Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I don’t mind. Sounds like maybe you need some looking after.” Not that I was the person for the job, and I was supposed to be irked at him over the ghosting, but Worth had the same magnetic pull on my emotions as ever.
“I don’t,” Worth snapped, then made a sour face. “Sorry. I’m being an ass on top of everything else. I shouldn’t have come. Not sure why I did, honestly. Fuck.”
He sounded dangerously close to tears, and I wished I had an extra hand to pat him and the dog both. I settled for gentling my voice as much as possible. “You thought it would help. That’s not a terrible impulse. I’m sorry the house is not like you remember.”
“I didn’t come to jog my memory.” Worth rubbed the center of his chest, voice more weary than angry. “I think… Maybe I came to say goodbye.”
Chapter Three
Worth
I hadn’t meant to say that. Heck, I hadn’t realized it myself until the words escaped my mouth. But it was true. This was a goodbye. Not a hello, not a pleasure visit, nor a trip down memory lane. I’d reached the end of the line for me. Something I’d known when the condo door clicked behind me for the final time but hadn’t truly internalized until now. For months, I’d fought and fought to keep my life together, and then, with the dude serving my eviction notice, the last of my fight left. If my life were a movie, that would have been the last act, and all I felt was relief.
I hadn’t really expected my tree to change a damn thing, and all the time sitting there had done was show me exactly how far I was from the person I’d once been, the person I’d never be again.
Sam sucked in a loud breath, studying me far closer than I was comfortable with. He already saw too damn much. “You need help.”
“Nah.” I waved my free hand. “The time for help is long gone. Like I said, I’m sorry I came. I didn’t mean to bring my trouble to your doorstep.”
“Tough. You did come here, and I can’t not do something.”
“Nothing to be done.”
Don’t be such an Eeyore. Another memory, this one of standing in this very laundry room, telling my mother some hopeless middle school drama, and her laughing and clapping me on the shoulder with a damp hand. It’s not that bad.
Except my reality was that bad, and as it turned out, all her optimism had been an illusion, as untrustworthy as the January sun in Oregon. I rubbed my burning stomach, the water sloshing around, caustic as battery acid.
“Sure there is. We’re going to get you help,” Sam said firmly like he could will it into existence. But unless he had a brand-new reputation, a job, and an attitude transplant for me, he was wrong. Sam nodded crisply. “We’re going to wash the dog, then I’m taking you to the ER.”
“ER?” I scoffed. “You think I still have health insurance?”
“You think that matters?” One hand remaining on the dog, he fiddled with the faucets until a stream of water appeared. Motions far more gentle than his voice, he sprayed the dog, dirt streaming into the sink. “Your stomach pain alone would warrant a trip, but you’re threatening self-harm, and that can’t be ignored.”
“I didn’t mean I wanted to off myself right this minute.” I sounded petulant, the sort of defensiveness I hated from others. “Everything feels pointless though. Like, why bother? If I get in the car, keep driving till I run out of road, then maybe all of it will stop hurting so damn much.”
“You don’t need an active plan to be a self-harm risk,” Sam said briskly before pointing at a shelf near the sink. “Hand me the soap.”
I picked up the bottle but didn’t give it over. Buttercup looked so miserable in the sink. I didn’t want to add to her discomfort. “Is this soap safe for dogs?”
“It’s organic, no sulfates, clear, gentle, and good enough for right now.” Sam held out a hand, wiggling his fingers.
“Wow.” I gave him the soap. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you snappy before.”
“Hi, Worth. Nice to meet you. I’m Sam. I’m a full-fledged adult now. I work with troubled teens.” He gave me a little soapy wave. “I’ve spent more nights waiting at the ER and visiting psych wards than you, so trust me when I say you need help, and help is out there. We’re going to get you better, but I need you to take your situation seriously.”
“I can’t not take it seriously.” I rubbed my burning, aching stomach. “You think I can ignore losing everything? Having no future? Being wrong about everything I thought I knew?”
“I’m not asking you to ignore your very real problems. I’m asking you to dial down the resistance to getting help for your intrusive thoughts—”