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But when she bailed on her second rehab stint?
Got back with her lowlife dealer ex?
Refused to go to her weekly therapy sessions?
Got in the driver's seat wasted and landed a DUI?
Addiction is one thing.
Telling everyone offering you help to go fuck themselves is another.
"Walker." Her voice gets soft. That same tone she used when we were kids. To reassure me when Mom and Dad were fighting.
She's my big sister.
She's supposed to protect me from this shit.
Not show up at my place with more excuses.
I run my hand through my hair. "You can stay."
Her eyes light up. She claps her hands together. "Thank you. I love you. I'll make dinner. You don't have anything in your fridge. But you're close to that market. Is it a Safeway or something else?"
"You can stay if you tell me why you checked yourself out."
"Do you have any idea what it's like being locked away from the world?"
No.
"Not having your cell? Or email? Or any way to talk to the people you care about?"
"Who do you care about?"
"You." Her expression is earnest. Soft.
But is it bullshit?
I don't know.
"I do, Walker. I love you. You're my best friend. I hate that I'm disappointing you. But I couldn't take it. I couldn't spend any more time wandering around the grass, listening to everyone talk about how beautiful the ocean is from the hill. I couldn't take any more hippie counselors telling me how lucky I am to be alive."
"You are lucky to be alive."
"Yeah. But…"
But landing in the ER from an OD wasn't enough of a wakeup call the first time.
Or the second.
Is anything going to get through to her?
Her voice stays soft. "The group therapy counselor asked me what I was grateful for and I had nothing. He gave me all this shit. I snapped. I had to leave."
"You can go back."
She shakes her head. "Being there makes me want to drink."
I believe that, but it's not like drinking is her problem. One of them, maybe, but not the one that's landed her in the ER twice. "And being here doesn't?"
