Page 2 of Antidote

“Sorry,” I whisper.

His thumb brushes my cheek, and I look into his green eyes. They look so bright and clear, something I know mine are not. The warmth of his hand cupping my cheek gently makes me close my eyes and blink back tears. Goddamnit, I don’t know why this affects me so much. It’s not like he will ever want me—not really.

None of it was real.

“It’ll be okay.” He whispers back, and my eyes fly open. His smile is soft and reassuring, and I hold on to that. His eyes flash with some emotion I can’t pinpoint, but it feels warm and safe. It feels like old times, and I don’t want to get caught up in him right now. Not when I know nothing will come of it. Not when I know it’s not real. “You will get help this time, baby.”

I groan. “Don’t call me that.”

Hunt looks momentarily hurt, but I don’t think his pain comes close to mine. He made it more than clear that we were done, that this fucked up thing between us was over. And then he got a girlfriend. Well, he can shove his girlfriend up his ass—or not, since he swears he’s not gay.

Taking a step back, he mutters. “Stop telling me what to do.”

I roll my eyes, or at least I think I do. Even the way he steps away from the vehicle is in slow motion, and my eyes are blurring so badly that I can barely see him as he puts some distance between us. Faintly, I hear the sound of our mom getting in the car and buckling her seatbelt. She pulls out of the driveway, the tires screeching in her haste, and I let my eyes fall closed.

“I’m so fucking disappointed in you, Oliver.” She growls. “This isn’t like you.”

“Yes, it is, mom.” I sigh. “This is me now. You might want to start getting to know me.”

“Fuck that.” Rain droplets begin to fall on the windshield, slow at first, then a little bit faster. The sound of her windshield wipers soothes me, and I smile a little, even though the situation definitely doesn’t call for it. “You’re getting help. You need help.”

“I don’t need shit,” I mutter. “Stop trying to control me. I’m an adult now.”

“The fuck you are.” She laughs loudly, but it doesn’t bother me—nothing does right now. She could yeet this car off a cliff and I’d be unbothered. “Look at how you’re acting, Oliver. Like a bratty little kid.”

“Your son tends to tell me I’m a brat.” I smirk.

“Excuse me?”

Oh, shit.

Fuck.

“Nothing.” I wince when I feel the car skid a little. “M-mom, be careful.”

“Yeah? Well, if it weren’t for you, we could be home right now.” She snaps. “I can’t fucking believe this right now. I can barely understand what you’re saying from how high you are.”

The car skids again, but she doesn’t slow down. “Where the fuck are we going? Why are you going so fast?”

“So I won’t change my mind!” She yells at me, and I cringe. Lucy isn’t the kind of person who yells at her kids—nothing makes her yell. Not even during my biggest fuck-ups. So I know right now she’s at the end of her rope. I crossed a line. Even if I don’t know which one, it doesn’t matter, though. She’s pissed. “Something is wrong with my baby. And I’m gonna fix it.”

“Slow down, mom.” The car swerves to the right. “Mom!”

We spin, and I finally open my eyes, looking at her as she attempts to maneuver the car to no avail. We spin, skid, and slide everywhere, the car jostling me around until my head slams against the window. But I can barely feel it, thanks to the pills.

“Ollie!” She screams. “Fuck!”

“Mom, watch out!”

But it’s too late as we drive headfirst into a tree trunk.

The impact causes the airbags to deploy, but the sound of the ruined front of the car is loud in my ears. A sickening crunch fills the car, and when I look to the side, I see it’s my mom with her head twisted all wrong. Her eyes are open but unblinking, and her neck is turned at an awkward angle.

No.

“Mom?” I whisper. “Mom?!”

No, no, no.

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