Page 127 of Truck Up

No one deserves to go like this, not even someone as lost as my mother. She may have had a revolving door of acquaintances, a parade of faces drawn to her apartment by a shared addiction, but none of them truly cared. They were vultures, circling her demise, each one more desperate than the last for their next fix.

She most likely died alone.

I bang my head a few more times before I push to my feet and run to the living room. I fall back onto the couch and drop my head between my legs.

Tears stream down my face, blurring the already horrifying scene.

This time, the tears aren’t just from the stench, the overpowering smell of decay that clings to every surface. This time, they’re for her, for the woman who, despite her flaws, despite the chaos of her life, was the only one who truly understood the depth of my struggles.

Our relationship was a tumultuous one, a whirlwind of love and dysfunction, but it wasmine. And now, it’s gone, leaving behind an emptiness that threatens to consume me.

Lifting my head, my eyes fall on the mound of cocaine on the coffee table. My hand twitches. It would be so easy to pick up the razor blade and line up a hit. Just one. It wouldn’t hurt. If anything, it would make me feel better. Kill this pain constricting my heart.

Without thinking, I reach out but stop just before my fingers touch the razor blade.Don’t do it.

My eyes squeeze shut, a wave of nausea washing over me. My hand trembles, the craving a primal urge, a desperate need that threatens to consume me.

One hit, a single line, that’s all it would take. A momentary escape from the crushing weight of this addiction.

But the voice of reason, weak and wavering, whispers a chilling warning—there’s no such thing as just one hit. The first line leads to another, and another, until you’re trapped, a prisoner, chasing that initial euphoria, that temporary sense of nirvana.

Nothing ever compares to the first high.

But the pursuit of that initial bliss is a dangerous game, a game that too often ends in tragedy. I’ve seen it happen—seen people destroy themselves, chasing and chasing and chasing. Never reaching the finish line.

Hell, it wasn’t that long ago that I was that person.

“Fuck!” I push against the coffee table with both hands and knock it over onto its side. The contents on top go flying across the room. A faint white puff fills the air before it floats back to the ground.

Jumping to my feet, I rush outside and fall on the steps.

My entire body is shaking. It’s painful how badly I wanted that hit. This craving is a part of me. Begging me. Crying out for the drugs that I denied it.

I close my eyes and take deep, shallow breaths. I resisted. Just me. I did it all on my own with no one else there to tell me it was wrong.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I need to get past this moment and save myself.

I’ve relied on the help of others for far too long. Chase and Amelia and my brothers can’t be the only reason I’m alive and healthy.

I need to be that reason.

I need to want it.

To live.

To be happy.

To be the man Amelia and our unborn child deserve and need.

I want to live and be free from this addiction for myself as much as for my family. And today, I’m one step closer to living that reality.

My phone buzzes again, and this time, I pull it out of my pocket. I smile when I see who it’s from.

Angel

I miss you

Can we meet at the cabin tonight? I’m ready to talk.