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I let out a groan and go for a sip of the coffee. “Thank you.” It doesn’t feel like a success. I feel like maybe this whole thing was a bad idea and maybe I should’ve tossed him into a rehab and let them figure it out, but that wouldn’t have worked for a million reasons. Knox would hurt somebody or go so crazy they’d end up putting him in a psych ward he’d break out of and he’d still end up right back where we started. Or dead. He said if he had access to cocaine now, he would kill himself with it. There are no viable alternatives to what we’re doing now.
“You’re doing great. It's only been four days. Give him time.”
Tears rush over my cheeks and I’m quick to wipe them away with the sleeves of my sweater. “I’m sorry.”
Pres squints at me. “For what?”
“For not being here, for him going off after my ex because of me, for… everything.” For not even recognizing how bad things were for Knox when I got here, and for not checking on him any time before that. I was so used to him being the one saving my ass that I never considered he might be the one needing help.
Pres’s hand wraps around my forearm and he gives it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to apologize to me. You’re-”
“NELL!” Knox’s voice reverberates through me and everything else in the clubhouse. Something is very wrong.
“Shit!” I jump up and run for the stairs, digging the keys out of my pocket, but my hand is shaking.
Pres pushes me aside with his arm and kicks just below the doorknob, sending the door crashing open.
“Nell!” Knox cries. I crawl onto the bed over to him, grabbing his face. His bandaged fingers stroke my cheek bone. “Nell, oh god.”
“What, Knox? What happened?”
Sadness controls a majority of his expression. “You were gone. You were…”
“No,” I tell him, rubbing over his chest so he can feel me and know for sure that I’m really here. “I was downstairs. I was getting coffee.”
Knox’s arm clutches my waist and yanks me down against his chest, bringing his mouth right to my ear to whisper, “Don’t go. You can’t go. Don’t leave me.”
I look back at Pres, still standing in the doorway. “I’m not going anywhere, Knox.”
“Don’t go, Nellie.” His fear is palpable, and it hurts to see him this way.
“I’m not leaving, I promise. I’m right here.” I kiss under his jaw since it’s all I can reach. “I went for coffee. I won’t leave.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tree- one week later
The worst of the cravings has passed. I’m allowed to pee by myself now! The nightmares and paranoia overshadow my excitement at being granted privacy. It doesn’t matter how nice it is to walk to the bathroom by myself when I’m always looking over my shoulder while I’m there. I wake up almost every night shivering and sobbing, and I’m so exhausted from it that I’m mostly convinced I willnevertouch a drug again to avoid having to go through this more than once.
My nightmares are all slightly different, but somehow always the same. Layla and Nell both leaving me. Doors slamming in my face, divorce papers slapped against my chest, so much fucking screaming and crying. Or they both just die, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Car crashes, drownings, house fires, gunshots, tsunamis, hurricanes, plane failures- any death you can think of, I’ve dreamt of them dying that way. It’s not even just at night, it’s during the day too. I can’t get a second of peace from the constant fear of beingalone.
My hand healed and is no longer bandaged, my face is still slightly bruised but I’m beginning to look human again. The return of food and sleep to my routine has done wonderful things for my complexion. Nell is concerned about me being in control of a razor, so the beard is coming back. Weirdly, she doesn’t complain about it being tickly or abrasive when I kiss her, which I do often.
Nell has become a sort of replacement addiction. Every time I think I want drugs, I turn to her. I hold her hand or kiss her soft lips for relief. In the night, when I wake up afraid, I crush her to my chest and hold her until the fear passes. Nell isn’t just a friend anymore, she’s aneed. I need her like I need air or water or food.
The calm she induces is becoming easier and easier to access. Just seeing her from across the room works now, but I prefer it when she’s closer to me. “I think I’m getting Stockholm Syndrome,” I tell her as she types away on her computer. I still don’t have a fucking clue what she’s doing on that thing, but I don’t ask.
“I’m not holding you captive.”
“Aren’t you? You’re saying I’m free?”
She turns to look at me to show me how not-funny she thinks that was. “You aren’t a kidnapping victim. You’re a dumbass.”
“Damn! You’re mean today.” We’re getting closer to the first anniversary of Layla’s death, and it’s affecting us both differently. Neither of us wants to think about it, but I can feel it getting closer in my bones. I want to see her grave, but I don’t know if Nell will let me out of this cage to go.
Nell goes quiet for a while. “We’re going to your house this morning.”
I push myself up on my elbows and stare at the side of her beautiful head. An empty head if she thinks she’s getting me in that fucking house. “No we’re not.”
