Page 79 of Relapse

Because he was right. He was right about all of it. I hadn’t intended to use again, but I hadn’t tried to stop. My encounter with David had set me back—further than I’d ever thought I would go after successfully detoxing the first time at home. I was only using my vape for awhile but then that turned into…pain killers…THC…and now, Molly that I had enjoyed with Silas. Plus the alcohol.

So…fuck… yeah I was using. And with the way my body was reacting to Damian’s interrogation, I knew I needed more. I could really use a blunt to calm my nerves, to open my airways, to just calm me…

“I think we need to…revisit…the rehab conversation.”

Broken as his words were, one in particular jumped out at me. My body entered flight mode, and the shock of adrenaline helped bring me back to earth some. It was like my body knew. Quit your shit, it screamed to itself. Or you’ll be caged again. This time in a fancy facility with group circles.

I tried my best not to respond too quickly. I didn’t need him to sense my panic.

“I don’t need rehab Damian. It’s not that serious.”

“Noah, look at you. You’re a nervous wreck.” He craned towards me, his eyes desperately trying to make contact with mine. “It is my job as your brother to take care of you. There are things you aren’t telling me, Noah. I can see them. They are written all over you. I just need to know what they are.”

I felt myself slowly closing up. Sinking. Low.

“Tell me, so I can help, little brother.”

My thoughts grew louder in the space of silence, taunting me.

What do I tell you, huh? Do I tell you that our father stuck his cock in me and left me to bleed out on the floor? Do I tell you that I dream of the rape every night, especially on night’s when I feel particularly alone? Do I tell you how I feel like that pain is all I deserve? Do I tell you that the man I’ve been sleeping with tried to kill him? Do I tell you that I cried in my rapist’s defense, even though that monster deserved it? Do I tell you that a part of me wonders why we stayed here after he hurt me before? That I at times resent you, resent mom, because no one fucking protected me…

…and now I can’t even protect myself.

Do I tell you that part of me wishes I had died in that room on the night of the masquerade?

That sometimes the idea of nothingness feels more inviting than the torment I relive daily.

And that drugs are the only thing that quiets those raging thoughts in my head. These thoughts.

Drugs silence the pain. They crush the voice inside that tells me I’m worthless. They make me feel so good. Better than I ever felt in my whole fucking miserable life.

How could I begin to tell you any of that?

“I know,” I cleared my throat, mustering the courage to speak, “I know that I need to stop seeing Silas. I figured that out now.”

Damian was silent. Listening.

“Look,” I continued, just wishing to be done with the conversation. “I know I’ve fucked up.”

I bit the inside of my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Damian studied me.

For a long moment, he said nothing—just watched. It felt like he was trying to peel back my layers, in order to see what sat underneath my words. His expression was clear of anger. Anger would’ve been easier for me to handle honestly. This emotion was quieter, and I knew it was because he was evaluating me and my answers.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“You’re not the type to apologize unless it’s bad. Or you’re avoiding the conversation.”

I swallowed, but didn’t respond.

His gaze didn’t leave my face. He knew. Of course he knew. Damian always knew when something didn’t line up, when the story had gaps in places it shouldn’t. I could practically feel him fitting the pieces together, analyzing all of the parts I left out.

I wondered if he’d ever understand.

“You aren’t telling me something. Something major,” he added, not accusing—just stating it.

I forced a shrug, trying to look anywhere but at him. “I said I messed up. I agree with you. What more do you want?”