Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Okay, Collins,” he slowly acknowledges. “You sure she’s ready for this?”
“No.”
“Do you feel you have adequate tools to handle this emotional trigger?
This time there’s confidence in my voice. “Definitely.”
“Alright.” His pause is brief. “Let’s all meet after group tomorrow to check in and touch base.”
“Yeah.”
The single word ends the call, which prompts my girlfriend to ask, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Kara died this afternoon.”
Her jaw immediately drops in shock.
“She took sleeping pills that were most likely laced with something fatal.”
“Ohmygod,” she breathlessly croaks, arms rushing to wind themselves around my waist to cradle me.
Protect me.
Comfort.
“Law was calling to check on me. To see if I knew and how I was dealing with such a trigger.”
“Do you need to go meet him?” She rushes out while holding me tighter to her. “Do you need me to drive you?”
“You said you wanted all of me.” Sliding the phone away from me across the counter, I defeatedly shrug. “Here I am. Sad.” Her fingers flex against my figure. “Fucking scared.” She pulls me against her further. “Relapsing is around every fucking corner. Sobriety is as fragile as it fucking comes, baby. Living is something most people take for granted until death is staring them in the fucking face, but something I’ve learned between therapy and recovery meetings is that death stalks an addict, waiting for a. Single. Fucking. Misstep.”
Her arms lock in place.
My frame folds forward.
Head on shoulder.
Nails clawing desperately at the back of her blouse as I begin to bawl. “I don’t wanna fucking end up like Kara, Pres.” Tears pour from my eyes in spite of them being squeezed shut. “I don't wanna be found dead in my apartment without anyone who fucking cares about me. I don’t wanna be so fucking fucked up and alone that’s the only way to stop the fear. And voices. And the fucking pain.” Trembling unconsciously begins and my girlfriend doesn’t hesitate to embrace me harder. “I want more out of life, Pres. So. Much. Fucking. More. I especially want you.”
“You have me, Ry,” she quietly swears. “You always have.” Fingers suddenly slide into my unkempt locks. “And you always will.”
Chapter 24
Presley
Discussion Topic 12: You Are Not Baggage Proof
I stretch my legs out in front of me, back leaning against one side of the patio couch. “How is it you always pick the worst time to travel, Katherine?”
“You sound like my husband, darling,” she snickers from the other end of the phone. “Although, I will say his reasons for missing my presence usually revolve around an item he can’t find. Cufflinks. Dress shoes. The remote.”
It’s my turn to laugh.
“I know you don’t need me to tell you where pieces of your wardrobe are,” my best friend teasingly begins, “so what’s going on? You're up much too early for a woman who was evidently in meetings all day yesterday.”
The confession that creeps out is quiet, “I haven’t exactly been to sleep yet.”
“You don’t sound like it’s because of a hot and fiery night,” she clarifies without hesitation. “You and Collins have a fight?”
“Fight. More fighting. Some sort of makeup and then just lots of tears.”
“Did you…,” this time there is reluctance to go on, “breakup?”
“God, no.” My head swiftly shakes in spite of the fact she can’t see it. “That is just one card I never see being played again.”
“Then why all the tears?”
“His friend – the one I didn’t know anything about – well, she overdosed yesterday.”
“She.”
“Yes.”
“And I take it the initial fighting was about her?”
“And me seeing Xander.”
“By choice?”
“Sort of? He scheduled an appointment to see me, we went to lunch where I not so gently explained why we would’ve never worked out-”
“Did that fuck up his hard drive again?”
“-how I’m not who he thinks I am, and then encouraged him to do some soul searching-”
“Shopping.”
“-of his own. It was kind of nice just to hang out as friends.”
“Well, darling, some exes can and do remain friends. It is your choice if that’s the route you’d like to take; however, perhaps discuss with your partner their feelings on the topic, too? You have quite a tendency since your unliberated relationship with Xander of just making all the important decisions rather than truly trying to let both of you have a say?”
Guilt slinks me down into my seat. “Would you also assess, doctor, that I have begun behaving as though I don’t need anyone’s help for anything?”
“Yes.”
Ugh.
I knew I shouldn’t have fucking called her.
“But to a degree, darling, it is slightly expected. You spent most of your adult life trying to establish your own self-reliance. You wanted a business. You wanted to be your own boss. You dated Xander someone who wasn’t going to challenge either of those things. You non-verbally stated very clearly from a very early point that you didn’t need anyone, but you. Hell, even letting me handle dinners and drinks and shopping – despite how much money you know my family has – is an ongoing war that I swear to the iced-latte Goddess that I will one day win.”