“Be honest.” Her sharply lined glare narrows. “Did you even go?”
I chug the remains of my drink.
My non-answer earns me a frustrated growl.
“Why not? He's fucking hot!”
I deflate. Henryishot in the preppy, mint-green polo and bleached teeth kind of way. And he's very,veryinterested. It’s been ages since I put myself out there, even for a one-night stand. I fully intended on meeting him at a bar down the street, but myexcitement disintegrated when I reached the door. Like catching Medusa's stare, I transformed into an immovable stone statue.
“Being with a guy reminds me of…”
Admitting it is fucking embarrassing. It's not a matter of accepting my bisexuality; I like to think I’m lucky enough to have double the options. The problem is I’ve only ever wantedoneperson.
Andrea sighs, her pale hand landing on my thigh. “If you never pursue another guy again, I don’t blame you. Shit, I wish I hated dick! Men are trash— minus you, of course.”
A smile wants to form on my lips.
I open my mouth to tease her but she's not looking at me anymore. Her typically flushed cheeks drain of color and horror lines her pointed features.
Ice drips down my spine as prickling awareness raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I don’t want to turn but my body moves as if magnetized.
Either I’m drunk or I’ve finally cracked.
Did my anti-depressants get swapped with hallucinogens?
My eyes must be lying.
An injection of something ancient and powerful lights up my veins. My shriveled heart skips a beat.
“Win?”
2
Win
What recovering addict agrees to go to a party with a stranger?
A dumbass asking to fuck up, that’s who.
My palms itch— shit,all of meitches— but it can’t be blamed on the rager. Nope, this forgettable beach town alone does the trick. Returning to Fort Misery (a way more accurate name than Fort Manor) with its resident retirees and rich pricks is by far the worst decision I’ve ever made.
Well, it wasn’t technically my choice, but it’s what I deserve after everything I’ve done.
It’s a double-edged sword. Some of my most precious memories were born here alongside my worst nightmares. As much as the nostalgia soothes me, I'm plagued by the idea that I wouldn't have resorted to my preferred methods of mental escape without coming here in the first place. Delusional what-ifs are halted by the hissing voice in my head.You would’ve been an addict anyway, dipshit.
Maybe.
Or maybe the sickness is in this town. A monster with black tentacles reaching through the sand to wrap around the legs of unsuspecting victims, infecting them with misery and sucking out their souls until they’re nothing but zombies.
What can I say? It’s easier to blame everything and everyone but myself. At least I’m self-aware.
The musk of weed clings to the air as I cross the threshold into a crammed townhouse a few miles from FMU's campus. If only I had the self-control to smoke; it used to help me sleep but then it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. Nothing will be.
I take a shaky breath, blinking away the haze.
“What do you want to drink?” Jay asks, wiggling his brows. I can’t tell if he’s being cringy on purpose or if he thinks it's cute. He’s been attempting to flirt with me since Mom’s disastrous damage-control luncheon. She's unfortunately failing at downplaying the circumstances of my return a week ago.
At least I can hide in the guest house. I would’ve begged to stay at Crestview Rehabilitation Center over living under the same roof as my parents again. They’re not awful, I just can’t stand the constant hovering. We’re getting along as well as expected with my unpredictable moods and their perpetual exhaustion. (It’s draining work worrying if your child is on the verge of relapse. Even more of a chore to rattle off neatly crafted and ridiculously vague explanations for said child's current situation.)
