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Is he sick?
“What the fuck did you take?”
That’s his voice.
So, he’s not the one throwing up?
He sounds distressed, panicked even.
“Why?” he jabs. “Why the fuck do you keep doing this to yourself?”
Then comes another voice.
This one female.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I’ll stop, I promi—”
More vomiting. Unable to make sense of the events unraveling before me, I tumble back a step. I convince myself it can’t possibly get any worse until a scream reaches my ear.
That’s when my heart crumbles into a million pieces.
Because the panic in Will’s voice…
I’ve never heard it before.
“Mom! Mom! Fuck!”
Mom.
Motion.
Noises.
The shower starts.
“Mom!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. “Wake up!”
My guess is he just put her in the shower. Seconds pass. Will’s heart-wrenching pleas diffuse through the room’s thin walls. Then the puking picks up again. And I hear him sigh in relief. I can’t handle his ragged, rough breathing. He’s seconds away from a panic attack.
“I’m here, honey. I’m here,” she says in a gruff voice.
“I… I can’t.” He chokes. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Kass, you need to leave. Now!
Get the fuck out!
“No, wait, I’m sorry. Don’t leave me, William.” She vomits in between sobs.
“I can’t do this anymore.” He articulates every word as if to get it through her head. “You drained everything! Four fucking grand. Gone in a matter of days. I’m done.”
I feel like I’m going to faint when the bathroom door swings open. Will comes out, his eyes bloodshot, his features hard. He’s barely holding back tears. But when he sees me? Standing by the door? Something shifts in his eyes.
Something dies.
Like he’s just reached his limit of pain for a lifetime.
Speechless, we stand there, staring at each other. Waiting to see which one of us will speak first.
