Page 119 of The Lucky One

He rested his forehead on mine, and we both breathed in. I closed my eyes, inhaling his smoky scent, feeling his warm hands on my skin. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t deny the strength of the love I had for him. The kind that made me impulsive, ridiculous. The kind that had me throw away a perfect high school romance. And yet I would trade any perfect ending for the moments I had shared with Jon.

But that’s all they would ever be. Fleeting moments, with suffering as the consequence. I was just starting to feel fine without him—for the first time in weeks!—and nothing had changed. He wasn’t ready to give me what I needed.

“I can’t, Jon... Not without answers,” I said, and his smile dropped.

I got up, feeling like I might fall down again. I held tight onto the flowers. “Thank you for the daisies, but being with you now... I wonder how long it’ll take until you change your mind again.”

“But—”

“No,” I said. “No, Jon... You mean everything to me, but you were right. I can’t hinge my happiness on you. I need to be fine on my own.”

I turned around and walked away.

Availability

Jon

I blocked out the world all the way home. My limbs felt numb. I stumbled in front of multiple cars but I didn’t give a shit. She had given me exactly what I wanted her to do. And for a split second I was relieved she’d found the strength to be fine without me.

But only for a split second.

This was it—I’d lost the love of my life for good. And all because I’d made the wrong choice yet again. This was worse than getting off drugs, worse than the accident that broke Paul’s foot, worse than dealing with Humphrey taking away the light in my mother’s eyes.

I drove home in a stupor and collapsed on the couch in my room. What was the point of fighting anymore? Hell, it was never Emily who needed me—it was me who needed her.

My eyes drawn to the damn drawer where I’d stashed the drugs...

One little pill wouldn’t hurt. It would help me get my head on straight, figure out my shit, get ready for what I had to do next.

So I caved. Went up to the drawer and practically tore it off its hinges. Twisted open a baggie of pink pills.

And I froze. Because here’s the thing: there’s no such thing as just one pill.

It was too much. My mind pummeling me with insistence, my skin itching with want, my hands jittering like a newbie boxer stepping into the ring.

I paced in circles. I hadn’t had a single coherent thought in days. Those damn baggies had turned me into a sheep surrounded by wolves. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. The doctors said I needed a healthy environment above all. Avoid stress and triggers. And here I was in possession of a drawerful of drugs—the opposite of what the doctor ordered.

And I’d lost her: the one person who kept me sane.

Everything was spinning like I was already high. My blood pumped so loud, I couldn’t hear my thoughts anymore. I closed my eyes, sank off the couch to the floor when I saw Emily’s face.

Don’t do it, she said. For yourself... for your family... for me.

I knew she would break again if I relapsed. She would trip into guilt, thinking it was her fault. But she was only the tip of the iceberg.

All I wanted was a break—a fleeting moment away from the chaos in my head... I had to...

Somehow, in the midst of it all, I held a little pink pill between my fingers.

Just one break, I told myself, lifting it to my mouth.

But as I was about to take that escape, a ring from my phone shattered the quiet.

“What am I doing?” I muttered. I snatched up every remaining plastic bag from the drawer, rushed to the bathroom and chucked it all into the toilet. Flush.

I watched the pills and powder swirl down the drain, the last blur of pink vanish from sight.

I’d face the consequences later.