Page 165 of Echoes of Us

The kitchen was a mess. Bags of chips littered the counter, and empty beer bottles dripped onto the floor.

“Come and play. I have these guys beat.” He ran the back of his hand over his nose and sniffled. He did it again, and it hit me.

He had a runny nose.

He kept insisting he was getting a cold, and Holly had told me about that. I stared at him—his eyes were a little wide, he was standing with one foot on the coffee table, and his tongue was peeking out the side of his mouth, focused. He sniffled again. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to piece it together, but I really didn’t want to see it. He had been like this for a while now, since the bad moods and the fights got worse. He was using again.

“Noah.”

He glanced at me. “What?” he asked, distracted.

“Can we talk?”

“In a while, Atty. I’m in the middle of something.” A flicker of annoyance crossed his features.

I reached the bedroom and took my phone out. I texted Holly.

Me

he’s using again

That was all I wrote and rushed to the bathroom. Noah’s bottle was by the sink. I breathed out through my nose. I picked them up and counted the pills. Ten fucking pills.

“Fuck,” I roared as threw them against the wall. They exploded against it, pills flying around the room. I’d had it. I couldn’t take this anymore. I knew he was lying to me.

I started opening the bathroom drawers, looking throughhis things, pulling them out and searching for that fucking little plastic bag. The door creaked, and Noah peeked inside, his eyes wide and confused.

“What the fuck?”

“Get them out of here,” I told him, my voice like ice.

“Atty—”

“I mean it, Noah. We’re about to have a big fucking fight. Get them out of here right now.”

Noah frowned and walked away from me. I finished the bathroom and headed for his nightstand, opening and searching. I found nothing and started in his closet, pulling his clothes out and throwing them haphazardly on the floor.

“They’re gone. Can you tell me what the fuck has gotten into you?” He stared at his clothes on the floor.

“Give me your wallet.” I held out my hand.

Noah’s frown deepened. “What?”

“I know you’re using again, Noah. Give me your fucking wallet.” I moved my hand closer to him.

He brought it out of his back pocket and placed it in my hand. I started to look through it, pulling his cards out, his ID. It wasn’t there.

“Are you happy? I told you I haven’t been doing it.”

“Your phone.”

Noah’s green eyes blinked in disbelief. “Atty, what the fuck?”

“I’ve fucking had it with you lying to me, Noah. I’m not crazy. I know you’re using. I can tell. You’ve turned into an asshole, you treat me like shit, and I’m not fucking putting up with this anymore.” I pulled his phone from his hand and took the cover off to check. Nothing.

“I’m not using again.” He raised his voice.

“I told you, Noah. I told you if you did it again, I’d break up with you. So what’s it gonna be? Are you getting help—real help—or are we done?”

---