got to close. It didn’t feel like a punishment for all your past wrongdoings, and it was happy far more than it was anything else. Daniel didn’t give you the bare minimum (or less than, sometimes), and frame it as what you deserved. He gave you the whole world, and never put responsibility on your shoulders for shit he caused. Daniel never caused shit, anyway.

It was carefree and fun, happy and healthy. The relationship you had with Danny was unlike anything you’d ever had before, and you were so grateful for it even if you felt like you did not deserve it. He had your back no matter what, and would never take advantage of the kindness or respect you offered him. He wasn’t a part of this world, the evil, drug filled world where your demons hid around every corner and watched your every move. He was a ticket out of that life, away from all of the things you did not want to be, and right now you were terrified that you sacrificed that bond with him to take care of Vincent yet again. You tried not to focus on that, knowing that worrying would do nothing but hurt you more in the meantime, but it was still sitting heavy on the back of your mind.

Knowing those things also brought up a worse, even more painful surge of emotions. It made you face some hard truths about you and Vincent, and as you sat and stared, you wondered why things had to be this way. Thinking back on all of the time you spent together, you had never felt that type of love towards him. You wondered if he was clean and sober when you met him, would it be better? Would it have worked?

What you felt for him was leagues different than what you felt for Danny, and it made you question if you ever truly loved Vincent at all. Was love the emotion, or did you stay with him and around him because you didn’t know anything else? Did you stay because you feared nobody else would understand you, that nobody else would ever love you? Did you stay because it was safe and comfortable, or because you wanted to?

Was what the two of you had love, or was it a sick and twisted trauma bond tying you together?

After all of the bad, the near-death experiences, the two-timing and mistrust, the fighting and the insults, the lack of trying and the lack of care, how could you ever say the two of you were in love?

What you suffered at his hands was abuse, even if he did not intend to be so cruel to you. Through it all you had formed an emotional bond with him and even when he was miserable, you begged for him to love you, genuinely, just once.

Your parents had taught you to do just that, and even now, twenty four years later, you still could not break the cycle.

Well, until you met Daniel. Until you learned what love was and how it was supposed to feel.

You felt the hand beneath yours twitch, as if he felt your train of thought and he was powering up to convince you otherwise. His heart monitor spiked momentarily, and you noticed his eyes flutter ever so slightly. He sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as he did so. Eventually, he managed to fight the bright lights and pry his eyes open.

You stayed silent, pulling your knees a bit closer to your chest as you waited for him to come to. You never knew what version of him you would get when he opened his eyes, never knew if the damage he sustained was permanent or temporary. You didn’t know, and recently, you had grown to hate uncertainty.

“Hey, doll.” After a few moments of silence, he eventually spoke, his voice quiet and raspy. You didn’t respond straight away, feeling his eyes on you as you watched your hand intertwined with his. The heart monitor picked up the pace again, showing his nervousness over your lack of an answer and your sullen features.

“Hi, Vincent.” You whispered, keeping your eyes anywhere but his.

Silence fell between you again, but not because of a lack of things to discuss. Neither of you knew where to begin, and you weren’t even sure if you wanted to. After everything he put you through, you were beginning to lose yourself.

“You’re mad at me.” He stated, a little stronger when he spoke the second time.

“Yep.” You gave a slow nod, but never withdrew your hand from his.

“S’okay. You should be.” All you could do was nod again, wondering if he knew the extent of the anger you were feeling. “I didn’t want to get you involved in all this… not again.”

“So, what?” You scoffed, still quiet as you continued the staring contest with your hands. “I don’t answer the phone? I don’t come to the Pony? I don’t bring you here? Not sure if you dying would be any better than me not getting involved.”

“I’m sorry.” He stressed the word, shifting slightly on the hospital bed to sit up a bit further. “For everythin’, Angel.”

“Okay.” You hummed, pressing your lips tightly together so nothing more could slip out.

“Talk to me.” He pleaded, adjusting the I.V. fluid drip so he did not knock it out of place. “Please.” Stress was etched into his features again, returning to him as soon as he woke up, but the softness of his eyes was unlike what you had seen from him lately. The bags under his eyes and the emotion filled expression was familiar, though.

“About what?” You furrowed your brows, finally catching his eyes. “What do you even remember?”

“Enough.” He responded, a bit more gruff to match your intensity.

“How many times are we gonna do this, Vin?” You shook your head, puffing out a sigh. “How many times are we gonna sit in this exact position, talking about the same old shit? How many times ‘till you stop waking up?” You finally expressed a sliver of your worry, unable to stomach the thought of him not waking. As angry as you were at him now, you were so grateful that his eyes were open and he was talking.

“I know, Angel.” His head fell back in defeat, and he gave a slight wince as he coughed to clear his throat. “It was a mistake. I swear, I’m trying.”

“Stop trying and start doing.” You barked, sick of the same old excuse. “Do you know how scared I was? In that old fuckin’ station wagon, holding you in the backseat and thinking it was going to be the last time? Lying to that same nurse that’s still trying to save your life? How angry I am right now, after you’ve been so miserable and cruel to me, and I’m still sitting by your bedside to make sure you’re okay?” You paused, swallowing back word vomit you knew would do neither of you any good.

“I love you, doll, and I wanna be better, for you.” You looked to his face, seeing his eyes shining with tears of frustration. “You didn’t deserve any of that shit, baby. You shouldn’t be chasin’ after me, waitin’ to clean up my mess. You don’t deserve this.”

This.

Didn’t deserve this.

Which was coincidentally him, which he thought was exactly what you deserved.

“Then stop making me.” You frowned. “Stop chasing after Lillian, stop spending every night at the Pony. Get the fuck away from her, get away from that place, and get the fuck away from the drugs, Vin. They’re going to kill you, and I’m not planning your funeral while you’re still alive. I said I was done, but I’m always going to be here, trying to keep you safe no matter how pissed off I am. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“I ‘preciate you still lovin’ me, even if I don’t deserve it. I’m happy you’re still here, even if I’m a real piece of work most o’ the time. You’re the only thing I’ve ever had, the only one who ever loved me at all. I’m trying for you, doll.” You didn’t want him to try for you. You wanted him to try for him. “I’m done with Lil, I swear it. I’m not lying, baby. This time was different, an’ I really thought… I really thought this was it, that I was a goner.”

“We all did, Vin.” You confessed, relaxing ever so slightly in your seat. You felt your chest tighten and your throat close around the words, tapping back into the fear you felt on the way to the hospital. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you too.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” He squeezed your hand, forcing your attention back on him. “I ain’t leavin’ you, ever. You should know better than that. I’m gonna get better, clean myself up, and prove that I mean it.”

God, you hoped so desperately that he was telling the truth and he could follow through with his previously empty promises.

“All that stuff I said to you, angel… it’s not true. I didn’t mean a word of it. You’re the best damn thing this world’s ever seen, and that it’ll ever get. I always need you, an’ I always will. M’sorry I get so awful sometimes. I don’t care if you’re mine, or someone else’s, or nobody’s at all. S’long as you’re here, that’s all that matters to me.”

You knew how vile substance could turn people, but it was so damn hard watching Vincent turn into a completely different person at the drop of a hat. You yourself had suffered through the wicked ups and downs, but watching it on someone else, being at the receiving end was gut wrenching. You knew Vincent was good at the core, and he had the ability to be that way all of the time, you just wanted him to harness that power and fight through all of the nasty thoughts and feelings instead of throwing them at everyone else. You wanted him to see the other side, to experience it with you so he knew how much better it was, but he was further gone than you had ever been.

You didn’t want to think that he would stay this way forever, but it was easier to believe that instead of getting your hopes crushed every time.

“I’ll always be here, Vin. Even if I’m mad, even if I hate you, I’ll always love you. Just what we do. We don’t have anyone or anything else.” You confessed, feeling a sinking feeling in your stomach as you spoke.

What if you wanted someone or something else? What if you wanted to get away from it all, to leave this life behind and start over again? Were you destined to live this way forever, or could there really be something greater waiting for you to discover it?

After the long night full of twisted feelings and events, Nashville with Danny seemed much less scary and a whole lot more tempting.

If he was even still willing to take you after all this misery, of course.

God, that conversation seemed so far away now, and as painful as it was at the time, much preferred to what you were facing now.

Why did it make you feel so terrible to think such things? Why did you feel like a villain for wanting better for yourself?

Why was it such a horrible thing to want a lover, a life partner instead of a partner in crime?

You had so many questions that always went unanswered, and with the way your life had always been, you knew you would need to ask a million more before anything you were asking now made the smallest lick of sense.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco @aintthatapity @demonrat444

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bighominiglo · 24 days ago

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Here's the thing about the drug crisis that I think a lot of tumblr people and liberals miss. Yes often these people are self medicating and have it rough and have underlying issues that cause them to be addicted and they do deserve compassion.

However, a lot of these harm reduction policies especially in practice end up enabling and making the problem worse. As in, keeping them trapped in a haze. The ONLY way to actually treat underlying issues is to stop the drug use first. It's like how when you're in an abusive relationship it is impossible to heal until you are separated from the abuser. Making hard drugs more accessible in the name of "harm reduction" not only turns more people to drugs bc of social norms, culture, and pressure, but also prevents those who are coping and self medicating from ever being free.

I'm convinced these people have never actually been to or lived in a place where the open drug scene exists and the streets are unsafe and government workers are handing out needles and letting people die on the streets. After all it's easier to facilitate someone's overdose than it is to actually help them.

Not to say I am against nalaxone or anything. It only needs to be the case that public hard drug use remains illegal. Otherwise you have children stepping over heroin needles on the way to school, drug dealers/cartel/secret government funding racist programs on the corners, theft, crime, human feces in the road... etc. Drug addicts deserve compassion and safety but so does everyone else. It is a fact that these drugs that the government in some cases facilitates the use of make people unable to engage in higher reasoning and fuel addiction and impulsive behavior.

#where shitlibs fail #politics #drugs #addiction #open drug scene #please just use your brain

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hai-lei · 9 months ago

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I think it’s also important to note that sometimes people who you’ve used Nalaxone on, might come back to it swinging. It’s not common but it can happen. So it’s important to take a few steps back after administering, or be prepared to jump out of the way.

Be gentle with others but also make sure you take care of yourself too.

Welcome Back - What to Say After You Respond to an Overdose With Naloxone

We recently had the pleasure of speaking with The DOPE Project (Drug Overdose Prevention and Education) team about what to do and say after you’ve used naloxone to reverse an overdose from opioids.

Experiencing a medical emergency like an overdose is traumatic and we can support people returning to consciousness with kindness and without judgment.

ID: Tiles with rainbow gradient and large type: WELCOME BACK What to say after you respond to an overdose with naloxone. Waking up from an overdose can be traumatizing. As someone starts to wake up, give them a little bit of space and gently welcome the person back into consciousness. “Hi, friend. I’m [name] and I just had to give you Narcan. I’m sorry you don’t feel good. Sit up when you’re ready. You’re safe. I’m glad you’re alive. I’ve got you.” Repeat until the person is fully awake. If they are disoriented, give them more space. If they want to leave, don’t try to make them stay. Try to stay with the person for 90 minutes and remember to take care of yourself as well. After a medical emergency like an overdose, it is not the time for: Arguing, Shaming, or Shouting. When we are gentle with others, we also learn to be more gentle with ourselves.

