AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He scoffs. “No. In fact, I’d call it a setback. I think I need a nap.” He looks pointedly at the bed. “You interested?”
“I won’t argue with that. Let me let Kyle out, and I’ll be right back.” I leave without making eye contact and spend a moment in the sweltering heat and bright sunshine of a Texas summer.
My first thought is did one hundred and eighteen become one hundred and seventeen while I was standing out here? Is that why he came into the bedroom instead of calling for me? We don’t have a pattern where I know what he normally would do. We’re new to each other. No history. No expectations. No knowledge of the other’s behaviors or coping mechanisms.
How long has the bottle been at one eighteen? How long did it take to get down to that number? Where are they coming from?
“Come on, good boy.” I rub Kyle down as he returns from the grass. He lopes in, and I follow. And what I find is not what I left.
Shades have been dropped to make the room dark. “Whoa.” I might as well be blind walking in from outside.
Layton flips on a sconce light on the wall, illuminating him as he lies on his back on top of the covers, one hand under his head. “Is that better?”
“A little. Thanks. This may be my new favorite thing.” I point at the blackened window coverings.
He smiles, but there’s no joy there. His smile is brittle, almost bitter. “What was your favorite thing before?”
“I’ll have to think about that, but my first thought is the towel warmer in your bathroom. I don’t know that I can fully appreciate it, though, when it’s in the nineties.”
“Ah.”
“Get some rest, handsome.” I climb into bed under the sheet and curl into a ball. Quietly I add, “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy your time.”
There’s no response.
I have no idea if he sleeps, but I never do. I fight the war in my mind that circles like laundry in a dryer. How bad is the pain? How numb is his body? How dependent is his mind? How long has this been going on? When will it end? What if he’s hurting himself worse and reinjuring his body because he doesn’t feel reality? What if he tries to stop cold turkey?
Or worse, what if he never plans to?
My tears flow, and by some miracle, I manage not to sniffle and clue him in to my struggle. I slide out of bed and pad into the bathroom to draw a hot bath.
Before I strip down and soak in my fears and frustrations, I text the one person I can think of who might be able to help.
Me:I need help and I want to keep it quiet. Can you call me?
I delete the message just as my phone rings.
“Livy? What’s going on?”
I slide into the water closet, dropping my voice. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. And I don’t know what to do or where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” his smooth voice calms me with his cool authority.
“I found oxy here. Lots of it. I don’t have to tell you what that means. But we need to know where it’s coming from and how to address it. And I need a levelheaded friend right now. One who can remain dispassionate and methodical. And do the right thing by Layton.”
“I can do that.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Be there. Guide him. Love him. I’ll get back with you quickly.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A click tells me the call has ended.
I set my phone aside and strip out of my clothes. I slide into the bath as I turn off the tap. The water is so hot it takes my breath away. It takes no time at all for my skin to pink and the wound on my leg to burn.
Warm tears run down my cheeks.
