Page 52 of Taste of Addiction

“Granola bar.”

“That’s not nearly enough,” he scoffs, stalking me with his eyes. “And with all those meds—which I’m sure you were popping several doses today to help with your pain, going completely against the daily limit allowance—youbetterhave taken them with a full glass of water because those damn things could rip the lining out of your stomach. Give you an ulcer. Not to mention your liver is working overtime to help filter.”

“Wow. You have a vivid imagination.”

“You claim you can take care of yourself. Well, right now, you pretty much suck at it.”

My lower lip quivers, and I bite at it to keep from breaking down at his harshness. Thisstressis going to give me an ulcer—not the pills. He moves closer to me and grips my face to look at his. My gaze struggles to concentrate on his, more out of fear of getting yelled at than anything else. Make it stop, please, make it stop.

“Do you know how freaking annoying it is to be in pain from migraines?” I ask, breaking free and going back to my pacing.

“I’m getting you help. This all stops. I cannot believe I didn’t see this sooner. The headaches and the lack of eating meals and the constricted eyes. Now you are stealing pills.”

“Stealing? Oh wow, are you freaking kidding me?” I ask, stomping toward him. I push at his chest. “Get out. Get out of my house! Get out of my life with your attitude!”

“You’re mixing them, aren’t you?”

“Leave!” I scream, pointing toward the door.

“You aren’t taking fucking pain medication until you see a specialist. These are highly addictive and dangerous. Some aren’t even yours!”

“Get out, Graham!”

He turns away from me and my shoulders droop. I think he is going to leave but instead he storms into the bathroom and grabs the bottles of pills.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Gathering evidence.” His jaw is clenched, and his nose is twitching from the control he is obviously trying to maintain.

“What? For whom? The police? Are you turning me in to the police?” The sound of the doorbell ringing fills my ears. I look toward the door leading out to the hallway. “Who’s here?”

Graham fiddles with his phone, ignoring me for the moment.

“Graham! Answer me, dammit!”

“Dr. Saber is here.”

“You fucking cannot just let me handle my own life, can you? Is that impossible for you? You butt into every little aspect of it and just try to control everything. I’ve been stressed out over my final journalism project and have been getting these horrible migraines. Nothing seems to work at fixing them. At most, I can take the edge off. I am not doing anything wrong. Just trying to cope.”

“I want Dr. Saber to make that call.”

“Fine. But give me a little privacy to finish getting dressed and go to the bathroom before you send him up here.”

Graham pushes hair off his forehead and takes a deep breath. “Five minutes. I am so spitting mad at you right now that I need to cool off before I whisk you away again and never let you leave my side.”

I watch with tear-filled eyes as he snatches away each anchor that helps me stay grounded. Without the help of the pills, I won’t be able to survive the daily struggles of going through life in agonizing pain. Graham doesn’t understand. It is like the eyes that used to see me in one light, now only see me in darkness.

He takes it all. That is what he is good at. Stripping me raw and leaving me with nothing left but my sins.

I wait until he is in the hallway before shutting my door, locking it, and then quickly going about packing a bag. I throw in some spare clothes, toiletries, and a wad of bills that I keep in a sandwich bag in my sock bin for emergency purposes. I need to get away from here—if just for the day. The last thing I need is him following a credit card trail.

I can hear Graham greeting Dr. Saber downstairs and know that there is no escaping this house easily. I say a silentthank youfor thinking to bring my car keys upstairs, instead of leaving them on the hook near the front door. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, double check that I have the Swiss Army Knife in my bag, and slip on a pair of Chucks. I zip a light black jacket over my sweater and fix a ball cap on my head, pulling my gathered hair through the hole in the back.

I go into the bathroom and hoist myself up on the vanity. I pull open the little window and remove the screen. The half roof is an easy platform to use to access the back deck. I climb out of the window, dragging my bag behind me. I don’t bother shutting it. Graham will figure everything out soon. I carefully walk along the shingles and then crawl on my belly to the edge. I let my feet drape over first and then slide down until I land semigracefully on the boards of the deck.

Victory.

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