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“A life without judgment, and constantly being told what a disappointment I am? A life where I don't have to worry that I'm going to fail at everything? Yeah. I think I can handle that.”
“They’re really that bad?”
“My father, yes. Mum and I don’t get along at the moment, but we used to be close.”
“What happened?”
“It's complicated,” I sigh.
“I've got time.” She winks at me and I laugh. God, I love her sense of humour sometimes. “Come on,” she coaxes, taking my hand and squeezing it. “You’ll feel better when you tell me all about it.”
My heart jumps. I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about telling her the truth. Bella was the last person I told, and something changed in our relationship after. Maybe she pitied me, I don’t know, but something was different after that. Can I risk that with Erin? I don’t think she would judge me, but how well do I really know her?
I trusted her when I told her about Dad.
She’s the only person I’ve ever told, so why is this so much harder? Because what my parents did isn’t a reflection on me personally. Gambling is my problem. It’s my addiction, something I choose to do—even if it never feels like a choice. There are days when I’d give anything to go back in time and delete that first bet.
“I have a gambling problem. This,” I point to my once-bruised face, which has dulled to a barely visible, yellowish tinge, “is the result of owing the wrong people money. It’s wrecked my whole life. I got kicked out of school, I’ve disappointed my mother…” I take a deep breath. “…and it’s probably the main reason why I’ll never have Bella.”
“Wow.” Her blue eyes widen, but there is no judgment there, just concern. “That’s pretty heavy. So your mother found out?”
I nod.
“Did you tell her?”
“Her credit card statement did that.”
She looks confused and then it dawns on her. “Oh, you didn't,” she says in a soft voice.
“It gets worse,” I admit. “Trust me, it gets much worse.”
“Do you still…” She stops for a second. “I mean…”
“Do I still have a problem?” I say for her. “It consumes my thoughts twenty-four hours a day, so I guess I do.”
“Is that why you came on this trip?” she asks. “To get away from the temptation?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie.
A big part of this trip was getting away from everything. I thought if I could just take myself out of the situation I was in, everything else would just fall into place. Except the one thing I didn’t factor in is that the temptation is everywhere. It follows you. It consumes your life, eating at you until you give in. That’s the thing with addiction: fixing the consequences isn’t going to do shit if you don’t address the cause.
She shifts onto her side and rubs her forehead.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“I’m fine, just feeling a little dizzy.”
I get to my feet. “Come on,” I say.
She takes my outstretched hand and I help her up. She stumbles forward and I catch her, my fingers wrapping tightly around her forearms to steady her.
“Are you sure you're okay?” I ask. I study her face, concerned that she won’t meet my eye.
“I will be when I get back to the room,” she promises.
“Put your arms around my neck,” I order her.
She does and I hoist into my arms.
