“Stop,” I say. “I understand perfectly. I also know it isn’t easy and I don’t pretend to know what the road ahead looks like. But, if you want me here, if you ever want Amber back in your life, you have to stop.”
He shakes his head, mouth open, the beginnings of a bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is. You either want this, or you don’t. I’m not doing this with you again. If you think I came back here to watch you kill yourself day by day, then you don't know me at all.”
His anger rises, I can see it flooding in, cheeks red, a flush up his neck. But he redirects, turns, gripping the edge of the counter. “You don’t get it,” he snaps. “I can’t even get through a fuckin’ show anymore unless I—unless I numb it a little. I’ll quit, I swear. Just let me get through the last few shows of the season. Please.”
“No.” I’m not even shaking. It’s like the years of heartbreak have turned my nerve endings to steel. “You quit now. Or I’m gone. And you’ll never see Amber again, but you already know that. I know you want that baby girl in your life, Travis. I know you want me to stay. So you have to make a decision, and you have to make it now.”
He clenches his eyes shut, and it hurts me to see him like this, because I know it isn’t easy. “You don't know what you're asking me.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, “I do. I’m asking you not to die. I’m asking you to choose us. I’m asking you to fix what was broken and give us one more chance at making this something.”
He’s quiet.
The only sound is the buzz of the refrigerator and the washing machine humming in the laundry.
“Goddammit.” He says it soft, like the very word terrifies him. “Okay. But I don’t think you understand just how ugly things are about to get.”
I step closer, putting my hand on his back, feeling the muscles bunch. “I made a choice, and I’m not going to leave you just because it gets tough if you promise me that we’re in this together this time, for real. No more lies, no more secrets, and no more pain. Just us. You, me, and Amber.”
He stands there for a long time, watching me, his face twisting with a mix of love and fear. “You gotta promise me something, Mischief?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
And I mean it this time, I do.
Because we’re in this for the final time. How it ends will depend on him, but I intend to keep my end of the deal.
Travis
It fucking hurts.
Every single inch of my body, every muscle, my skin, every fucking strand of hair hurts. It’s like every nerve is on fire. I’m hot and I’m cold, the blankets on my skin are a nightmare, but without them, the fan makes me want to fucking puke. My brain feels spiked with wire, my mouth fuzzy and dry. My whole life is condensed into a single, excruciating moment where I can’t decide if I want to vomit, scream, or die. I can’t sleep, and I can’t stay awake either. I just keep drifting in and out. Every time Iblink, I lose an hour and every time I jerk awake, that fucking light peeking through the blinds stabs me right in the eyes.
Violet is there almost always.
But sometimes she’s gone, and I wake in a panic.
She always comes back in, as if she knows I need her.
Right now, she sits at the edge of the bed and just watches me, this look on her face that I can’t quite pinpoint. She never asks me if I need anything, but she always seems to know just what to get. None of it matters, anyway. Right now there is nothing except this cold sweat, the walls crawling, every bone in my body vibrating from withdrawal. And her, in the doorway or sitting on the bed, teaching me how to not fucking die.
“You want me to call someone?” she asks, voice low, careful not to push.
I roll onto my back, sweat making the sheets far too wet for my liking. “Who, a priest?”
She snorts. “I was thinking Chief.”
“Fuck that. He’ll tell me to get up, get on with it, and to stop being such a fucking baby.”
She laughs. Full on, bright and sharp, and for a second I think maybe I could actually get through it if I just heard her laugh enough.
Then the cramp in my stomach rips through me and I curl inward, knees to my chest, face mashed into the wet pillow. I feel the bed dip as she sits beside me, and her hand on my back is gentle, feather-light, like she’s scared of shattering what’s left. After a minute I realize I’m crying. I didn’t even notice I was crying. My skin’s hot, my heart is pounding, I am embarrassed and sick and so fucking tired.