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builtbybrokenbells · 2 months ago

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belladonna | vii (pt.1)

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 18k

ALL OC—abusive/toxic romantic relationships, graphic scenes/potrayals of abusive relationships and domestic violence, choking/strangulation, verbal abuse, insults, name-calling, punching, spitting, mental illness/descriptions/behaviour of bipolar episodes, overdose, mentions of previous OD, descriptions of overdose (stimulants & narcotics), heavy descriptions of addictions/addicts/addict behavior, heavy mentions of drug use (stimulants/narcotics), heavy mentions of relapsing, trauma bonds, descriptions of toxic/abusive parents, descriptions and scenes involving and describing child abuse and neglect, PTSD/CPTSD behaviors/reactions/explanations, dissociation, trauma, triggered trauma responses, near death experiences, suicidal ideation, mentions of death/dying, absent parents, death of a parent, parents with active addictions, missing persons, police stations/reports, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, crying, mentions of blood/scenes with blood/bleeding, vomit, extreme emotional distress, mentions of cheating, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, fighting, yelling, drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, sorry if I miss any 🤍

Emergency substance abuse hotline (US): 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Canadian Mental Health and Addictions Phone Line: 1-833-553-6983

Virtual NA meetings and support (worldwide)

Canada’s complete comprehensive list of addiction helplines, inpatient/outpatient programs, and family support per province | UNITED STATES

Canada’s comprehensive list of domestic and family violence helplines and resources | UNITED STATES HOTLINE

Canada’s guide to mental health help and crisis intervention | UNITED STATES

Remember, no matter what is portrayed in fiction or media, the safest course of action for anyone suffering from an overdose (accidental or intentional) is to call 911.

If you are struggling with an abusive relationship or domestic violence, know and understand that you are not alone. You are heard, you are seen, and you are loved. We believe you, and we hear you.

June 29th, 2022 - 12:58 PM

“Jesus, Y/N.” Liam frowned, taking in your appearance as you plopped down in a rickety fold out chair next to him. You dropped your tote bag to the ground, crossing your arms over your stomach as you pulled your unbuttoned flannel closer to your body. “You doing okay?”

“Just fucking peachy.” You grumbled, letting your head fall back on the chair as your eyes fluttered closed. Although you couldn’t be further from it, you did not feel like delving into your sorrows on such little sleep and high emotions.

You had spent some time with Vincent after he had woken up, but after your conversation, it didn’t take long for him to drift back to sleep. With a kiss on his forehead you promised him that you would be back, and you rushed out of the hospital to meet Danny in the parking lot. You filled him in on the little information you had as you climbed inside his car and thanked him profusely for sticking around for the worst of it. Thanking him did not seem like nearly enough, but it was all you had, and in all honesty, he did not even want to accept that.

Battling a nasty bout of exhaustion from being awake all night and still tortured by the events that unfolded, you had a small breakdown in the front seat, unable to contain the surplus of emotion coursing through you. Like the devastatingly fantastic person he is, he held you through the entirety of it, whispering small words of encouragement and comfort. For a brief moment, you almost fell asleep right there in his arms, never knowing a place more peaceful. Looking back on it, you wished you had.

Instead, the two of you went back to your apartment, the air ominous after the heaviness of the night before. Nothing seemed right, and although Danny was still loving you the same, you could feel a shift in the atmosphere. It wouldn’t be long until he needed more, and you weren’t sure if you could give that to him just yet. Even if he deserved the world, you always had the sneaking suspicion you were not the one to give it to him. You weren’t even close to what he needed, and you often bargained with the idea that you would never be what he deserved. Instead of addressing it, you put him in bed and jumped in the shower, washing every bit of the night prior from your skin, trying your best to push the memories from your head that continued to haunt you. When you got out, you still couldn’t seem to rid yourself of the feeling of dirtiness, nor could you stop the shaking of your hands (that were still raw from the obsessive washing of them in the emergency room bathroom).

So, with no other option, you wrote a note for Danny saying you would be back soon if he woke without you next to him, and went in search of a Hail Mary once again. It seemed like your only hope as of late, solace in the beaten down NA hall, and even that charm was wearing off. You wondered what the hell you would do when that no longer seemed to satiate the undying urge. With your head pointed at the ground, you placed a delicate kiss on the note and laid it on the bedside table, your throat tight with tears as you left him on his lonesome. You had little worry about him waking before you returned, but left it just in case he did. Five minutes later, you were outside the large double doors of the battered old church, tears still stinging your eyes as you wondered how the hell you were going to dig yourself out of the same old hole again. Each time you fell, it only seemed to grow deeper.

“Can I ask you something?” You turned towards Liam, your full day of sleeplessness beginning to catch up to you and leaving you with little filters. His input was valuable in some ways, and you feared if you kept this all to yourself, you would succumb to the pressure of the situation.

“Always.” He nodded, watching the slow roll of people begin to fill chairs.

“There’s this guy… and he’s great, you know? The best, even.” You paused, feeling choked up at the thought of Daniel and his perfect face. Every time you thought of him it seemed to hurt just the same. “But he doesn’t know this stuff… he’s never been around it, never had to see it, never had to live it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Liam nodded, showing you he was following.

“How the fuck do I tell him?” You rushed out, your words breathy as you felt panic begin to set in again. The visions of you with the OxyContin tucked tightly in your palms flashed before your eyes, the look of worry etched so deep into his features as he witnessed something you never wanted him to be a part of. “How do I explain this without scaring him away?” You motioned around the room to the zombified people sitting around, looking to Liam’s slender face. He pondered the question for a moment, fixing his clipboard in his hand as his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Be honest, Y/N.” He replied, knowing it was not the answer you wanted to hear. At the very core of it, it was that simple, even if you refused to see it that way. “If he’s worth it, he’ll stay. He’ll understand. If you let him get close enough to want to tell him about this, I have a feeling he’s worth the risk.” You fought back an eye roll, irked at his cookie cutter views and quickly understanding he had no idea. He too, had no idea what this was like, what it felt like to watch your best friend’s life fade right before your eyes, no idea the extent and lengths you would go to just to feel good for a minute. He didn’t get it, and you were the fool for thinking he would.

“Yeah, never thought of that one, asshole.” You snapped, scowling in his direction as Carol took a seat across from you. “If I wanted an answer like that, I would have asked any ol’ passerby on the fuckin’ street.” The venom in your tone was so unlike you, only present when the world was pushing and pulling you in the right way. Only present when substance was at the front of your mind, and everything else was behind it.

“What has gotten into you today?” Liam was appalled at your response, knowing it was incredibly out of character for you. He had grown used to your snarky comments, but never genuine venom or spite. A sinking feeling filled your stomach as you shifted uncomfortably in the rickety chair, listening to the squeak of the rusty bolts as they buckled under your weight.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, remorse crossing your hard expression.

“Mad at the world, or something specific?” He sent a smile your way, even if you did not deserve it, just because that was the type of person he was.

“The world.” You confirmed, giving a bleak nod. “I haven’t slept yet. Spent the night at the hospital.”

“You, or for someone else?”

“Someone else.” You whispered, swallowing back the permanent lump in your throat. “They’re okay, thank god.”

“But you’re not, clearly.” You gave a shrug, knowing you’d rather Vincent be alright than yourself. “Dont do that. Don’t put yourself below everyone else. You’re important too, Y/N. Way more than you think.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You tried to cover your scoff with a cough, clearing your scratchy throat as you sat up in your seat. “I had it together for so long, Liam. Thought I was doing so good, and last night I had it in my hands, and I almost gave everything up. How the fuck is it so easy? How is it so easy to stop caring, to stop worrying, and give up your entire life for a high?”

“That’s the evil part of addiction. Doesn’t matter who gets hurt in the process, or what you give up for that high…but you didn’t give anything up, Y/N. You remembered what to do, what was at stake, and instead of giving in you fought through it, and you came here.” He explained, tapping the tip of his pen against the cork board sat on his lap. “You have more willpower than anyone I know. You’re doing so well—I just wish you could see it like I do.”

You didn’t reply, but you didn’t have to, because for the first time in the near two years you had been attending his NA sessions, you actually could see it from his perspective.

Vincent was alive, Danny was sleeping soundly in your bed, and you were sober.

No matter how many hiccups you ran into the night before, that had to count for something.

June 19th, 2022 - 2:14 PM

You called in to work on behalf of all three of you, explaining to John the severity of the situation and why you had to miss your shifts the next day. He seemed understanding, caring and sympathetic as he listened. He even asked how Vincent was doing, concerned for his well being. For some reason, his response seemed illogical, unbelievable. You wondered if it was an act, if he really was mad and drafting up your termination letters as you spoke. If he wasn’t, you still pulled at the roots of your hair, stress eating away at you as you wondered how you could manage the loss of a full 12 hour day on your paycheck. As much as you wished to take it as it came, you knew you would be sick with worry until the final number was in front of you on paper.

June 30th, 2022 - 12:13 AM

Dead. Cold, unmoving, colorless and breathless. Dead. Your hands held the face of a man who had only ever been full of life, loud and proud no matter what he was feeling, and unapologetically living life to the fullest, even if the choices he made were frowned upon. The warmth that once clung to his skin had disappeared without a trace, leaving a growing sense of horror deep in the pit of your stomach.

You could feel the numbness begin to spread again, your feet and your hands no longer functioning alongside the rest of your limbs. It was creeping up your spine, lacing around the columns and locking into your joints. Paralyzed with grief, you knew not where to go or what to do. Not even your lips would move as you tried to shout for help, to catch someone’s attention that may possibly be able to change the outcome. You felt like the only option left was to lie down on top of him and die alongside him.

You tried to bring your hands to his chest, to begin compressions to get his blood circulating again, but you felt anchored in place. Why couldn’t you do it? Why couldn’t you fix this?

If you had been there sooner, tried a little harder, you could have saved him. Instead, all you could do was weep for the boy you once thought would be your forever. Through all of the misery, the insults and the betrayals, that love still burned inside of you with no hope to ever be distinguished.

Was this your fault? Did you pull away when he needed you most?

“It is your fault. This is all your fault.” The violent undertones in the soft feminine voice made your blood run cold. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in a long time, and one you wished to never hear again. “It’s always your fault, Y/N. You can’t do anything right—never could.” She sounded far away, yet right in your ears and just under your skull all at once. She was consuming you, her hatred and vile seeping in through the cracks of your skin and bleeding you dry of anything good. You couldn’t escape her, and you were stupid to even try.

“Stop it.” You seethed, your voice returning to you as you clutched Vincent’s face tighter, not daring to look up to meet the eyes that haunted every aspect of your life. “Mom, help me.” You begged, tears blurring your vision as you pushed your growing anger aside. “Please!”

“Help you?” She scoffed, making sure to rub a little extra salt into the wound like always. “There is no help for you. It’s a waste of my time. Wasted my entire life trying to help you, and you still turned out like this.”

“Help me? Like you’ve ever tried to help me.” You hissed through gritted teeth, staring down at the boy lying lifeless on the ground as your desperation continued to grow.

“You’ve only ever been good at being a junkie, just like your father. You’ll never be anything more, Y/N. You’ll never save him. It’s your fault.”

