Page 169 of The Fine Line
And right now, I’m in dangerous waters.Jaws-level lethal.
I don’t know what possessed me this morning—some whisper in the back of my skull, some twisted instinct—but I went into my hiding spot and dug out the pill bottle. The one I’ve told myself I’d flush every day for a week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So I made it a test. The ultimate one. Tossed the bottle into my gym bag and told myself it didn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t touch it. I didn’t need it. If I could carry it and resist? That meant I was still in control.
But then he showed up. A walking, breathing trigger.
“Rhett?”
I don’t know why they’re here. Why either of them came. I gave up trying to understand them years ago.
But here I am again. Strings pulled tight. Dancing for their entertainment.
We haven’t said more than a handful of words to each other in years. And now—on some random Thursday in New York—they’ve decided I’m worth something again.
I don’t even know these people. The suits. The wives. Doesn’t matter. They all serve the same purpose: people to impress. People who’ll buy the story he’s selling.
I shift and feel the outline of the pill bottle in my jacket pocket.
Yeah. I brought it. Slipped it in right before I came here.
Because maybe Iamexactly who he says I am.
Weak. Pathetic. Worthless.
I can already taste the high. How easy it would be. One pill, and the noise fades. The shame, the pressure, the fake smiles—it all disappears.
“Rhett?”
I flinch when a hand clamps down on my arm.
My vision sharpens. And there he is.
My father.
“He’s talking to you, son. You remember your name?”
He laughs like we’re sharing some private joke, but his eyes are steel.Don’t embarrass me, they say.
“It’s probably easy to tune it out when he hears it chanted as much as he did tonight,” one of the suits says. “And well deserved. A hell of a performance.”
The group raises their glasses.
“Thank y?—”
My father slaps me on the back. Too hard. Too familiar.
“That’s my boy!”
He lifts his glass in my direction. Winks. Keeps talking. Fillingthe air with stories and lies, patting my shoulder like I’m the pride of his life.
With every touch, every word, I want to disappear.
My hand tightens around the pill bottle in my pocket.
Fuck it.
I push back my chair. “I’m just gonna get some air?—”
