still an addiction and that type of obsession has always been my downfall. I couldn't handle being left alone again, I couldn't handle being your downfall, and so that night I made you leave, I decided the world would be a better place without me. So, I tried to off myself and apparently, I can't even do that right.
Dr. Travetti says that's not funny, but I think it's hilarious. Because someone out there clearly loves me enough to keep me around, and I can't for the life of me figure out why.
Anyway, I think that's everything. I'm scared to end this, though. I'm scared this will be the last time I have any contact with you. But I need to learn to be alone. I need to teach the devil in me to keep his big mouth shut. I need to, I dunno, love myself enough to see those reasons to be alive before I can even think about being in your life again...if you'd even still want me.
I hope you will.
Love you, sweetheart.
-V
P.S. I don't expect you to wait for me. I wouldn't ever ask that of you. But there's no harm in hoping, so that's what I'm gonna do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
VINNIE
“You sure you're ready for this?” Zach asked, his hand on the doorknob.
“I wouldn't be here if I wasn't,” I muttered in reply, shifting my gaze toward my sister.
She looked back at me, her brows lifting gently with doubt and concern. This was my new norm. The looks and constant questions asking if I was okay. I guess that was my own fault, and I’d done it to myself, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t tired of reassuring them.
“Okay,” Zach drawled doubtfully, as he opened the door.
The last time I had crossed that threshold, I'd been strapped to a gurney. Bits of memory pelted against my guts in fragments of something that fell somewhere between reality and a dream. I could remember the decision to overdose, but I couldn't remember setting up the lines. I could remember Moe, slapping my face and shouting my name, but I couldn't remember waking up, or passing out, or how I ended up with a two-inch-long gash on my forehead. I wished I could remember, yet I'd do anything to forget.
And I wished to God my brother and sister would stop watching me like I could spontaneously combust at any second.
“How are you doing?” Jenna asked cautiously, as I slowly walked through the dining room and into the living room.
“I'm fine, Jen,” I grumbled, as my eyes fixated on the coffee table.
Somewhere during the time I'd been away, at Zach's place and in the Boston rehabilitation center, my brother-in-law, Nicky, had come by and cleaned up the mess I'd made. But he'd missed a spot, and I leaned down to scratch my thumbnail against the blood stain on one of the corners.
“Fucker got me pretty good,” I commented, chuckling humorlessly.
“You're lucky that's all that happened,” Jen replied, her voice reflecting all the hurt I'd inflicted on them.
“Lucky,” I snickered, shaking my head and standing to survey the room. “Not sure that's the word I'd use.”
“You are lucky,” Zach said with a stern furrow of his brow. “I mean, for some reason, you keep getting more chances at life. Someone obviously wants you around.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, as I grabbed a garbage bag from the box I held, “I'll let you know if I ever figure out why.”
***
While I was in rehab, I'd spent a lot of time with this shrink, Dr. Vanessa Travetti. She had talked to me a lot about the past, my relationship with family, my fear of being left alone, and the reluctance I felt about letting go. She never once shamed me for my methods of coping, but she taught me that, sometimes the best way to deal with those fears is to do the very thing I was afraid of. And even though it might have been a very basic approach, I had never had it laid out so simply before.
So, I had returned home with just one goal in mind: to get the apartment cleaned and packed up. And that was exactly what the three of us did one rainy day in January. The kitchen was scrubbed, and the appliances were stuffed neatly into boxes. Pictures were wrapped in newspaper and handled with care, while the couch and dining room set were dragged out to the street. None of the furniture held any value and I wanted