It’s your fault.

It’s all your fault.

The same words pounded against your skull, only making it harder to focus on the task at hand. Your arms felt weak as you settled your palms over Vincent’s chest, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as you started a steady rhythm of compressions. It was too late, and you knew it wouldn’t change the outcome. His lips were blue, his lungs deflated, and his life force gone from his body forever. Sobs tore through your chest, your vision blurred as you tried so hard to bring him back, even while knowing that you were too late. The pain was consummating, tying you to this moment for the rest of eternity and ensuring you would never live another moment free of the burden. His death upon your shoulders, just like you always feared.

“Help me!” You pleaded, shouting the words as you gave in to the nagging panic and looked upwards. Your gaze settled on a woman who was a spitting image of yourself. As soon as your eyes locked with hers, you felt a whole new wave of fear wash over you.

Suddenly, Vincent faded away completely, your hands no longer on his cold, unmoving chest. Instead, they were laying atop a dirty, matted, ash-stained carpet. The backs of them were littered with tiny, red circles caked with black dust, the skin aching and stinging as you studied them. The sores were glossy, the flesh seared white like the injury had happened only seconds before. The sight made you sick to your stomach, the new pain making you weak. You swallowed back a retch as you zoned in on your surroundings, a feeble attempt at ignoring the wounds on your hands. The sound of Channel 5 News was blasting through the television at full volume and the smell of vodka hung thick in the air.

The sound of little feet running over the peeling linoleum tiles in the kitchen could be heard in the distance, but they were not moving with playful intent. Running, desperate to get away from the woman hovering heads over them, following so closely behind with malicious intentions. Your eyes, open wide and frozen with shock as you slowly turned your head upwards, settled upon a familiar little girl huddled in the corner of the room, her hair ratty and greasy as her sullen little face peeked out around the dirty recliner chair she hid behind.

“The local police are seeking additional information about a missing 28 year old man from Tooele, Utah. Last seen on December 21st, he was wearing a large black jacket and green cargo pants. He’s 6’1 with brown hair and blue eyes, and has a tattoo of his children’s names on the side of his neck. If you have any information that could help locate him safely and bring him back home to his family, please contact your local police department.” The voice on the TV was grating, impossibly loud and incredibly clear. Your eyes cut to the screen, seeing a picture of your father from more than a decade prior flashing across it, a large banner atop of it that read ‘MISSING’.

What would he look like now? Would he still be the man that forever haunted your dreams? That broke your heart before anyone else could have the chance? Or would he be different, sober and willing to start anew, to atone for all of his egregious actions?

You turned back to the little girl, sadness seeping from every pore as you watched her clutch a tattered teddy bear to her chest. The little shirt stitched around the fuzzy body read the words ‘Tooele City Police’, the vinyl cracked and peeling. Even from the distance, you could recognize the same pattern of wounds littering the back of her hands as she gripped the teddy tightly, her weepy eyes pleading for you to help.

Why couldn’t you move? Why couldn’t you help her?

A thunderous crash from the kitchen made your stomach churn, following by the apologetic voice of a little boy, pleading with someone not to touch his brother, to spare him whilst he sacrificed himself.

Patrick.

The realization hit you like a million bricks travelling at the speed of light, making your head ache behind your eyes and your bones groan under the weight of your skin.

How to get to him? How to help him? To take the burden off his shoulders and relieve him of a duty that never should have fallen upon him? A little kid just the same as you and Hunter, doing everything he could to protect his siblings and stand up to the woman who only wanted to torment the three of you. He was afraid, likely just as much as you were, but he never let it show. He was stronger than the two of you combined, and never once shied away when it came to keeping you both safe.

How could you have been so selfish? So self righteous and ignorant to overlook the struggle Patrick suffered through just to keep you safe? How could you help him, to get him out of the wrathful hands of your mother and to somewhere safe? He sacrificed his entire life for you, and you were frozen on the floor with no way to stop the inevitable.

“It’s your fault.” The woman seethed, slurring her words as she slammed an empty bottle down on the tabletop. “We never wanted the three of you. You’re the reason he’s gone, and you’re the reason he isn’t coming back.”

At the sound of her voice, the little girl disappeared further behind the chair, desperate to go unnoticed, desperate to stay safe.

“It’s okay, baby. She can’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.” You whispered, looking down to your hands that seemed glued to the ground. Your words were quiet, echoing as if they were only sounding inside your head, and you knew she couldn’t hear you. She stayed unseen and unheard, just like your mother always wanted. White static crackled over the television, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you tried to block it out.

She couldn’t hear you. She didn’t even know you were there. She didn’t know she would be okay, that all of you would be okay, and you couldn’t even reassure her of the fact. Even if you could, you believed it would never truly matter. She had plenty more suffering awaiting her, so much so that a peaceful future would never make up for it.

“Another overdose takes the life of a young man from the Bronx. 22 year old Vincent Benvenuto’s tragic story has sparked some debate and outrage in surrounding communities, making the public question the Government’s lack of action against the rapidly growing drug problem in New York. Tune in tonight at six for the full story, hearing from a few voices that just might change your mind about this issue.”

The weight of the news report left you facedown on the floor, shackled there and sentenced to death as you swallowed your grief over the man you loved so dearly becoming nothing more than a part of the statistic. Would you too become the number you had always tried to run away from? Nothing but an unmarked corpse that people used as fuel to their hateful fires as they tried to exile addicts from their cities?

You felt like you were screaming, your throat raw and searing with pain despite no noise sounding at all. The news channel was too loud anyway, and nothing more could be heard over the booming speakers and misguided reporters.

“It’s your fault, Y/N. It’s all your fault.” That damned woman, foot on your spine as she whispered in your ear the very thing you were trying to convince yourself wasn’t true. “It wasn’t enough—they’re both dead because of you.”

—wake up, baby.” You shot upwards, your skin crawling with fear and sticky with sweat. Your t-shirt clung to your body, making you feel like you were suffocating. You felt the baby hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention, your heart thudding aggressively against your chest as you fought the urge to vomit. Looking to your left, you saw the concerned eyes of Daniel, who had a loving hand on your arm and was ready to comfort you through whatever you were dreaming about.

“Oh, god.” You gasped, your throat dry and scratchy as you tried to speak. Your jaw hurt from your clenched teeth, and you felt a dull ache in the back of your head begin to set in. “I’m so sorry.” You rushed out, raising your hand to your eyes to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

What would he think? What kind of a show had you put on in your tormented slumber? The sky was dark now, nighttime taking over the small town and leaving you confused as you stared out the window. Had you slept all day?

“I usually sleep fine. Haven’t had… not in a long time… not like that. M’sorry.” You pulled your knees to your chest, feeling your body vibrating as you tried to ground yourself. He didn’t need to deal with this on top of everything else, didn’t need to be concerned about things he was never intended to be a part of. The mattress below you was hard, the springs threatening to break through the fabric and poke your skin. Everything in the moment seemed to worsen your discomfort, and you weren’t sure it would ever pass.

“Stop apologizing.” Danny said, sleepiness still laced in his tone as he pulled you closer to him. You collapsed into his arms, the comfort of his hold unfortunately better than anything else in the entire world. “I’m here for everything, no matter how hard or scary you think it is.”

June 30th, 2022 - 4:35 PM

Nothing.

Empty.

You tried to feel something, to move from the position you laid in and break free from the cruel grasp of whatever entity took hold of you, but you couldn’t do anything.

The ceiling above you was blank, the same as it was for the past sixteen hours, still peeling of its paint and stained from water leakage from the rundown roof.

Your eyes were itchy, dry and burning from the tiredness that plagued you, but they stayed open, focused on the yellow rings making the dingy paint job look even worse.

Every now again when your focus slipped, you could picture the scene of Vincent on the bathroom floor above you, like you were stuck in a glass box and forced to watch the harrowing scene play out all over again without the ability to run. You couldn’t blink it away when it came, only sit and wait for it to be over, to face it fully just like you had when it happened.

You felt shackled to the mattress, unable to move, unable to breath without pain. It all hurt, aching and searing, never ending. There was a sinister force hanging heavy in the air, laying atop of you as solidly as cement, a blanket intended to suffocate rather than comfort.

You wanted to feel something. Anger, sadness, fear, the same paralyzingly strong emotions in the bathroom of the Pony, or the whirlwind of all three together, but you were met with nothing. Well, nothing other than the bleak, cold, unforgiving yellowing whiteness of the paint above, and the hard, sharp springs peeking out of the mattress below you.

Was it your fault?

Did you cause this?

Could you have done more?

The nothingness was growing at a rapid rate, bringing the numbness back along with it. You couldn’t feel your feet, your hands, or your face. You were stuck, suffering and repenting over something that never should have been made your responsibility at all. You craved the pain, begged for it, no matter if it was the smallest amount or even the largest amount, just to distract you from the terrifying emptiness continuing to take over, the same one you feared may never pass.

Nothing.

Empty.

When will it stop?

June 30th, 2022 - 7:02 PM

“Come on, Utah. You have to get up, or eat, or something.” The sweet sound of Daniel’s voice filled your mind, but not even that could force you from the state you were in. The numbness had taken over again, your legs, your arms and your abdomen. Your throat felt like it was closed off, aching with every breath that tried to pass through, scratching when you even thought about speaking aloud.

You wanted to answer, but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t give him anything at all, even if he deserved the whole world and more.

It was the very thing you feared when you fell for him in the first place, coming to life and truth in the most evil and cruel ways.

Nothing.

You were nothing, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

Instead of fighting it, you began to give in to the idea of letting it take you, the ever-growing darkness and frigid void that was calling your name so sweetly.

Why not become the thing everyone believed you were, anyway? Submit to the demons that followed you so closely, that prayed for your downfall and worked tirelessly to ensure it?

There was only one thing that could take it away. One thing that could cure the hole caving in your chest. One thing you fought for so long. One thing that was not the man holding your hand, even if you so badly wished it was. You knew this for certain, because as his fingers remained laced with yours, the only thing you could think of was the weight of the OxyContin in your palm and how simple it made everything seem.

It would solve all of your problems, beyond anything you could ever comprehend. It would make everything feel okay again, and what it could not fix it would make obsolete.

Nothing, or everything?

It was your choice, and this time as you sat on your knees at the crossroads, the choice seemed easier than ever before.

June 30th, 2022 - 10:56 PM

Every nerve in your body was ablaze, burning with a kind of fire that would not cease on its own. You wanted to scream, to wail in agony and vocally express the pain you were feeling inside, but you remained still and stoic, still staring at the yellow circles and watching as they danced across the ceiling, morphing into pictures of the things and people you never wished to see again.

You begged for the pain, and now you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t stop it. The only thing that could ease it, that could take it all away at once was a single phone call away. Your phone plugged in next to your head, filled with missed messages and calls from Dylan, was the key to getting what you needed.

Only issue was, you knew that side by side, the contact for your dealer and your sponsor would force you to think twice before you sealed your fate, placed strategically to stop you from going down the wrong path in this exact kind of situation. You were tired of thinking, and you were tired of hurting, and you couldn’t face the devil and the angel head on. You weren’t even sure if you could muster the strength to reach over and put the passcode in to make the call.

You couldn’t do anything.

Nothing at all.

