Page 14 of Taste of Addiction

“We broke up, Dad.”

“That’s a shame. Did he leave you a little parting gift at least? Surely a man like him set you up with a bit of a going-away gift.”

I can feel my throat tightening up. “How much do you need, $75,000?”

“If you would have helped me when I asked weeks ago, I wouldn’t have the added interest of an extra $25,000,” he snaps.

I glance out the window as the sun begins to set. My lower lip cannot keep from trembling as I try to keep my anger at bay. One hundred thousand dollars. How does one even accrue that type of debt? He has to be in way over his head with his addiction or playing high stakes with the hope of gaining back his losses.

“I’ll wire it to my Baker City Bank account…the one that has the bare minimum just to keep it open. I’m pretty sure you still have your name on it since I was a minor.”

“Yup, I do. Thanks, hon. That sounds perfect.” His tone takes a complete turn. His once rough and angry timbre is now soft and friendly. He is not the asshole he was a minute ago. Like Jekyll and Hyde.

Even though I know he is manipulating me, I still feel that embedded desire to please him. Maybe it’s some biological preset need—one I have no control over. Or maybe it is just a personality flaw that I have developed over those fragile developmental years as a small child. Regardless, it sucks to be taken advantage of but have no backbone to prevent it or stop the cycle.

I hang up with him and try logging into my Entice account to see my accumulated money and if I can gain back any of the escrow funds with me now being laid off. I know if I ask Nic, he will just tell Graham—who will in turn be involved in more matters of my life that I would like to keep personal.

I cash out what I have saved and pray that no one notices or alerts Graham. Surely if he finds out, he will ask a ton of questions as to why I decided to withdraw the money now. Or what I am spending it on. Which would then lead to another round of questions about why I didn’t come to him for help in the first place.

I deposit all of my earned money, including the obscene amount that Graham gave me in an attempt to get me to date only him, into my local Portland bank account. From there, I am able to wire the amount of $100,000 into the Baker City account. It feels like such a waste. Like I am throwing money away and it is not even going to a good cause. I am only helping the codependency that will likely lead to another phone call and another demand for more money.

I eat the bare minimum to not be sick. I drink some water to not be dehydrated. And I move about the house just enough to not cause any alarm among the security staff. I go through the motions, pretending to be okay, when deep down I am full of dread.

I must cry myself to sleep in the comfy chair in the library because when I wake, it is midnight and officially November 30th—the day my life almost ended. I wish I could say I am doing amazing things with it, given the second chance and all, but I would be lying. My life is nowhere near where it should be.

I had to restart my freshman year due to the accident, and now I am repeating my last semester as a senior. It is the never-ending college experience, where I might technically graduate but with a degree I never chose.

The internship I have been working toward is now further out of my reach than it was last semester. I just wired money to my dad, who only contacts me when he needs more. And my current boyfriend is publicly engaged to his supermodel ex-girlfriend. Oh, and I am locked away all by myself.

No wonder why I just want to sleep away my days and nights. What do I have to get up for anyway?

But I do have to move. Because if I don’t, I will be too sore to do much else tomorrow other than lie in bed with a bad back. Sleeping on the chair is not nearly as comfortable as my California king in my room.

I put my book back on the windowsill, grab a water from the main kitchen’s fridge, and then walk back to my bedroom. I go through my bedtime routine and lie in bed with my iPad to stream a show to help me get tired. I am going stir-crazy. There are only so many books to read or shows to binge watch or rooms to explore before I just snap.

I miss the outside world.

I miss people.

4

I wake with a start from the middle of a nightmare. It was so real. James was alive, and he was picking me up from the Baker City Community College campus late at night. I needed him. I always needed him. Like always, he came to the rescue. But the rain and fog were too dense. We could barely see. And then…bam.

Just like that. He was gone.

I snatch my phone from the nightstand and see that it is eight in the morning. My head throbs from the stress of the night. I hate today. I was hoping that I would be able to sleep through most of it, but here I am for the first time in days actually awake before noon.

Like every year leading up to now, it gets worse and worse with time. Time heals nothing. The more time that goes by, the longer I have to agonize over that night. A night that is missing so many of my memories. How can I move on when I have so many unanswered questions?

I find my bag that I packed for the trip to Hillsboro and dig out my handbag. Inside the hidden compartment with the secret zipper, I find my Altoids container and pop it open to find the last two pills. Two. How am I going to cope with just two tiny little pills that barely even work anymore? My head throbs and my heart is suffering from the impact of today. I pop one into my mouth and drown it with a sip from the bottled water on my nightstand. I close the case and place it back where it belongs.

The sound of muffled voices catches me off guard. Maybe Graham has decided to visit after all. I exit the bedroom and make my way into the kitchen as I get closer to the source of the chatter. The first thing I see is the backs of several men standing around the island. Am I interrupting a security meeting? Then I hear the melodic timbre of a female’s voice and my jaw drops. I would know that tweeting sound anywhere. If she were a bird, she would be that annoying kind that doesn’t shut up in the morning when you are trying to sleep in.

Sensing my presence, Collins, Austin, Owen, and Malcolm turn around in unison to acknowledge me with a professional nod of their heads. Collins’s eye twitches and in this moment I know that everything is going to change.

“Oh, hi,” Sophia says sweetly to me, peeking around Collins’s back. Her smile is bright but her eyes are dull. Fake. Or she just had Botox done and can’t express herself from her nose up.

I narrow my eyes at her. What the hell is going on? “Why are you here?”

---