Page 1 of Madness

1

NOTHING EVER AFTER

DAKOTA

The pounding in my head matches the insistent knocking at my bedroom door. It’s got to be another bad dream. I groan, burying my face deeper into the pillow, internally willing the noise to stop. But it doesn't. If anything, it grows louder and more urgent.

"Dakota. Come on, man, open the fuck up."

Connor. My best friend and roommate. God damn it.

My stomach churns as fragments of last night filter through the haze in my mind.

Shit. What have I done?

"I swear to God, if you don't answer, I'm breaking this fucking door down."

I force my eyes open, wincing slightly at the harsh daylight hitting me as it streams through the gap in my curtains. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and the taste...ugh. I swallow hard, fighting back a wave of nausea. I haven’t felt this bad in fucking years. But then again, I haven’t…

"I'm up," I croak, my voice barely audible. I clear my throat and try again. "I'm up. Fuck."

The knocking ceases, replaced by Connor's muffled voice. "You better be. You said Chaos Fuel's got that interview today. Well, it’s in a fucking hour."

Fuck. The Rolling Stone interview.

My heart starts to race as I push myself up, the room spinning around me. I squint at the nightstand, searching for my phone. Instead, my gaze lands on an empty Angel’s Envy bottle and my breath catches in my throat. There’s a small bag with remnants of white powder next to it. I barely remember buying either of them, let alone using them. That’s probably for the best.

Three years. I've been clean for three years, and now...

A sob builds in my chest as the full weight of what I've done crashes over me. Three years to the day since I lost Chloe. Three years of fighting to stay clean, honor her memory, and be the person she'd always believed I could be. Hoped I could be. We could be.

All of it, gone in one fucking moment of weakness.

My hand shakes as I reach for the bag, desperate to get rid of the evidence. But as my fingers close around it, a wave of longing washes over me.

Just a little something to take the edge off...

No.

I clench my jaw, stumbling to my bathroom. With trembling hands, I dump the bag into the toilet and flush, watching as my temporary insanity swirls away.

I grip the edge of the sink, forcing myself to look in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me, ringed by dark circles. My usually clean-shaven face is shadowed with stubble, and my long black hair is a fucking mess.

"What would she think of you now?" I whisper to my reflection.

The answer comes without warning, her voice as clear in my mind as if she were standing right next to me. "I'd think you're hurting, babe. But you're stronger than this. You've come so far."

I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear almost escaping. It’s a near thing, but I shake it off. I may be a weak piece of shit, but I’m not about to be fucking pathetic on top of it. It’s a weird place to draw the line, and I know it, but I have to start somewhere. If hearing ghosts in my head of my dead wife doesn’t tell me I need a line to not cross, I don’t know what would be.

Another sharp knock on the bedroom door jolts me back to reality. "Dakota. Seriously, man, you gotta go."

I splash cold water on my face, trying to pull myself together. "Yeah, give me five fucking minutes. Christ."

My mind races as I rush through a shower and throw on the first clean clothes I find. Chaos Fuel is on the verge of breaking big. Our latest single is climbing the mainstream charts, and today's interview could be a serious game-changer for us. I can't let them down.

Can't let Chloe down.

But as I stare at an old bottle of painkillers in my medicine cabinet, I wonder if I haven't already done just that. This bottle was supposed to be my talisman. The temptation I triumphed over every day. The touchstone that kept me clean. My reminder of the slippery slope I teeter on the top of every day. The slope I just dove headfirst down last night.

---