June 30th, 2022 - 11:31 PM

Anger.

White, hot, inebriating rage coursed through your veins as you grabbed the nearest item of the kitchen table and barrelled it at the wall. The journal landed against the thin drywall with a deafening sound, cracking the already damaged wood and dropping to the floor. As you watched it fall, you thought for a second about how good it would feel to fall with it, to land on the floor and seep through the cracks, to become nothing again. You could not even feel the sadness that should have came with the realization that it was the very journal Sam got you for your birthday, so special and so sentimental, now laying with powdered gypsum on the cracked vinyl tile like it was nothing.

Nothing, just like you. Just like everything. Just like always.

The emotion throbbed under your skin, in the tips of your fingers and your toes, behind your eyes and in the pit of your stomach. It was taking over, taking control of every single action and thought your brain could produce. You felt like you were aflame with the feeling, burning up into the worst version of yourself all over again, and you couldn’t stop it. With every object you threw, every broken plate and shattered glass that laid haphazardly upon the floor, it only fuelled it further.

Your throat was raw, the taste of iron potent on your tongue as you saw red. You didn’t know why you were angry, but you didn’t need to. All you needed was to destroy every single thing that stood in your way, to ruin every single aspect of your life so you could start over again and do it right. You couldn’t keep living like this, suffering by someone else’s hand, and you wanted the world to burn with you. You couldn’t sit still, stand by and watch as you fell apart and everything else remained intact. It wasn’t fair.

You were furious for being dragged into this all over again, for being so committed to a man who did his best to ruin you, for being a scapegoat and a victim of an addiction that wasn’t even yours.

More than anything, you were angry because after so long, you still weren’t better, that his wellbeing came first every single time and it always set you back further than where you began.

You wanted to be important, to be worth helping, to heal, but you couldn’t. You were nothing. To him, to you, to the whole world.

You were angry because at the end of the line, when the dirt and dust settled, when the panic subsided, drugs were the only thing you could think of, the only thing in the entire world you believed could make you feel better, the only thing you wanted.

Sobriety was the goal, the very thing you sought and set out to achieve, but it was your own worst enemy.

You were angry because you couldn’t trust yourself, and that you were still so afraid of your own psyche that you had to put yourself in time out. Angry that every emotion was debilitating and disastrous, and that you could not manage to handle things with grace or compassion. You were angry that an addict was all you would ever be. You were angry that being sober was harder than giving in. You were angry at it all.

You were furious that after everything, all of the shit he endured and the love he still tried to give you, the demons were far stronger and you sent Danny out the door without a second thought, banishing him from the world that tried so hard to ruin you, especially when he was the key to getting through it. Especially when all he wanted to do was help you through it.

At the end of the line, nothing else mattered. Nobody could stop it, and there was no earthly thing that could change it. You were alone, at the end of the line staring down the biggest obstacle that consistently stood in your way, and you had to do it by yourself. You were angry at the isolation and at yourself for letting yourself get to such a point, and you were angry that you had nothing else to do other than face it head on. It was eating away at you, every fiber of your being decomposing as you shattered glass and tore pages out of books, begging you to stop and help yourself instead of furthering the destruction.

What do you do when there’s nothing left for you? When all options have been exhausted and the outcome still remains the same? What do you do when the end of the road is near, and you’ve got no choice but to follow it? How do you digest your own demise while still looking over your shoulder and regretting not making the right turn?

What were you to do when running away wasn’t an option, especially after spending an entire lifetime tirelessly (and barely) evading the very thing that would be your demise?

There was nowhere left, nothing left for you, and you were finally submitting to the world that you had been desperate to run away from, to leave behind and never return.

July 1st, 2022 - 1:02 AM

You sat silently atop your bathroom counter, tears streaming down your cheeks as Dylan stood before you, a pair of tweezers in his hands as he picked glass shards from your bloody palm. You couldn’t feel the pain anymore, instead only recognizing your injury because of your eyes staring straight at it. Neither of you spoke, but you didn’t need to. Dylan knew exactly where your head was at, and nothing he could say would distract you from it. Instead, he kept your phone in his back pocket and tended to your wounds, hoping that his silent love was enough to get you through the worst of it.

He had a few alcohol pads he found in the bottom of your bathroom drawers, carefully swiping them over the cuts as he removed the glass to clean them. Your gaze flickered to his face, watching his determined expression as he focused all of his attention on you. You wondered why he was still here, why he still cared. Couldn’t he recognize that you were a lost cause? That you would never be the woman he thought you were, that he hoped you were?

You weren’t the best friend who could swoop in and save them from anything. You weren’t a never ending book of knowledge that had answers to their every question. You weren’t good, and you certainly weren’t the person they should be running to when things went wrong.

You were broken, bruised, and battered. You were a shell of a person that you never truly got to know. You weren’t an inspiration, and you would end up working at the Fox alongside them until one of you died.

You were nothing close to what you hoped you would be by now, and you felt undeserving of any kindness that anyone had to offer, even if it was just to benefit themselves.

“Does it hurt, doll?” He asked, placing another tiny shard atop the ever growing pile on the counter next to you. You gave a solemn shake of your head, unable to find any words to speak back. “M’almost done, angel.” He promised, repeating the same motions he had been doing for the last twenty minutes. Pick, place, wipe.

Was he sick of it, yet?

Was he sick of you?

Did he think it was your fault?

The rage had subsided, and the never ending pit of emptiness had taken over once again.

Nothing.

You were nothing.

July 1st, 2022 - 2:13 AM

“You gotta talk sooner or later, angel.” Dylan said, his head propped on his hand as his elbow rested on the arm of your couch. His other hand was in your hair, gently running his fingers through it as he untangled the knots within it. Your head was laid on his lap, your eyes open and unblinking as you stared at the paint peeling off the walls, imagining what you would do if you had the money to fix it.

“Think green paint would go nice in here?” You asked, your voice raspy as you spoke for the first time since your screaming match with no one. It hurt to talk, your throat hoarse and raw as you cleared it.

“Not what I mean, doll.” He laughed, his low tone sending a shiver down your spine as it shook his shoulders. You loved Dylan, so dearly and so intensely, and you could feel it in your bones whenever he was near. It was almost debilitating, the care you had for the boy, the desire to protect him, the need to help him, and the want to show him better than the things he’d always known. “But yeah, green would look great.” His thumb grazed over your burning cheek, the light touch sending your entire body raising with goosebumps.

It didn’t feel the same as when Danny touched you; no swirling thoughts or butterflies or heavy lead in the pit of your stomach, but it was still nice. You had always been desperate to be loved, in every and any way, by anyone that would. Because your parents never did it, you craved it in every interaction you had, not even minding if the love bordered closer to violence. Attention was attention, no matter good or bad, and after a lifetime of being ignored and forgotten, all you ever wanted was for someone to pay attention to you, to acknowledge you.

The relationship you had with Dylan was strictly platonic, even considering his endless flirting and love for pet names. At the same time, it was much more than friends yet nowhere near siblings. You had never had a relationship similar to the one you had with Dylan, and you were certain you never would. That was okay by you, though. He was one of a kind, and you would never want anyone to try and replace the man who sat with you now.

He loved you no matter what, through every fall and triumph, and never viewed you differently. He was fiercely loyal to you, defending your name and your honor as if it were his own, even when you did not deserve it. He prioritized you over everyone else, and depended upon you even when he shouldn’t. The relationship only worked because you did and felt the same for him, without fail. Your codependency was greatly denied, but always constant. You weren’t sure what you would do without him, nor him without you.

“Maybe someday, I’ll paint it for ya. Fix this place up all nice, make it feel like home.” He continued, his eyes staring at the same imperfections you were so intently focused on.

“Don’t think this place could ever feel like home, Dyl.” You confessed, your heart breaking as you admitted to the fact. You were so hopeful, so certain that upon moving in, this would be your new beginning and your fresh start. Somehow, it only seemed to be a new form of misery that was just slightly different from what you were used to before. It didn’t fix anything, and you feared that in some aspects, it only made it worse. “I want it to, but… yeah.”

“What happened to Mr. Country Club?” He asked, his large thumb still tracing comforting patterns into your red cheeks. He stood taller than everyone else you knew, his shoulder broad and his arms strong despite never seeing the inside of a gym in his life. His limbs were gangly, but suited him perfectly, and were plastered with patchwork tattoos done in a garage of people he no longer spoke to. Everything about Dylan at first sight was alarming, off-putting and intimidating, but you had grown to know a completely different version of him. He was a teddy bear, goofy and silly despite his temper and lacking wit. He loved to love, even if he never showed it, but specifically only cared to love you. The soothing feeling was almost enough to lull you to sleep, and it probably would have if the horrors plaguing your mind weren’t so loud and persistent. “Surprised he wasn’t here. Didn’t seem like he wanted to leave your side.”

“Kicked him out.” You confessed, your stomach sinking with the weight of your guilt. You felt horrible about it, even if you did it in an attempt to protect him. You didn’t want him to witness the worst parts of the sickness, to be present when the addiction was louder than every other thought in your head and made sure it was known. “Told him to go home. He fought it, didn’t want to go, but I promised him I’d be fine.”

“No one tell you it’s not good to lie?” He teased, but there was a hint of truth behind it. “You should never go through that alone, angel. You know how dangerous it is? You know what could have happened?”

“F’course I do, Dyl.” You replied, barely enough energy to conjure the response. “Just didn’t want anyone to see me like that. M’sorry you did.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. S’just what we do, you know? All three of us, in the same shit… don’t matter how fucked up we are, we’re here for each other.” He explained, the cool metal of the ring on his middle finger sending a shock through you as it passed over your skin. It felt nice, satiating the burn of your cheeks as the sickness continued to eat you alive. “What was it, angel? Why were you so upset?”

“I just… fuck.” You whispered, closing your eyes as you tried to string together a coherent sentence. Your brain was fried, all of your thoughts jumbled together and making zero sense. You could barely recall the memory he was talking about, so strung out on your desire to use that nothing else could penetrate through the thought. “I guess I’m just mad that I’m sober, that it’s way harder than anyone ever let on that it would be. They all said it would feel so much better, but so far it’s only made me feel worse.”

“Bein’ sober ain’t a bad thing, baby.” He assured you, his voice remaining the same constant tone no matter what you were talking about or how upset he was. That’s one thing you adored about him; fear tactics weren’t part of his agenda, and emotions constantly sat on the back burner. “It’s the best thing, n’ I’m proud of you. You’re doin’ something the rest of us can’t even comprehend.”

“And I know that,” you huffed out a sigh, your chest aching from the surplus of emotion that previously filled it. Now it felt hollow, empty, and like it was missing something even though it was better off that way. You feared the nothingness was coming back, but failed to realize it was different.

The nothingness was not from a lack of anything, but because of the love that was slowly filling you back up after the anger and the pain fled. The negativity multiplied rapidly, growing faster than you could understand it, and leaving you as quick as it came. Love was so strong, so powerful and pleasant, but it took longer for you to feel it, and it felt so strange as it started to take over. It was alien and somber in its attempt to regain control that sometimes you mistook it for something else, something much less appealing. Only once it surged under your skin and behind your eyes could you recognize it for what it was.

