Page 79 of In the Stars

“Hey, man. We all make mistakes. Let’s?—”

“Tech, baby?” From the room off to the left, a naked woman comes out and smiles when she sees me. “Oh,” she says, not covering her nakedness. I avert my eyes so she doesn’t think I’m ogling her. “You’re Ryder.”

“I was,” I say, hoping to make my exit soon. This is the last place I want to be right now, but I’m not sure if me and Tech are done. I’m not hoping for an acceptance but maybe some acknowledgement that I did try.

Fuck, it’s hard for me to figure out what I want from this interaction with so much temptation around me. Everywhere I look, there are bottles of tequila, rum, or vodka. If I’m not mistaken, there is at least an eight ball of coke under the T-shirt on the table if the shape of it is anything to go by.It’s like Tech threw his shirt over it lazily before he answered the door.

I have to fucking go.

The woman collapses on Tech’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are we partying again?” she asks, gyrating on his crotch.

“Nah. We’re gonna finish talking, then me and you can do whatever you want.” I hear the smacking of their lips in a messy kiss.

When they’re done, she yanks the shirt off the rounded object, and my mouth waters as I stare at the coke. Sweat pricks my forehead as I continue to look at it, the old feeling of being high traveling up my limbs.

The woman gets down on her knees and uses a credit card on the table to separate a line. She picks up the rolled-up bill on the table and sniffs the coke noisily, groaning and giggling when she rolls her head on her neck. “Fuck, this is some good shit.” She dips her finger into the substance and brings it to her mouth, rubbing some on her gums. She turns to Tech and holds the bill out to him.

He gives me a long look, then takes it from her, and after she forms a line for him, he takes the line up his nose, tossing his head back. “Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze,” he mutters to himself with a grin. “I always manage to fuck up my high by sneezing.”

“What’s this?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be asking shit. I should be fucking leaving, getting away from the drugs and alcohol. “You didn’t do drugs when you were with us.”

“That’s because you made it look like reckless bullshit. But partying every now and then hasn’t hurt anyone.” He glances down at the bill and back at me. “You can have one quick bump and still be sober. Just enough to take the edgeoff. I know you’re struggling—I can see it in your eyes. You want it. So just take it.”

His voice is hypnotic, speaking to that part of me I’ve tried to push down the entire time I’ve been in recovery. Itishard being sober. Just one line would keep me level so I can be a regular person.

“I can’t,” I whisper, though my eyes keep straying to the cocaine on the table. I want it. Just a taste. Then I can go back to working on my recovery.

The woman on the floor lines up more coke, takes the bill from Tech, and does another line. “This is quality shit. You don’t want it to go to waste.”

No. No I don’t.

Just one line.

That’s it.

Just one.

Grabbing the bill from her hand, I lean over the table and plug one of my nostrils and place the tube to the other and sniff the line of coke.

That familiar feeling courses through me, making my heart race and lightness settle throughout my limbs.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, regret immediately forming a knot in my belly. But not enough remorse that I don’t lean forward and take the second line that the woman lines up for me.

Tech laughs and pats me on the back. “You’re fucking partying with us today. You can always work on your sobriety later. Come on, we’re doing shots.”

My mind is spinning, the high of the coke already settling in me. A shot glass is pressed into my hand, and I automatically toss it back, sinking back into the good old days where I didn’t have to be so fucking rigid. Where I could have fun and do what I want.

I can always continue my recovery tomorrow. One night won’t kill me.

After we take at least five shots each, I’m fucking blitzed out of my mind, my brain empty of everything, except my own name.

I’m not sure how long I rest against the couch—it’s long enough for me to hear Tech and his friend in the room fucking, her moans piercing my eardrums. When they come back, Tech pats my leg and shakes an orange bottle. “Got something for you.”

He taps two pills into my palm and hands me another shot glass full of vodka.

“Thanks,” I slur, tossing the pills back and immediately chasing them with the vodka. “You know, we could have partied together. Got some bitches, had some fun.”

Even though I’m fucked up, when I focus on him, I pick up the change in him. He looks fucking evil, pissed beyond reason. His face is red, blue eyes boring into me with hatred so strong it’s almost palpable.

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