Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
My smile fades as my brain works overtime to try to work out what Reed’s trying to tell me. “Whatever Anders’ thing is, I’m sure I can handle it.”
“That’s just it. It’s not my story to tell.”
I purse my lips. If I thought trying to get Anders to go out with me was going to be a long game, I think it’s gonna take even longer to get to know every little piece of him.
At least with him living with me now, we’ve got nothing but time.
5
Anderson
“When did you cave?” Law asks, nodding at the joint in my hand.
Oh, about the minute I realised I’d left it too late to actually find a place of my own and had to move in with the hottest guy in history who makes me break out in hives.
“Last week,” I say.
“Why—”
I grunt. “Can we not do this? Smoking works better than any of the fucking meds they tried shoving down my throat.” I take it in my mouth and light it.
Law fake coughs, but what-the-fuck-ever. Weed takes the edge off my nerves without making me feel numb.
I tried so many different types of meds in the beginning, and I wish they’d worked because I would’ve given anything to have a moment of peace, but there’s only so many times you can hear “You just have to find the one that suits you.”
Cymbalta took away the lows, but it also took away the highs. Diazepam made me too drowsy to function, and Xanax made me tired but not sleepy, which made me irritable when I couldn’t sleep even though I desperately wanted to. And that’s only a handful of the ones I’ve tried.
Valium works for me in an emergent situation—it takes the edge off—but if I’m at home, I’d rather smoke a joint than pop a pill.
Medication can work for the right people, and I’m jealous of those it does work for, but it’s not for me.
I blow out the first breath and instantly relax a little.
“You really think you can do this?” Law asks tentatively.
“Thanks for the faith in me, brother.”
“Fuck off. You know that’s not what I mean. I know Brody intimidates you. He looks like—”
“I’m well aware of who he looks like, and I’m here anyway. I know this is a huge step. I don’t need you doubting me.”
“I don’t.”
I say, “Bullshit,” which is difficult while also sucking in another drag from my joint at the same time.
“Fine,” Law relents. “I’m worried about you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you can do this. I want you to do this. And I get why you chose to move in with Brody over Reed and me, but our spare room will always be there if you need it. Reed will understand.”
“I’m done being your dead weight.”
Law steps closer. “You’re not dead weight. I’ve looked after you for five fucking years, and you’re saying you’re fine, but I don’t think you are, and what happens if you can’t leave the apartment or you start calling in sick to work until they threaten to fire you again, and—”
I grab his shoulder and try to give a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine. I mean it. Yeah, moving in with Brody is stressing me out, but it’s something I need to do, and I’m not hiding anything from you.”
Sucky thing number five thousand one hundred and forty-five about being me: no one believes me when I lie to their face. I’m not fine. Not at all. But I’m dealing, and for the first time in years, I’m dealing with it on my own.
“When’s your next appointment with Karen?” Law asks.
“Monday.”
“What does she think about you living with someone like Brody?”
Nothing, because I haven’t told her. “She was encouraging.”
“I’ve got my appointment with her this week,” Law says. “She reckons I can start going monthly instead of every two weeks.”
I take another hit to hide my surprise and jealousy. Law started getting counselling six months ago after he assaulted his student’s abusive father and he realised he’d never dealt with my attack properly. He was the one who found me lying in a pool of my own blood. He’s the one who held me as I almost died in his arms. When he wrings his hands together, I know he still feels my warm blood on his skin. He hasn’t done that in months now.
Mum, Dad, and Law focused so much of their energy on me back then they stopped looking after themselves, and Law suffered because of it.
Basically, everything shitty in Law’s life, I’m responsible for in some way or another.
I’m glad he’s doing better and is moving to monthly sessions, but I can’t even get my therapist to agree to biweekly appointments for me. And I know if I tell her how much I’m truly struggling these days, she’ll add more appointments to our three-day-a-fortnight schedule we’ve got going on now.