“I know it’s the best thing, but I can’t help but be angry at myself because despite knowing it, I still only ever want to get high.” You whispered, finding the longer you talked the more your throat ached. The thought of water sickened you, and the thought of moving was even worse. “I’ll always be a fuckin’ junkie, Dyl. It’s the only thing that’ll ever matter. Vin was right.” The truth was harrowing, and it was exhausting. No matter how badly you wanted to ignore every awful thing he said, you knew that deep down, he was just calling it like it was.

“No,” Dylan shook his head, his fingertips lining the sharpness of your jaw. He smelled vaguely like cigarettes and weed, but the potent scent of his cologne overshadowed both, making it just a tad more intoxicating. He smelled like home; the only truth in every corner you ever buried yourself. “You may be an addict, but you ain’t no junkie.” He shook his head again, almost laughing at the idea. “Doll, after everything you just been through, you’re sitting here talkin’ to me, sober. If drugs was the only thing you wanted, I’d bet a million bucks you’d be sky high by now.”

You didn’t know why, but the truth behind his statement knocked the air straight from your lungs. Why hadn’t you thought of it that way? Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be wasted up and wasting away from the incessant fears running rampant in your mind.

Just like you were when you sat in your NA meeting, you were sober, by nobody’s choice but your own. Subconsciously, you knew what was at stake and you knew it was better than the alternative, even if the rest of you was screaming to let it go and give up.

For the first time in your entire life, the angel was louder than the devil, even if you failed to notice it.

“You got too much to give it up now. I get the angry thing… I get all of it, but you’re a hell of a lot stronger than ya’ think, angel. Always have been.” He continued, taking your silence as a sign to keep going. “A real junkie woulda ran for a fix—no, woulda taken the drugs right from Vin’s pocket and left him behind.” He chuckled, astounded by your strength in the situation the two of you had faced together.

“Why is it impossible to see it that way? When things get bad, I go straight down the rabbit hole… like I’m the worst and everything is my fault.”

“Ah, baby, wouldn’t be you if you weren’t blaming yourself for somethin’.” He hummed, running his tongue over his lower lip as he gathered his thoughts. “You ain’t the bad guy; you just loved a lot of people who made you think you were. You’re the best, and I wouldn’t be here without ya. Think a lotta people feel the same way.” He paused again, his head turning to the side as he looked down at your face. “Think Mr. Country Club would agree, doll. He sees you, and he loves you, even if he don’t say it and you don’t wanna hear it.”

Love.

What a painful, horrible, terrible thing.

At the same time, it was warm, welcoming, and kinder than anything you had ever experienced before. Could you go as far as to say that Daniel loved you? Surely it was too soon, and you were too fucked up for him to feel such a way. Did you feel that way about him?

You couldn’t be sure. You did know that everything he did or said was fantastic, and that he took the breath straight from your lungs and breathed in something far better than anything you could have imagined. He was beautiful, kind, caring, and understanding. He wanted to know you, to be with you, and he stayed by your side through all of the shit you threw at him. Why did he feel so obligated to stay, like it was beneficial to him in any way?

What did he see that you remained blind to?

“Do you love him?” You blinked hard, wondering if Dylan really asked the question or if it was your own psyche playing tricks on you.

“I, uh… I don’t know.” You replied, your voice weak as you swallowed back a lump forming in your throat. “I want to, I think, but I don’t know how. Never did it right before, and I don’t even think I could.”

“Sure ya do.” Dylan said, still continuing to trace loving shapes into your tired skin. “It’s all you do, angel. Lovin’ us, even when you shouldn’t.”

“I’m scared.” You confessed, your lips dipping down into a frown. “I’m terrified of him seeing this part of me… of him running. If I let myself love him, it’s also opening me up to getting hurt. I feel like I always make the wrong decisions, that I can’t tell if someone is good or bad, and I pay for it every time. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to lose myself. I can’t let him in without risking both of those things, and if I shut him out it’ll do the same.”

“I dunno, baby. Seems to me that you already love him, and after all he’s seen, he still ain’t leavin’… unless you force him to, f’course.” Both of you shared a chuckle at that, the truth behind his words harrowing. “Think it’s worse to love him and not tell him. You’ll still feel all the same things, and it’ll hurt you more to try and shove ‘em back down. As it stands now, it’ll still hurt if he leaves, and it’ll suck even more that ya never told him the truth ‘bout how ya felt. Stop sellin’ yourself short, and stop gettin’ in the way of bein’ happy.”

“Why is it so scary, then? If it’s right and I’m just being stupid, why am I so afraid?” You couldn’t stress the point enough, your hands balling into fists as your chest ached for the person you longed to be. In theory, it was easy. In reality, it appeared to be the hardest thing you’d ever done.

“‘Cause nobody ever made you feel like this before.” He shrugged. “I know you loved Vin, but I think it hurt you more than it helped. You ain’t used to someone givin’ back what you give them, and it feels too good to be true.” He explained, keeping his voice calm and steady so you understood him clearly. “You’re finally gettin’ what you deserve, doll. Don’t let it go, because this life ain’t gonna treat you no better. Sure, maybe you know this one and all, but it ain’t good. What he does for you, how he makes you feel, how he loves you, is good.”

As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Dylan was right.

Daniel was good, and great, fantastic, even. Somehow, he was those things all at once. You spent months believing you didn’t deserve it, that you would hurt him and take his good and turn him evil, but you had said it a million times; you had always been your own worst enemy.

You spent your entire life desperate for someone you love you, to treat you with the patience and kindness you so often gave to others, and were angry and disappointed when it never came. Now, standing face to face with the one thing you always longed to have, you were trying to deny yourself of the opportunity. You were better than you always believed, and you were worthy of the love he was willing to give you. Even now, laying in your own desolate world and bargaining with every awful thing that ever touched your life, you were healing and repairing the wounds, trying to understand them and ask questions rather than cover them up and forget them.

You were doing better than you ever thought you could, and it was time you realized it.

It was time to let Daniel in, to show him the true, bare version of you that you wanted to hide forever.

He deserved the truth, and you deserved him.

July 2nd, 2022 - 8:00AM

Another fresh bandage tightly wrapped around your hand, you placed the clipboard holding Vincent’s discharge papers on the bedside table for the nurse to collect. Vincent stood beside you, clad in fresh clothes and more sober than you had seen him in months. Despite his active withdrawals, there was color in his cheeks and light in his eyes, making you hopeful for a happy ending that always seemed just out of reach. You studied him for a moment, in awe over the fact that despite his consistent struggle with addictions, he still looked lively and energetic, goofy and radiantly beautiful. It barely seemed to touch him; he bounced back easier than anything, and you wondered why he had god on his side all of the time.

Despite your curiosity, you were thankful for the fact. The idea of losing Vincent haunted you, and every time he found himself in peril, you believed it to be his last. He evaded death so many times that sometimes you believed he was death himself, the morbid omen woven so intricately into his soul he became the very thing all humans feared. Maybe he lost the parts inside of himself that once made him whole, made him feel, and he was left with nothing but a flesh body and a burgeoning desire for destruction to avenge his former glory.

Whatever it was, you were sick and tired of it. No matter how much of himself he lost along the way, he could never atone for the things he caused you to lose, too.

“Got all your shit?” You asked, forcing a smile on your lips as you watched him sling his track bag over his shoulder. It was worn, the strap hanging on by a few threads and holes littering the sides. He had the same one for as long as you’d known him, and you were sure it predated you entirely. It had seen every day spent in high school, every couch of a friend he crashed on, and every hospital visit that left the two of you in the same situation as you were in now.

“Yeah, think so.” He nodded, his eyes barely scanning the room before he took a step towards the door. With a scowl on your face, you stepped forward and snatched the prescription page still atop the bed he just spent the last three days on.

“‘Cept this.” You said, following behind him and shoving the paper into his hand. He looked back over his shoulder, his sparkling brown eyes like a punch in the stomach as they connected with yours.

“What, drugs that do the same thing as smack, without the high?” He nearly laughed in your face, unsure why you were so intent on him taking it. “If I wanted to spend a hundred and some odd bucks, I’d go buy a bag and do the job myself.”

“It’s not smack, Vin. It’s to stop the withdrawals so you can stay sober. Best 170$ bucks you’ll ever spend.” You held back an eye roll, knowing what stupid things he would rather waste the money on. “I let you away with it the last few times, but not again. You’re getting the suboxone.”

“Can’t force me, doll.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, far too relaxed for a man who just came eye to eye with the grim reaper. He thought you were playing, lighthearted and happy now that you knew he was okay, but that wasn’t the case. This time, you would only go so far, and he had to hold himself accountable.

“You can’t keep forcing me to pick you up from the Pony to drop you here.” You said, your teeth grinding together as the two of you walked down the stark white hallway. “You survived, bub. Make something of it this time instead of throwing it away.” He was silent for a moment, his limb still casted over your shoulders as he pondered your words. It seemed like guilt began to eat away at him, like he remembered what you went through alongside him, like his seventy-two hour detox finally helped open his eyes.

“Okay.” He whispered, pulling you a little closer as he continued on his way. A wave of relief washed over you, happy that he was able to draw the same conclusion. “We’ll go to the pharmacy.” At that, you let your arm wrap around his back as you leaned your head on his shoulder, overcome with relief at the idea of him actually getting better. “Thanks for taking care of me, doll. I want to get better, I really do. For me and you… or us, or whatever. I feel better than I have in a long time, and it’s all because of you. S’always because of you.”

“It’s not because of me.” You rejected the point immediately, not wanting him to relate his survival to your stupid act of heroism. You were the reason he lived, but you could not be the reason he got better. He had to find that within himself.

“No, it is.” He argued. “Every time, no matter what, no matter how bad I treat ya… you always love me, and it’s time for me to do it for you.” He said, squeezing your shoulder ever so slightly. He didn’t want to get too far into it, always erring on the side of coldness, but he was letting you know how much he appreciated it in a way only Vincent knew how. “So let’s go get the sub-nox…ioid… or whatever the fuck it is.”

At that, you couldn’t hold back your laugh. The sun was shining brightly in the sky as you stepped outside, the warmth of the air accentuating the carefree attitude both of you held despite the looming darkness of your predicament.

“Suboxone, honey.” You corrected, opening the back door of his old Pontiac so he could throw his bag inside. The tattered, poor excuse for a bag crumpled on the torn leather seats, and you slammed the door once he stepped out of the way, hearing the hinges creak as the lock struggled to latch.

“Oh, fuck off with all your fancy words.” He laughed, walking around the car to get in the passenger side. You both sat at the same time, still giggling about the mix-up. “Clearly you know what I fuckin’ meant. You know I didn’t graduate.”

It was so simply Vincent. It was so simply you. The two of you together, despite all the hardship, laughing over the same things that brought the two of you together in the very beginning. No matter how terrible the world was, or if the two of you ever should have been together in the first place, or how much hurt you both had endured at the hands of each other or together, love was proven time and time again to be the strongest of any known force. It is the very beginning and the very end, and the only thing that carries you through every single moment in between.

