Page 54 of Antidote

I want to start over.

I want to get clean.

Again.

I’m a piece of shit human.

Even though I didn’t supply the drugs, I may as well have. I shouldn’t have taunted him to take them—should’ve never encouraged it. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be strong enough to fight the urges. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. My judgment was clouded—that much is obvious to me. I just wanted him out of the house, and I feel horrible about how I went about it. I can’t watch him hurt like this anymore. It hurts me to see him broken down. I’m not physically capable of taking this much pain. Yet I’m also incapable of making him mine, because that hurts just as much.

Fuck. Me.

I left Ollie at home, dry-heaving and miserable. He asked me to lock him in because he couldn’t trust himself, and I did it because I couldn’t trust him either. I propped a chair against the doorknob so he couldn’t turn it. But fuck, if that doesn’t also make me feel like a piece of shit. I don’t want not to trust him, I know how weak he is. I’ve been on the receiving end of that weakness—it’s already ruined my life. But this time, it was all my fault.

Deep pain darts up my arm as I’m checked into the boards—hard—effectively breaking me out of my thoughts. I watch as the opposite team ices the puck, slapping it toward the other end of the rink. I roll my eyes and go face off.

It’s a challenging game, with us being tied two-two at the end of the third period. But we’re relentless in our pursuit of the win, and when we don’t score during three on three in overtime, we move on to a shootout. I’m surprised when they chose me for it. I don’t argue. Coach is clearly putting his faith in me. And after everything I’ve done, I don’t want to let him down.

It’s my turn after two others score. Standing at the blue line, I stick handle as if I’m alone, shooting the shit on my own. Then I skate toward the goalie, fake left, then right, and get it through in a high-slot goal. The crowd erupts, and suddenly, my teammates are on the ice, hugging me and tapping my helmet for scoring.

There’s only one problem.

The person I wish could be here to witness this moment is locked up in a bathroom instead, throwing up his guts and hating me for it. I don’t blame him, at all. I wish I didn’t want him here in the first place.

We walk through the tunnel and return to the locker room, where everyone begins taking off their skates and layers. The coach comes in and gives us his usual speech about how we kicked ass—then congratulates everyone who did the shootout. People go back to their business, no longer paying attention to us, as the coach comes to sit next to me on the bench in front of my locker.

“You did good today, son,” he says. “I was beginning to lose faith in you there for a moment.”

I scoff and look at his face—his strong nose and jaw and narrowed brown eyes. “Why? Because I got into a fight?”

“You’ve been different this semester,” he says in a soft voice—too soft—and it makes me want to beat his ass. “I know how hard your mom’s passing has been on you?—”

“You don’t know shit,” I growl.

“—But you’re part of a team, and I need you to act like it.” I nod, and as exhaustion hits me, I realize there’s no point in acting like a child anymore. “The scouts are gonna be here next game. Try to keep it together.”

I hate that I’m in this spot because of Oliver, where even my coach doesn’t trust me anymore because he thinks I will flip my lid about everything. All people see when they look at me is the aftermath of my mom’s death.

“Yes, Coach,” I grumble.

An hour later, I end up outside the dingy shit hole that Oliver’s dealer calls his house. He lives in the worst part of town, and I know he has money to live better. The fucker just chooses not to. Maybe it’s because he lives off other people’s weaknesses. He can reach the desperate ones faster residing in a place like this.

Knocking on the door, I put a little more force behind my fist than necessary, but I do it on purpose. I’m here because I need to make sure this asshole keeps to himself and stays well the fuck away from Oliver. I don’t even want to think about what he said earlier in the bathroom. How he’s weak. No way in hell am I letting him put that shit in his body again. I’m ashamed of myself for goading him in the first place. Now, I just have to make sure he has no access to it.

Ollie’s old dealer comes into view as he opens the door, and he looks me up and down with a grin on his face. “Looking to score?” He chuckles, and I grin because, damn it, I’m going to enjoy this. “What’s your poison?”

I reach out and grab him by his neck, then punch him right on the nose. Blood trickles down his face, dark and thick, and I smile at him. “Here’s how it’s going to go,” he reaches for his blood and rubs it between his fingers like he can’t believe it’s real. Well, he had better believe it, or I’m going to make him bleed even more if he doesn’t do what I say. “You’re not going to sell jack shit to Oliver Scott ever again.” He rears back, “And you’re going to tell every single dealer you’ve ever known in your pathetic life, that he’s off limits.”

“And why would I do that?” He has the nerve to chuckle, even though his face is bloody. “He used to bring me a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I bet he did.” I huff. “But if I find out you’re selling to him, I’ll tell the cops exactly what’s happening in that little lab of yours. Or maybe I’ll blow up your house with you in it.” I shrug nonchalantly, and he widens his eyes.

“Fine.” He raises his hands in defeat. “You win.”

I grin. “I always do.”

And with that I leave him behind, getting in my car and driving back to the apartment. To let Ollie out of the bathroom…and finally face him. I know we need to talk, and I need to get my head out of my ass and apologize—profusely. What I did wasn’t right, regardless of how I feel about him or how badly I want him to move out. I crossed a line that I can never un-cross. And it fucking guts me, knowing that I hurt him like this.

It’s deadly quiet in the apartment when I arrive, and as I get closer to the bathroom, my hands begin to shake. Was one bottle of electrolytes enough? Is he okay in there? It’s so damn quiet I’m afraid to check on him in the first place.

---