in me to vanish and for her to give me an ultimatum.
Get high, you get out.
Or get clean, and you come back.
The worst part of it all was I couldn’t blame her for being so cold. She suffered an entire childhood with our junkie mother. Our dad had died in the line of duty and it sent Mom off the rails. Nothing mattered to her anymore until Jeremy Stiles came along. He brought a little life back into her and was like a father to us, until his intentions became clear and he tried to steal every cent we had, which really wasn’t all that much. Lindsey endured so much more than me—at least, I was too young to remember most of it. She wasn’t, and it had scarred her for life. It jaded her perception on everything and everyone. So I left her loft. My Christmas dinner untouched. Oliver standing strong by Lindsey’s side as sadness flashed across her face. I left probably the only two people who loved me because I couldn’t bear it anymore. I couldn’t take Lindsey looking at me the way she used to look at our mother. I couldn’t take Oliver’s disappointment because of what I’d done to the only person who loved us more than we loved ourselves.
I spent the next three days trying to get clean, but it was a lost cause. All it did was push me toward the Brooklyn Bridge so I could end it all before I fell into a torturous demise at the hand of a Marino. Leaving this world on my own terms would be a far nicer way to go. But then that didn’t work either because I screwed it up too, just like everything else.
He wasn’t supposed to show up on the bridge. He wasn’t supposed to fill me with a slither of hope, for more, for different. But he did. He never danced around my feelings, and yet for the first time in a long time, he made me feel something other than broken. He listened, cared, showed me compassion. It was scary as it was confusing because it forced me to realize how out of touch with the world I’d truly become. I didn’t recognize his kindness for what it was. A stranger helping someone who was in need—that of a friend. Instead, I saw a man who was willing to help me, but would want something in return. They always did. Nearly a year my body has been used in unimaginable ways. For ogling, for pleasure, for pain. The first few months I wept more than I didn’t. I would cry for help, for God, for someone to save me. Then next four I prayed for death. Every filthy touch I’d wish for Lucio to hit me too hard and kill me. He never did, at least not physically. But in every other way I’d become numb. Now, I just don’t care. But Roamyn did tonight. Turns out he never wanted anything. I should have been relieved. Grateful. But I’m a gluten for punishment. A magnet to danger. I know the world has good men, but they’re also a rarity. My teenage heart is bruised because I wanted to learn if my hero really was one as good as he seemed.
The stairs give a soft creak beneath my feet as I tip toe up them. Pushing open my bedroom door, it quickly shuts again. Tears of relief begin rolling down my cheeks as I pray a silent thank you to whoever the hell is listening. Tonight, I don’t have to deal with Lucio. It’s a small reprieve, but a blessing not to be taken for granted. Sadness creeps over me, welcoming new tears. Viciously, I wipe them away for shedding pain at the memory of a boy who’s no longer here.
The hurt is different, a pain none the less, but the saddest feeling to think how someone all but a year ago, could bring light on a dull day but now, brings a darkness to my life every time he steals a moment that doesn’t belong to him. I push away the hurt and march over to my dresser against the wall of the expansive room I share with my best friend. I yank open the top drawer. My eyes fall on the heroin and needle which I snatch out the bag of smack with shaky hands. It’s not my usual, Lucio knows it, but he’d given it to me yesterday anyway.