Page 20 of Taste of Addiction

Angie: He’s on my last nerve.

I watch the three dots that indicate a new message and wait for it to be sent.

Claire: Let me know how that goes for you…

Angie: It was a last straw kind of day.

Claire: We both know how possessive he is of you.

True. But he better tread carefully around me. I have reached my threshold and have no intention of being walked on.

5

It takes another two full days of ignoring Graham and avoiding Sophia before I start to return to my normal self again. I needed the time off to gather enough strength to even find the desire to answer his pleas. All he wants me to do is pick up the phone. Slowly, I am mentally getting ready to answer him. I think a part of me is nervous to hear his view on the issues going on here at the house. Everything seems divided. Team Sophia or Team Angie. And quite frankly, I’m not sure where he stands.

Collins is back on the schedule for me and is in full overprotective mode. No longer is he blending in with the walls. Instead, he is waiting at my door like a loyal golden retriever, just in case I want to leave and move about the house. Then, he does what he does best—follows me around.

I think the whole not talking to Graham has gotten to both of them. Collins looks at me as if he is trying to psychoanalyze me. He is walking on eggshells, as if I am going to snap into some violent rage fest. It wears on me that I am now viewed in a different light—completely inaccurate of who I truly am at my core. But there is only so much I can take before I have to stick up for myself. Attacking Sophia was my way of sending a message. Don’t piss with me. Don’t spread lies. And don’t dump nasty-ass smoothie on me.

I can count on one hand how many times Sophia’s and my paths have crossed over the past forty-eight hours. But it is really thanks to me that the number is so low. Her bedroom is two doors down. I have learned her schedule enough to know when she likes to get up and where she likes to spend the majority of her time. I made the mistake of trying to visit the library midday. She was sitting in the overstuffed chair, doing her makeup. The angry part of me—that is still holding a grudge from the food fight—thinks she is using the room for other purposes just to annoy me. At no time have I ever seen her pick up a book. So, I have been sneaking books out and just reading them in my bed when I feel the urge.

Graham averages about twenty texts a day, three phone calls, and eight attempts at a video chat. I almost feel sorry for him and imagine he is not being his productive self while worrying over me. I know he is getting reports on my welfare here, but I assume it is not enough to keep him satisfied. When he accused me of not being nice to Sophia when she arrived, it set me on a spiraling path that ultimately made me pull away from him. He doesn’t trust me. And that hurts.

My days and nights are no longer mixed up. I have been getting up around nine each morning, putting on semi-real clothes, and brushing my hair. For the first time in days, I am back to enjoying my favorite cup or two of coffee. My anxiety and headaches seem to be under control, despite having the last of my pills the night of the food fight when my shoulder was throbbing. It helped me to sleep and calm down. But now I have none. And the thought of needing the relief and having no means to get it makes me feel on edge. It feels like a giant shoe is going to drop, and I won’t be able to lift it off in time to get my next breath in.

I still miss James. Another anniversary is not going to fix that. I often wonder how my life would be if my mom didn’t die and James was still here. I doubt I would have ended up in Portland. I definitely wouldn’t have met Claire, Zander, or Graham. Some days I feel strong and have pride in knowing how far I have come from the small-town girl from Baker City. Other days, I feel like a hypocrite or a failure. And at my lowest, both of those titles compete for first place.

I walk to the door and peek my head out. Collins is right where I expect to find him.

“How can I help you, Miss McFee?”

“For starters, I really wish you would just call me Angie.” The corner of his mouth barely lifts. It is so subtle that if I wasn’t already studying his reaction, I would have missed it. “I would like to know if Graham is having a busy day at work or not. I was going to—”

“Mr. Hoffman is never too busy for you, ma’am.” Collins clears his throat.

Ugh. I am not sure which I dislike more—Miss McFee or the generic ma’am.

“I was just going to—”

“He would love to hear from you in any capacity. That I’m certain of.”

“Okay.” If Collins had a tail, he would be wagging it right now. I resist the snicker that wants to break loose from my throat.

“Also, he wanted me to give you this.” He hands me an envelope with my name on it.

I take it from his hands and then turn it over and over again. “Thanks. I guess I will break the silent treatment,” I say quietly, mainly to myself.

I close the door and get comfortable on my bed. I fluff pillows and smooth out the comforter. I rip open the envelope and pull out a neatly folded letter. My heart drops over his handwritten words.

Sweetheart, I am sorry. I should have trusted you from the start. Please forgive me. I just want to hear from you. I love you, baby. -GH

I read and reread his message. It’s as if I can hear his gruff voice in my own ears. This quarantine has disconnected us and did not help us stay on the same page. I do miss him, and I refuse to allow Sophia to come between us. I fold the letter back up and place it on my nightstand. Then I grab my iPad and start the video call. Graham answers immediately.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, with a warm smile. I see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he waits for me to respond. He is sitting at his private office desk, leaning back in his chair, and steepling his fingers at his chin. His body language says he is relaxed, but the subtle crinkle of his forehead lets me know otherwise. “Nice shirt.”

“Hi. Thanks,” I say, looking down at my own design that I made with my heat press. It is of a girl stick figure representation of myself. I am wearing a crown, with the word “Quaran-Queen” underneath the image.

“Did you get my letter?”

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