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This is what I do to him. This is why he’s better off without me.
All the joy of seeing my best friend, who is more than my best friend, washes away as the tide of shame bowls me over from the sight of him so undone.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” I whisper as tears tumble down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t raise his face to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, this time giving in to my emotions and saying it through a sob wrenched from the depths of my soul. “I’m sorry for everything.”
He sniffs and raises his head, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “You need help, Lilah.”
He meets my gaze with determination because we both know my answer to his declaration will either be the bedrock or the quicksand that we rebuild our friendship on.
I squeeze my eyes shut and nod.
There’s no way I can go on like this. The constant pain is too much to bear, and the fact that I’m inflicting that same pain on him will be my undoing. I need to deal with my issues instead of running or pushing them away with sex and drugs. Rather than avoiding feeling anything at all, I need to be willing to fight my demons in order to truly live my life.
“Will you get help?”
The thought absolutely terrifies me. I’ve been to a few NA or AA meetings over the years when I thought I wanted to try to better myself, but they never stuck. The idea of being isolated somewhere, unable to interact with the outside world and talking about everything that’s wrong with me in front of a bunch of strangers, isn’t appealing.
But neither is the idea of living with this feeling of worthlessness and shame forever.
“I will,” I answer.
Relief floods his features. “I’ll make some calls and get you into the best place possible. I promise.”
I open my mouth to argue that he doesn’t need to do that—he’s already done so much—but I don’t. I can give him this one small thing because it will make him feel useful.
“Thank you.” I yawn, trying to keep my eyes on him. It’s been so long since I’ve been with him.
“You need to rest. I’ll make some calls, but I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”
I nod, and the weight on my eyelids becomes too much and they drift closed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
LILAH
It’s been a week since I woke up as weak as a newborn calf.
Today I leave for rehab.
I process that realization for a moment.
I’ve almost bailed about a hundred times. All I want is to disappear out the front doors of the hospital and return to my old life. Then I look at Jimmy and the reasons why I won’t surface.
I need to do this for myself or there’s no chance of me getting clean. I understand that fact. I really do. But right now, I’m going for Jimmy, because I can’t see again the pain I caused him when I woke up in this hospital bed.
House of Carlisle fired me. I expected it, but it stung just the same. Jimmy tried to keep the news from me, but sobriety is refreshing in that I notice what the hell is going on. Not to mention if I have a chance of getting straight, he can’t hide things from me.
Jimmy knocks on the bathroom door, drawing me from my thoughts. “Lilah, there’s someone here to see you.”
“I’ll be right out.”
I pull my shirt over my head and smooth out my hair. It looks as good as it’s going to using hospital shampoo and conditioner. I debate putting it up but decide to leave it down. Photographers always said positive things when I had it down. I want to make a good impression on the woman escorting me to the rehab facility in Utah. Maybe she’ll cut me some slack if I’m put-together when she meets me, instead of looking like the jittery, nerve-racked girl I am.
Drawing in a calming breath, I open the door and step into the hospital room, where Jimmy speaks in low murmurs to a woman in her mid-fifties. I can tell she dyes her short auburn hair, because no one has a natural color that shade of maroon. I’m guessing she’s a little shorter than I am, based on her height in relation to Jimmy, and she focuses with great concentration on whatever Jimmy’s telling her.