July 10th, 2022 - 3:25 AM

“Hey,” the timid tone broke you from your hyperfixation on scrubbing the grime from the grout between tiles. You huffed out a breath, swiping a bead of sweat away from your forehead with the back of your hand as you left the mop sitting in the dirty water of the bucket. Looking back over your shoulder, the swish of warm air grazing your cheeks only worked to make you feel even more gross, the crackling whir of the broken AC tormenting you further. The heat of July was already insufferable, but even more so now that you were stuck in the diner for twelve hours. “Can I talk to you?” The end of the shift was drawing near, meaning that he was using it as a backup plan. He always left serious talks to the end of the night, just in case they were unfavorable to his narrative. That way, he would not have to suffer any consequences and would only have to see you again when the smoke cleared.

You had never seen Vincent so calm, nor so put together. Since leaving the hospital, he seemed intent to keep his promise, and every day that you spent with him, he proved it further. He had been taking his Suboxone regularly, never making one stop at the Pony and ignoring every incoming call or message from Lillian. Over the last week, time spent with him was plentiful, even if you knew you should tread with caution. You were hesitant to trust the man who had only ever let you down, but it was nice to see him doing better.

“Yeah,” you nodded, plopping down at a booth. You crossed your ankles, happy for the moment's rest even if the conversation that followed was undesirable. “What’s up?” You turned towards him as he sat across from you, his rough hands littered with scars clasped together atop the wooden table. They reminded you of your own, cigarette burns plastered against his tan skin, still as gnarly as the day they formed. It was just one of those twisted ways of the world, connecting the two of you in ways much too close to home, tying you together by heart.

“I think, maybe, there’s some stuff I gotta get off my chest. Stuff I didn’t really know how ta’ say when I was fucked up, yaknow?”

“And now’s the time to do it?” You chuckled, feeling your chest tighten as you braced for impact. Most often when Vincent hauled you off for a private conversation, it didn’t end well for either of you, and common ground was nonexistent.

“Yeah, yeah, not like that.” He shook his head, a small smirk decorating his pink lips as his irises glimmered under the flickering fluorescents just overhead. “I know I ain’t got a good record, but I promise it ain’t like that, doll.”

“Kay,” you nodded, opting to believe him and go into the chat with an open mind. “Hit me with it.” He looked hesitant to begin, his face turned towards the large panel window overlooking the highway outside. The lot was illuminated by a yellow street lamp, showcasing his and Katie’s car parked side-by-side. She was doing inventory in the back, sorting through the shipments the Fox received every Friday. Dylan was blasting music in the kitchen, taking the slow night to get caught up on the cleaning list he so often ignored.

“Im not good with allat emotional stuff, but s’about time I tried, for you, eh?” He swallowed thickly, his white teeth peeking from his upper lip as he forced a nervous smile.

You wondered if he stuck to sobriety, would he be able to mitigate the long lasting damage that was bound to ensue? Would he keep his dental integrity, the soft skin of his cheeks, the light in his eyes, and the shine of his hair? Vincent hadn’t always been an addict, unlike you who found solace in substance before you could even stress about high school exams. In high school, he dabbled, but his forte was fighting and money. Drugs had only taken him so desperately once he stopped running with the crowd he was caught up in, when he needed to fill the void in other ways.

Still, even if he was sober and looking the best he had in months, there was something off about him. He was different than he was that morning, when you drank coffee at your kitchen table and he watched you write in your journal. His eyes seemed different, further away, distant. He seemed fidgety, like he couldn’t keep his hands still or his gaze on you. You knew he was sober, and you had little doubt about it, but deep in your chest you felt like it was not Vincent sitting across from you. At least not fully, anyway.

“Sure, if you want, yeah.” You laughed quietly, finding it almost entertaining that Vincent was initiating such a talk. “Floors all yours, bub.”

“You’s been spendin’ a lotta time with me this week, and I love it, darlin’. Don't ever get that twisted.” He started, his fingertips drumming a steady beat into the tabletop now. “Love spendin’ any time with ya.” He wasn’t wrong; the past week, Vincent had been at your apartment a lot.

At first, it was to help him stay sober, to keep him away from the mess of his apartment while Dylan cleaned it up. He slept on the couch, keeping true to his word when you made him promise he did not blur the lines of your agreement. After the first few days, when Dylan gave the okay for him to return, you never enforced it. It was good to have him around, reminding you of the boy you used to find solace in so long ago. You felt, in some strange way, the horrors you endured once again allowed you to mend your friendship while he recovered.

“Yeah, so?” You looked down at the table, your stomach twisting with nerves as you understood the possible implications of your actions. Both of you knew it wasn’t right, that it had to stop, but neither of you wanted to do it.

“You know, angel.” Funny enough, you did know, but you never expected him to be the one to bring it up. “You’s not mine anymore, doll. As much as I want ya to be, you ain’t.” It was your turn to swallow hard, your stomach twisting with the knife of rejection for something you shouldn’t even be upset about. He was right—you weren’t his. Perhaps you wouldn’t have felt so guilty about it had you not been brushing Daniel off every chance you could. “You were right, angel. All this time, I shoulda listened. I can’t be good for ya ‘til I'm sober, and sober for good. I know I ain’t been real good at showing you how much I wanna be with ya, but I am tryin’ and it’ll take a long time.”

“I don’t want you to get caught up in my shit again if I fuck up.” He confessed, looking pained to say such a thing. “And I don’t want ya to throw away a good thing for me, ‘specially right now.” Sobriety looked good on him, and when there was no substance clouding his every thought and emotion, he was much more of a man, and a much better friend. “I ain’t been sober this long… for a while, I guess. I wanna keep going, to get myself straight, I guess I just don’t want to hurt ya again if I can’t do it. You deserve more than that, and I s’pose I finally know what you been sayin’. I ain’t what ya need, and doll, and as much as it sucks, I think he is.”

“Okay,” you forced out, your stomach sick and your head aching. You weren’t sure why it hurt so bad, why him closing a door that you were desperate to shut shook you straight to the core. You should have been relieved, happy for him to finally see it from your perspective, but all it did was hurt and it left a bitter taste on your tongue you couldn’t choke down.

Why?

Why did it hurt so bad?

Why did it hurt at all?

Vincent gave you his blessing—why weren’t you running out the door to love the man everyone recognized was right for you?

Well, everyone but you.

Because you couldn’t come to terms with that yourself. You couldn’t believe that the answer was right in front of you, that the world you pleaded with to give you a break was finally doing exactly as you asked. You hated change, even if change was the only thing you had ever known. You hated the unknown, and right now, you were stuck directly in the fucking middle of it. Vincent, rational and reasonable, sober and communicative. Dylan, doing all he could to pack your shit up and move you to Nashville himself. Daniel, loving you always, even if nobody before him could manage to conquer such a task.

You, standing before every open door and beautiful opportunity, and instead of fighting for better, you wanted to settle for worse.

Why did everything hurt still, even when it seemed like it should be getting better?

Well, that was an easy one. The entire world was growing and healing, yet you refused to join it.

You weren’t clinging to Vincent because you wanted to be with him in any way that mattered, and certainly not because you wanted to be with him more than you wanted to be with Daniel. You weren’t ignoring and evading Daniel because you didn’t want to talk to him. You weren’t hurting because Vincent was closing the door and pushing you into Danny’s arms. You were hurting and behaving in such a way because you were terrified. You were avoidant and silent because Daniel knew more about you than you ever intended to tell or show him, and you were reverting back to old habits because it was easier than forcing change. You thought that if you kept your distance, it would make the whole thing less painful, but it just wasn’t the case.

You had to face Daniel, to be open and honest and explain to him the things he was likely figuring out himself. You had to do it before he pre-judged the situation, before he came up with theories that couldn’t be further from the truth, and before he decided you weren’t worth the effort.

“You’re scared.” Vincent stated, a small little smile playing on his lips. “I ain't pullin’ your leg, or nothin’. I mean it, doll. I really do. I want you to be happy, and I can’t do that for ya.”

“I am scared.” you nodded, a bit solemn as you traced the wood grain in the table with your index finger. “About a lot of things.”

“We all are, though. Gotta remember that.” He reached over and knocked his knuckle against your forehead, gentle and playful, reminding you of everything you fell for in the first place. Why did things have to get so complicated? Why couldn't he have gotten sober in the very beginning, saving you from all the grief and suffering? If that were the case, you could have been with him, stayed with him and been happy for it. Instead, you were choking down the leftover feelings you had for Vincent all whilst being totally and utterly in love with a man who barely knew you.

It was this way because it had to be, because Vincent was not the person you were meant to be with, but it did not make it any easier to choke down.

You hated the part of you that still wished he was, even after everything he had put you through, especially when Daniel was right in front of your face, offering you the entire world on a silver platter.

The guilt was beginning to eat you alive, forcing you to bargain yet again with the idea that you did not deserve Danny at all, and worse yet, that you never did. From the minute you met him, he had done everything in his power to prove he was the person you should be with, but you continued to throw it away because of your undying loyalty to a life that had never been loyal to you.

Why were the feelings for Vincent so strong in that moment? Why, after months of not feeling anything at all other than a love that could be equated to platonic, did you yearn to be with him one last time?

You only loved him when you feared he was gone for good, just the same as he only loved you when he thought he would never get the chance to love anyone or anything ever again.

The two of you were victim to a vicious cycle, and the universe was imploring you to realize it before you were stuck perpetuating it for the rest of eternity.

“I love you, Vin.” You gave a curt nod, wanting to end the conversation. You couldnt help but notice that you were feeling even worse as the words passed your lips. Still caught in your panic and indecision, you wondered why if you truly loved him, why did it not feel right rolling off of your tongue. If anything, it felt like a poison, searing holes in the flesh and dripping down your throat, scarring you forever and remaining to remind you that you should only choose to speak those words very carefully.

“I love you, angel. More than I ever thought I knew how.” he scratched the back of his neck, his eyes squinting as his sniffed hard, like he was holding back tears.

What the hell was the world coming to?

You couldn’t help but notice again, that things seemed off, like something was wrong. His accent, thicker and heavier, his words less pronounced and bordering slurred. Running together like he didn’t have the energy or care to pronounce them properly. All of the sweet things he was saying, the genuine intent, felt empty, almost. Why was he crying?

You had never seen Vincent like this before, not even the last time he was sober. You couldn’t place it, but it was concerning you to a point that you had to stop and stare at him for a moment, just to try and understand it. The longer you looked, the more you noticed. The bags under his eyes were heavy, even though he slept soundly the night prior. His hands were shaky, like he couldn’t lull the constant vibrations of his limbs. His eyes were darting around, his head twitching slightly like he could hear someone or something, just behind his head and out of sight.

A general malaise, even if sickness did not seem to plague him at all.

Maybe it was just his sobriety taking a toll on his body and his mind. You remembered the harshness of the first few weeks, how everything seemed bleak and horrible, how the entire world felt like it was ending. You had never tried Suboxone, therefore you did not know how it made a person feel. When you quit, it was cold turkey, violent and unforgiving as you sweated most of the withdrawals out on your bathroom floor, throwing up and sobbing when your body couldn’t withstand it any longer, constantly praying it would all stop. Maybe it was the prescription, causing the tiredness and the distance, the shakes and the sounds. It felt easier to blame it on that, even if it didn’t feel right.

The concern was casted aside the minute he opened his mouth to speak again, blinking away tears as he formulated his next words.

