Page 175 of Relapse

I half expected it to be gone. But as I peered under the metal frame, there it was. Waiting for me.

I pulled out the box and opened it.

The gun smiled back at me. I opened it. Bullets still in the chamber.

Before I could think anymore about it, I dropped the weapon into my bag.

The floorboard creaked behind me.

I knew it was Damian before I turned. I could feel him there, staring at me in confusion. The disappointment.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He looked at the bag, then at me, and something behind his eyes flipped like a switch.

“You’re leaving.”

I zipped the bag shut hastily. “Yes, for a few days.”

I lied. I didn’t know. All I knew was that Silas gave me an out. A promised place of safety.

And for the first time in my life I was going to choose me. Actually choose me. Not the drugs or the sex that kept me in a haze of pleasure, but a decision that meant I might be able to live in peace.

“Where?” Damian demanded, stepping into the room.

I flinched. I couldn’t stop it—my whole body jerked away from him. His sudden proximity combined with his anger triggered that response without my control. Damian froze almost instantly, his expression shifting into fear as well.

“Noah, what is wrong?”

“Nothing.” I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder. If Silas was punctual—and he was—he’d be walking inside this house any minute now. I had to get going. “I have to go, Damian.”

“Dammit, Noah. You’re using again?” Damian’s voice dropped low. He took another step closer.

“I’m not—Damian, I’m not leaving so I can use. I’m trying my best to stay sober. That’s why I have to go.” I stumbled over my words when I shouldn’t have, but with what David had just done to me, I wasn’t in the best headspace. Everyone was the enemy and the walls of this abusive house were closing in.

“Bullshit!” Damian’s anger cracked through, and he reached out, his hand closing around my shoulder.

I went rigid. Every muscle in my body locked, my breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with fear or drugs and everything to do with the master bedroom, the sound of footsteps at 2 AM, the dark shadows that plagued my nightmares, and the hands that never stopped when I said no.

“Let go of me.” My words were barely audible.

Damian must have seen it. Whatever terrified look I had in my eyes. It finally registered in him. His hand dropped.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, quieter now. “Noah, if someone—”

“I can’t!” I yelled. “I can’t tell you. And I can’t stay here. Please, Damian. Just let me go.”

I pushed past him into the hallway and started down the stairs.

Damian followed.

“Let you go where? You’re going to end up—” He jogged down the stairs and stepped in front of me, hands out, not touching me, but preventing me from going forward. “You’re going to relapse. You’re going to die out there. Is that what you want?”

My hands were shaking again. I stared at the front door, praying Silas didn’t break it down.

“No, I don’t want to drink. I don’t want to get high. I don’t want to get into any trouble. I’m fighting each and every day to do the right thing when I wake up.” I pulled the bag tighter against my chest. “But staying here is worse.”

“Worse than what?” Damian asked.

Worse than dying, I thought.