Page 12 of Close to Falling

“What does thatmeanexactly?” I ask with a lift of my brow and a smirk on my lips.

“You know that first hit of the drug, that first feeling of weightlessness? That you-can-do-anything high? All the stress leaves your body, and you’re flying. And, fuck, excuse my language,” he says, “but, fuck, it feels good.”

I smirk. “Yeah, I think I’ve been on that ride.”

“But it’s all an illusion,” he then says. “You’re hooked. The drug owns you inside and out. No matter how free you may feel in that moment, during that first rush, you’re not. You’re owned.” He bites down on his lip. Looking out at the water, I let his words sink in. Drugs are chains. They wrap around your soul, and every one you take, swallow, snort, shoot up, whatever your poison—another link is added until there are so many you can’t unravel it. It twists and tangles throughout your body, clinging on to everything inside of you, whispering in your mind, “Come on, just one. You won’t hurt anymore. You won’t feel all the guilt. You won’t care.”But after the high, the guilt is the only thing left behind.

David tells me more about his tattoos, and I realize he’s a storyteller, and as he lights another cigarette, I see he is a chain smoker also, but I don’t care. Cigarettes have never bothered me, and it’s nice to talk to someone who has heard the whispers, too. He lost everything to drugs and alcohol. His passion is playing the guitar and singing. He tells me in the rock-and-roll world sometimes passion can get swept to the side. You get lost in the parties and show of it all, and you forget why you were doing it in the first place.

“Don’t get caught up in the show,” he tells me. “Don’t forget your purpose.” My purpose. I sigh, thinking about his words, wondering when all of this will get better and wondering when I won't have the whispers anymore. Most of all, when will the urge to use go away? I stare out as the sun shines across the water.

“Tell me all of this gets easier,” I say quietly.

“No,” he responds. “You just get used to how hard it is.”

***

I curl my feet under me as the small TV plays in the social room. I don’t watch it, though. I sit in the chair on the far side of the room and flip through a magazine about life after drugs. I roll my eyes at all the positives and toss words of hope onto the table in front of me.

“Maddie.” I hear Grace and look toward the hallway.

“In here,” I say, standing up and sliding my long black sleeves to my elbows.

“Landon and Frankie are here,” she tells me, and then I see them.

“Hey, B.” Landon smiles, and I notice he got his hair cut. He looks cute.

“Been surfing a lot?” I ask him, seeing his tanned skin.

“Yeah, I’ve got a competition coming up soon. Been practicing,” he tells me as he walks toward me and lifts me in a hug. I laugh and give him a squeeze. “Miss you,” he says for only me to hear.

“Me, too,” I say as he puts me down. My eyes go to Frankie, and he gives me a nod.

“How are you?” he asks.

“I haven’t seen you in week, old man. Give me a hug,” I say, lifting the corner of my lip.

“Who you calling ‘old man’?” he says, but he’s all smiles, too, as he leans down to hug me. It’s a warm hug, and he even pats my back before he pulls away.

“So, what have you two been doing with yourselves, besides surfing?” I ask.

“I’m building a deck,” Frankie says.

“Nice,” I reply.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He pats his front pocket, and I realize he is looking for his smokes.

“Wanna walk outside?” I ask.

“I’ll go,” he says. “You two catch up.” He unhooks the button on his pocket and grabs his pack as he stands up and makes his way out the side door. I turn my attention back to Landon. His hazel eyes search my face, and he looks pleased.

“You look good, B,” he says. “You’ve thickened up a bit.”

“Thanks,” I say because I know I needed the weight.

“They feeding you good here?”

“Eh, could be worse,” I respond. “So, tell me about your surfing and this competition.” I smile at the boy I think of as my brother. He gets a light in his eyes and proceeds to tell me all about it.

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