It’s evil, insidious addiction, clinging to me like a monkey on my back. It has its claws sunk deep into my flesh—so deep, in fact, that I thought addiction was a part of me.
The real me.
I close my fingers over the pills, averting my gaze from the mirror.
I’m not an addict. I’m in pain. I had a spinal injury. They told me I was paralyzed. I need these pills.
Need, need, need. I need them now.
Opening my hand back up, I stare at the little, round, white pills. I flip one over, noticing a ’T’ imprinted on the side. Has that always been there? I bring it closer to my face to inspect it, but the closer I bring the pills, the more I want to take them.
The voice in my head screams.
Yes, yes, yes. Take them. Take them now. Get high.
I can’t resist any longer. I throw them into my mouth and close my eyes.
Did they always taste this bitter? For just a second, the pills sit on my tongue. Their coating starts to melt in the heat of my mouth, and I know that sweet release is only a few minutes away.
A sweet release that I haven’t needed at all.
A sweet release that isn’t so sweet when it ends.
A sweet release that isn’t a release at all. It’s a prison that I’ve built for myself, one pill at a time.
Strength wells up inside me from somewhere I didn’t know existed. It starts in the depths of my chest, bubbling up through my veins and pushing the voice out of my head.
Leaning over the toilet, I spit the painkillers out and flush the toilet in one frantic, panicked motion. I pant over the bowl, watching the pills swirl away.
Spitting into the rushing water, I let a string of drool fall down from my lips. My chest heaves and I squeeze my eyes shut. Tears drip into the toilet bowl, and I fall to my knees.
My tongue feels numb. A bitter coating covers my mouth, and I spit into the bowl again.
I don’t remember that feeling with the pills before. Is it because I kept them on my tongue instead of swallowing them down this time?
Reaching for the pill bottle, I read the label.
They’re the same painkillers I’ve been taking for months. I run my fingers over the seal, remembering that it was broken.
Shaking my head, I lean back against the bathroom wall.
It doesn’t matter if they were the same pills or not. They’re gone now.
I probably never noticed the bitterness because I was taking them all the time. I toss the bottle into the trash and lean my head back against the wall…
…and I think of Ivy. She’s the only poison I need. The only poison I want rushing through my veins is her.
Letting out a breath, I squeeze my eyes shut.
A prickling sensation starts in the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet. I groan, slumping onto my side on the bathroom floor.
You should have taken them. You were stupid, stupid, stupid. Now, you have nothing to dull the pain.
Sucking a breath in through my teeth, I push myself up and stand. Stripping down, I walk into the shower and turn the water on as hot as it’ll go. I wash myself and think of Ivy until the prickling sensation goes away, and the voice quiets down.
When I walk out of the shower, steam billows around me and fogs up every surface in the bathroom. Wiping my hand across the mirror, I stare into my own eyes again.
Clear.
My heart feels calm. I look down at the empty pill bottle, discarded in the trash can, and a smile drifts over my lips.
The fog in my own mind has cleared. With a towel hanging around my hips, I walk out into the bedroom and stare out at the bright sunshine streaming through the window.
For the first time since as long as I can remember, the monkey isn’t on my back. Addiction’s claws aren’t embedded in my flesh.
I’m free.
25
Ivy
Margot’s face is a scary shade of grey. White, frothy spittle gathers at the edges of her mouth. Her hands are curled near her chest where she lies at the foot of the bed. Drag marks in the rug make it look like she’s crawled there from the window.
I freeze.
It’s only for a second—less than a second, even—but it feels like an eternity. I stand at the door to my sister’s room, trying to make sense of