What did he ask? My meds?
Yeah, I’ve been without them for over 84 hours now. And I can almost feel the depressive episode coming. But instead of the dulled, muted version on Seroquel, it’s a new, freezing coldness I’ve never handled before.
Or maybe the pre-medicated Cece once knew what this was. And the current one is simply scrambling for a fix.
Seroquel, whiskey. Whiskey or Seroquel?
I shake my head and chug the amber liquid—straight.
A warm, shaking hand covers mine on the counter. My head snaps up, gaze locking firmly on Levi’s concerned face.
“It’s still afternoon, baby. You shouldn’t—”
I bristle at his words, tugging my hand out from underneath his. Then I pour an exorbitant amount into his glass before sliding it across the counter.
My throat is still burning, but I manage another shot that I’ve convinced myself is definitely not more than 60ml.
He watches me silently as he takes a quick swig.
Gripping the edge of the counter, I drop my head to my chest. My breath ragged and uneven. I can feel the alcohol warming my muscles and loosening my tongue.
Thank God!
“What are our next steps?” I ask numbly, but my voice is still steady and firm.
He circles the island separating us. His hand gripping my shoulder, turning me to make me forcibly face him. Face his stupid, apprehensive eyes.
“We’ll figure it out, Cece,” he says, voice rough. “But my priority is you. Getting you through this. I need you to not shut down on me, please.”
I gently pry myself out of his maddeningly comfortable hold. I can’t think when he has me like this.
That’s… new.
Shit. I don’t even have the energy to use my signal. I highly doubt he even remembers it. But what really twists my stomach is that I don’t evenwantto use it.
I swallow hard. “I’m… I won’t shut down. I just need to know what’s next so I can…”prepare myself.“Arrange things accordingly.”
He nods immediately, stepping closer once again anyway.
His whiskey-laced breath fans over my lips as he cups my face, lowering his forehead to mine.
“We’ve done enough for the day,” he rumbles softly. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow, okay?”
I nod against him.
“Are you…” His voice catches. He clears his throat roughly. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?”
I know what he’s asking—if I need my meds. I don’t.
Not now.
The point is irrelevant anyway. I stopped taking them abruptly and now it’s whiskey pulsing through my blood instead of Seroquel. The withdrawal symptoms should be worse than this, but every other disaster in my life seems to be drowning it out.
God.
I’ll probably need to see my family doctor eventually. Get him to restart my medication properly. You can’t just jump back into Seroquel after stopping cold turkey.
Maybe he’ll put me back on Abilify instead.