“I know I said some horrible things to ya, and I can't take ‘em back… but I hope you know you do deserve more. If ya tell him all that stuff, he’s gonna love ya just the same, cause there's nothing not to love about ya, doll. If for some fuckin’ reason he does, he wasnt worth it, anyway.”

God, why would he have to say that?

“And if he leaves, ya know I’ll always be here, waitin’ for ya.” You should have been happy, rejoicing because he finally understood everything you had tried to tell him, but instead it felt like your entire body was engulfed in flames. Your skin prickled with rage, your spine tingling as the fury knotted around each column and embedded in the fibers.

You could feel your throat closing in, your chest tight and your lungs burning as your eyes began to sting with tears. You felt fucking cheated, like you were played as a pawn in some sick and twisted game. Why, only after you found someone else, did you get the version of Vincent you always dreamed about? Every sweet word he spoke was landing as sharp as knives, cutting deep into your skin and bleeding you of every bit of humanity you had left. The fucking nerve he had to say such things, to clean up his act and wave it in front of your face and pass it off as something great. You had begged and cried and pleaded with him for longer than you ever cared to admit, and this was your repayment? Hospitality and an amicable farewell? To watch someone else love the man you helped create? All of the hard work, the sleepless nights and wasted tears, the abundance of grief and the heartbreak that would last for a lifetime, all for nothing.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

It was like he had flipped a switch in your brain, setting off the anger you kept locked up so tight. It happened in an instant, a single second until the walls came crashing down. Why, even when he tried to do a good thing, did it cut you up so entirely, leaving you defenceless and completely ruined on the ground below?

You were sick of it. Sick of it all. Sick of being walked on, pushed aside, and sick of only being considered worthy when he had an agenda to push. You were a human being, who loved him wholly and completely, who sacrificed everything to help him, and now he was rubbing it in your face, changing only after you had moved on so you would never get to experience the man you begged him to be.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You let the disbelief fill the air around you, having heavy upon all four shoulders at the table. The fire in your eyes was unfamiliar to him, as he usually received the kind, loving, timid and submissive version of you. The one who fought back, the one who stood up for herself was completely unknown to him, but he was about to see her in full force, just like he should have since the very beginning.

“What? What’d I do?” He raised his hands in defense, leaning back in his seat as he watched you lean closer. The strong tone seemed to ignite something in him, his eyes narrowing and the dim light changing into fire.

“After everything we’ve been through, all of this shit, that's it?” You seethed, your pupils blazing red as your hands began to vibrate. “I get to beg and plead with you to get better, to sit and watch you kill yourself, to come to your rescue and take all of the bullshit you threw my way, for this? A half-assed apology and a speech about how I deserve more? Why-” you raised to your feet, your index finger pointed straight as his chest as your teeth grinded together “couldnt you have been a fucking man? Why couldn't you get clean? Why couldn’t you have loved me when I was on my fucking knees begging you to?” Your voice was loud, catching the attention of the two employees busy in the back even over the sound of Dylan’s music. Tears glistened in your eyes, your finger shaking as you held it towards him, but you would not break. Not this time.

“Doll, I swear-”

“Shut the fuck up, Vincent.” You slammed your fist down on the table with an ample amount of force, feeling the ache begin to set into the bone and travel all the way up your arm. “I am sick of it. I’m sick of always getting the shit end of the stick. I’m fucking tired of being at your beck and call all of the time, and you leaving me behind without a second thought. I’m fucking hurting, and I always am, and it always comes back to you. You expect me, after everything, to sit here and take your poor excuse for an apology? To watch you love someone else the way I always wanted you to love me? If this is part of your twelve steps, get the fuck out of my face and try it with someone else, because it ain’t worth my fuckin’ time.”

“Y/N-” he tried again, but you turned away, let out a mangled cry to cut him off, rattling your breastbone and framing you as crazy, just like always. You were always the crazy one, no matter how out of pocket and ridiculous he was, how rude or condescending, or how cruel and disrespectful. Crazy for staying, crazy for helping, crazy for standing up for yourself, all while he was making it a point to rid you of your sanity. You were crazy because of him, driven insane by his treatment and tired of swallowing it back. He was suffering, sure, but so were you.

It wasnt fucking fair.

Danny was right. What you endured by Vincent's hand was abuse, but you could never open your eyes enough to see it, because he wouldn't let you. Constantly making it seem like it was your fault, belittling you for holding him accountable, treating you like shit but chastised if you ever did the same to him. You were so busy cleaning up after him that you never had a chance to wallow about what you suffered through, and a part of you believed that’s what he wanted. No matter what, a good version of Vincent would never make up for the worst version of him, which was all you ever got. His apology meant nothing, and that small semblance of fairytale love the two of you were caught up in all week was gone. Resentment began to pool in your chest and overflowed onto the tip of your tongue, making it impossible to hold back.

“I don't have to forgive you for anything. After almost two years of nothing but fucking misery, I get to decide that.” You informed him, untying your apron from behind your back and tearing it from your neck. You tossed it down on the table, the action freeing as you felt yourself cutting the ties that held you to him. “I’m happy you're sober, but don’t wait around for me, Vin. If we end up together in any lifetime, it sure as hell won’t be this one.”

“This’s what you wanted!” He spat, the vein in his forehead beginning to bulge as the innocent facade wore off. The fire in his eyes took over, the shaking hands turning into balled fists. He wasn’t a changed man—he was just a damn good actor. “Bitchin’ in my fuckin’ ear about change, but still mad when I do it. Can never please you, huh? Never good enough, right? Could solve world fuckin’ hunger and you’d still find somethin’ to be upset about.”

“Fuck you, Vincent!” You barked, not noticing Dylan round the corner of the kitchen to intervene between the mess that was bound to unfold. “I’m not the bad guy! I’m not crazy, and I’m not a fucking punching bag!” Your unsteady hands raised to your hair, fingers tangling deep at the roots as you tugged on the strands. You were at your breaking point, the very thing you had avoided for so long finally catching up. You couldn’t take one more minute of his faux kindness, his pretend love. He was no better sober, and he knew he could get you exactly where he wanted you, just to strike and take you down for good.

“Are you in-fuckin’-sane?” He yelled, standing to meet your intensity. Dylan was next to you, ready to jump between you if the situation warranted the response. “Do you fuckin’ hear yourself right now? I’m sayin’ sorry, pal—you too far up your own ass to see that? Everything’s all about you, huh? Shoulda known better. You’ll always be a fuckin’ cunt. Wastin’ my fuckin’ time on you.”

A deafening scream rang through the room, unable to be held back, shrill enough to shatter the windows and powerful enough to send everyone a step backward. You raised your foot, kicking the mop bucket over in one fluid motion, barely paying mind to the water sloshing over the sides and spilling all over the floor. Your entire body was trembling, tears of anger flooding your cheeks as your chest burned with rage.

You were done.

Tired of deflecting every insult and absorbing every negative emotion he put on you, you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you wanted to fucking kill him.

How could he stand before you and say such things? Discredit every single thing you had ever done for him? Paint you as the villain when he was the one pulling the strings?

Finally, after months of use and abuse, you had cracked under the pressure and you were crumbling. You couldn’t contain yourself, no earthly force strong enough to counter the overflow of emotion that had been pent up for so long.

“Yeah, go ahead Vincent! Tell everyone how fucking horrible I am! Tell the whole world that I’m crazy and terrible, that I just treat you like shit!” Your throat was raw, the taste of iron on your tongue reminding you that no matter how badly you wanted to change, you were still the angry, spiteful person you had always been.

You hated Vincent so much because he reminded you of the person you so desperately wanted to leave behind. He made you into the girl you thought you buried in Utah. He showed you that you never changed, that you were still the girl who let everyone take advantage of her, who would swim oceans for those who would not cross a puddle. He made it so easy for all of the misery to rise to the top, to take over and discredit any good you tried to do. He thought you were crazy because he was making you so.

“Don’t forget to tell them what you did! Don't forget to mention every awful thing and miserable name you’ve ever called me! Every bad decision and every terrible mistake you made me fix! Don’t forget to tell them why I’m fucking crazy, Vincent!” You were in his face now, nose to nose as your chest threatened to explode with every ill emotion you had for him.

“You’re crazy because you’re crazy.” He spat, his tone much quieter than yours to even out the conversation. Still, every bit of venom and fury was laced within his words, still painting a narrative that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Keep fuckin’ blaming me, but you’re a damn junkie, too. You’re the stupid bitch who fucked your own life up. You hurt people, you make mistakes, then you blame everyone else. You’re no fuckin’ saint, and don’t you ever think that you ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

Your palms landed flat on his shoulders, pushing him backwards with more force than you thought you had in your body. He stumbled, the soles of his shoes losing traction on the mop water pooling by your feet. He grabbed on to the edge of the table to steady himself, his brown eyes filled with amusement as a loud, booming laugh fell from his lips.

He was fucking taunting you, begging you to keep going, forcing everyone to see what he was saying was true, even if it was his own fault you were doing such a thing.

The rush of thoughts swirled your mind, making you lose your sense of reality. Your chest burned, begging you for a breath of air as you held your hands to your sides, willing yourself not to react with violence. For a brief moment, Vincent was not standing before you. Instead, your mother was leaned over the counter, a sinister laugh stuck in her throat as she belittled you and made you feel like you were worthless. You couldn’t blink it away, you couldn’t ignore it or even stop hearing it. Worse yet, you couldn’t stop believing it.

“You’re a real piece’a work, doll. Don’t forget who got you in this fuckin’ mess in the first place. It wasn’t me.” He growled, but you weren’t hearing anything he was saying. The ringing in your ears was loud, deafening as you tried your best not to crumple to the ground. The numbness was spreading quicker than ever before, wrapping around your lungs and seizing your still beating heart.

“Vincent, shut the fuck up—“

“No, Dylan. ‘Bout fuckin’ time someone told her the truth.” Vincent barked, cutting Dylan off from speaking. This was between you and him, and no one else. “The fuck were you runnin’ from, doll? What put you on that bus to New York?” He was standing straight again, advancing towards you as his shoulders shook with every breath. “It wasn’t me, sweetheart.”

“Shut the fuck up, Vincent.” You warned, rasping the words as your hands balled into fists, your nails cutting in to the flesh of your palm.

“Nah, it wasn’t me. Why were you stuck in that rehab center? Twenty four hours, seven days a week, with no family comin’ to visit? Why d’ya think they drafted a check for the place but never called to see how you was doin’?”

“Vincent,” Dylan barked, also knowing just how badly he was overstepping. He ignored the only voice of reason in the room, advancing towards you and closing in for the kill.

“Ever wonder why you got dumped outside of the emergency room? Why nobody even cared enough to bring you inside?” With every word, you felt another stab to the heart, bleeding out on the floor and left to die while everyone else watched. “Shoulda fuckin’ died there, Y/N. Woulda’ saved everyone else a whole lotta time and trouble.”

“Vincent!” Dylan shouted again, red in the face and appalled that he would even say such a thing.

And he said it sober.

He fucking meant it.

“That’s e-fuckin’-nough.” Dylan said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away from the table.

You only wished you weren’t so blinded by sorrow to hear the door of the diner swing open, to stop in your tracks and push Daniel straight back outside before he heard things that should have been told by you. Instead, you barely heard the sound, and definitely did not register it, too focused on Vincent’s cruelty to care about anything else.

“Get the fuck off me.” Vincent shook himself free, pushing Dylan away to finish what you started. He made the fatal wound, now he was ready to end it all. “What? Can’t handle the truth, Angel?” Vincent noted your horrified expression, eyes blank as tears flowed freely from them. He seemed to revel in it, pride filling him at the thought of having the upper hand. “I didn’t make you crazy, doll. You were plenty crazy when I fuckin’ met you.”

“Vincent, fucking quit it.” The scene was horrible enough that even Katie had joined, coming out of hiding to come to your defense. Again, he ignored her completely, pretending she wasn’t there at all.

“Actin’ all high an’ mighty cause you got clean. You may not get high anymore, but you ain’t no fuckin’ saint.” He spat. “Wonder why nobody loves you, but would never admit that you’re fuckin’ impossible to love. Maybe your mom had it right, angel, and it just took everyone else some time to see it. I was doin’ you a fuckin’ favour, puttin’ up with your shit.” At that, a wail sounded through the room, the agony held within the sound enough to rattle everyone’s bones. He had finally done the very thing he set out to do; destroy you beyond anything you had ever known before. The only thing was, he wasn’t anywhere near done yet. You felt hands on your shoulders, delicate and loving as the person tried to console you through the visceral pain.

Katie.

Why did she care? After the grief that she had put you through, why did she want to help?

Was Vincent really being so horrible that even your enemies would be there to comfort you?

Why couldn’t you see anything, hear anything? You were completely blinded by the truth behind his words, the room spinning and the only face visible was your mothers, spitting the same venom that Vincent was giving. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, and you couldn’t even hurt anymore. The numbness had taken over, leaving you as nothing but a pile of flesh and bone that vaguely resembled a human being.

You were nothing, and he wanted you to know that, to never forget it.

Then, through the stagnant state you were stuck in, another harrowing laugh filled your ears, passing you by like it was the breeze through trees. It brought you back to reality for long enough to face him yet again, the biggest monster in your closet to date. His brown eyes served no familiarity, no purpose, and certainly no love. He despised you, and only now did he let it show.

Why would he waste his time loving you? Why did he spend all week in your apartment, on your couch, loving you if he didn’t mean any of it? What sick fucking game was he playing? If he felt all of these things, why did he ever pretend he didn’t?

“You were a good fuckin’ lay, but not much else. Not worth my time, and not worth anyone else’s.” Vincent’s eyes flickered towards the man who stepped inside, a sinister smile on his face as he continued his tirade. Not only did he want to hurt you, but to ruin every chance you had at being happy again.

When Vincent was hurt, he made it his purpose to punish everyone else.

Punishment and cruelty had become the only things he knew anything about.

He did not know how to love, how to appreciate or care for others. He didn’t know how to bite his tongue, nor how to take a loss. He didn’t have a clue about healing or changing, and he didn’t want to. The only thing he needed to get by was hatred, and within him it was abundant.

You were too scared to be honest with Daniel, so he figured he’d do the job himself.

“Only thing you’ve ever been good at is snortin’ coke and pippin’ pills. Made a fantastic junkie, doll, n’we’re all waitin’ for you to fuck up again. Never knew how to do a damn thing in your whole life, ‘cept for blame everyone else and get high. Stop tryin’ to be a fuckin’ saviour and worry about yourself for once.”

“Get the fuck outta here, asshole.” Dylan hissed through his teeth, grabbing at the worn fabric of Vincent’s shirt, trying once again to get him away from you. This time, he abided with little hesitation, the ghost of a laugh on his face as he soaked up every bit of the expression on your face. In his eyes, he won, but he never realized the cost.

There was no atoning for this, no apology that could fix it and no grovelling that would ever make up for it. He destroyed you, every bit of confidence and self esteem, all of your self respect and any lick of love you had left for him.

It was over, but that did not mean you were done.

Dylan wasn’t fast enough, though. At least, not a match for the intense wave of anger that flooded your body, mortified that he would say such a thing to you, but appalled that he did so with Daniel standing in the doorway. Instead of stepping down, handling the matter with grace and dignity, you couldn’t bear to let him say such things without any retaliation. You couldn’t let him get away with ruining you, not again, and not anymore.

You couldn’t see it in the moment, but that was exactly what he wanted. To frame you as crazy, to make himself look good as you succumbed to insanity, to show Daniel the worst version of you so he would leave, too. He wanted you alone, isolated, and miserable, and he would stop at nothing to ensure it. His sentiments from earlier meant nothing, and he wouldn’t be happy unless you were trapped in the endless cycle with him forever.

Vincent was what you deserved, and he needed you to know it.

You lunged forward, completely overtaken by rage as you grabbed him by the front of his shirt, combating Dylan pulling him in the other direction. One hand balled the fabric in your fist, the other on his arm in a tight hold, nails scratching as you tried to keep your grip on him.

“You’re a miserable fucking prick.” You spat, tugging him in the opposite direction of Dylan’s path, nowhere near ready to lay the topic to rest.

“And what the fuck are you gonna do, sweetheart?” He laughed in your face, amused by your feeble attempts to overpower the situation. “Make yourself look like a fuckin’ idiot? Show everybody who you really are?” A gutteral sound passed your lips as a smirk formed on his own, coming from deep in your chest as you did the only thing you could think of in the moment: punching him in the face.

A collective gasp sounded as your fist collided with his face, the majority of the force landing on his nose as your knuckle slided towards his cheek. He threw his head back and exposed the columns of his neck, where the veins stood prominent against his red skin. Both high off emotion and reliant on rage, critical thinking was on the back burner as Vincent tore free from Dylan’s grasp. You stepped backwards, taking in the sight of him as you bargained with what you had started.

You had done this dance before, but you had never seen him so volatile, so intense.

His nose, slightly bloodied, painting a perfect picture of the violence the two of you so often found within each other. As he advanced towards you, his stature and intensity did not even begin to phase you.

“Bitch,” he reached out and grabbed your arm, rough and aggressive as he pulled you back towards him. “Actin’ like you’re any fuckin’ better than me.”

“Doesn’t take much,” you seethed, feeling the sting of his fingers on your skin, leaving marks behind to remind you of the cruelty for days to come.

“Get off her, man.” Dylan once again tried to play the hero, but was no match for the two of you, especially as upset as you both were. He had learned from the past that getting between you would only result in an injury for himself, but he was determined to put an end to it anyway.

“Puttin’ on a good show for him, doll. Keep it up.” Vincent grinned, sinister and daunting as his eyes flickered to the boy who was close behind you. You looked back over your shoulder, your stomach sick as you registered the silhouette of the man who would likely never be yours after what he witnessed that night. Finally registering his company, every semblance of strength and composure you often tried to show others shattered, leaving you bare and nothing more than the monster you always feared you were. Knowing that he already won, you lost every shred of hope for better, submitting to the torturous thoughts that constantly plagued you.

“Don't you dare bring him into this.” You warned, feeling his grip tighten as you defended the one person in the world he hated most. The one who showed you better, the one who opened your eyes, and in his mind, the one turned you against him.

“As if it fuckin’ matters now. You think he’s goin’ home with you after this? You can’t love this kind of crazy, doll. He ain’t stickin’ around for you.”

Completely blinded by anger all over again, words could not seem to convey what you wished to tell him. Instead, with a grimace, you spat in his face, so appalled by his behavior yet stooping straight to his level. He recoiled at the action, his teeth grinding together as he raised a palm to his face and swiped it off. When he looked back at you, you weren’t sure you had ever seen such an inhuman version of him. Cold, uncaring, and so unnerving, the look in his eye sent a shiver down your spine. Void of all emotion, he was no longer looking at a woman he once loved, who gave up her entire life for his. He was facing every horrible thing that ever happened, every evil person he ever encountered, all embodied into one form. Disrespect was something he could not tolerate, and you had done just that, loud and proud for everyone to see.

You were nothing. To him, to Dylan, to Daniel, to the entire world. You were less than the dirt or the algae in the oceans. You were nothing, and in that moment, he truly believed it, even more so than you did. Blinded by his damaged ego, his anger and irrationality got the best of him, taking over entirely as his hands raised to your shoulders, closing in on your neck with an unforgiving nature.

It happened so fast that you barely processed his movement until you couldn’t breathe, his thumbs covering your airway and his palms cutting off any blood flow to your head. Your eyes widened with shock, panic seeping into your bones as you raised your own hands to his, scratching at his skin with enough strength to draw blood. Not even that eased his hold, his intent clear and his rationale down the drain. Your eyes focused on his face, the lethal look in his eye and the scowl on his lips. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes, your entire body on fire as your head felt lighter than air. You couldn’t even choke out a gasp or a sound of warning as his hand tightened, any bit of humanity fleeing him completely.

You were going to die, and it would be at his hand.

Suddenly, the panic fled, leaving nothing behind but static silence. The yelling in the background turned to nothing, the only sound present was the constant thump of blood in your ears. The burning of your chest stopped, the pressure behind your eyes ceasing. The sting in your nose, the ache of your throat was gone, replaced by emptiness that seemed inviting and welcoming.

The hands on your shoulders, gentle and soft, yet strong and steady as they tried to pull you free without hurting you further. You could tell it was Daniel; you would know it was him if you were blinded and deafened, losing every sense that you had, because nothing in the world could compare to him. The energy that surrounded him, the warmth of his love that always radiated from him, and the feeling of calm that washed over you when he was near. Still, despite knowing he was behind you, desperate to save you, the hands on your shoulders barely existed, nor did the angry hands around your neck. You weren’t fearful, and you weren’t hurting. Aside from indignation still existing in your mind, you could almost say you were at peace.

Peace with the world, with the fact it might truly be over. No more suffering, no more struggling. For the briefest second, you wished he had the courage to go through with it instead of teasing you with the idea of serenity and then ripping it away entirely. He was a fucking coward that could never follow through, promising you things he didn’t have the balls to deliver.

You could feel the life flickering, the waver of the light overhead and the world slowing. The only thing that turned you off of death in that moment was the fact your last breath would have been wasted on Vincent, rather than telling Daniel you loved him. The only other sorrowful part of it would be that you were looking into the wrong set of brown eyes, the angry, vile ones instead of the warm, sweet ones.

Ah, fuck it. Who cared?

Certainly not you, who had been pleading for mercy since the very day you were put on this earth. From the very beginning, this was what you were meant for—death at the hands of an illness, whether it be yours or someone else’s. For a long time, you believed it would be your mother who would bring you to an untimely end. Soon after, it was yourself. For years, you wondered if each day would be your last, if you would push yourself too far for the last time and land yourself in a grave with no marker, with nobody around to care. The night Vincent used as ammunition, the one in which you truly believed death would be yours, you scraped by with the grace of god, and with the help of the nurse who discovered you on a whim. You had been using up borrowed time, walking the earth with a hit out on you, surviving not because of your own work, but because something greater was shielding you from every bad habit and poor judgment you had.

Now, staring at the man before you, you understood you would still die at your own hand, even if he was the catalyst in the process.

You walked yourself down this path, letting yourself get to this point, and somehow convinced yourself it would be okay. You were foolish, careless and reckless, walking yourself straight to the end without ever thinking twice.

You were the idiot, and he was just Vincent.

It remained the way it always was, from the very beginning right down to the very last second.

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