Page 208 of Worthy

The crash I’ve been dealing with is a stark reminder why it’s better to just live with my demons rather than try to drown them out. They only come back stronger than ever once they find their way back in.

Is this what it was like for Mason?

The thought comes unbidden and my eyes fly open.

I shake my head at the voice in my head.No, no, this is exactly why we’re not the same.

See, I don’t crave another hit just to ward off the inevitable. Instead I just regret ever trying to escape it to begin with. Running from the pain doesn’t do me any favors. It’ll just gut me that much harder when I return to earth.

Denial has never been a friend of mine.

Yawning, I reach over and tap the lockscreen on my phone.

1:32.

It’s been a little over an hour since Ivy and I got back from the club. The house was dark and quiet when we let ourselves in, telling us everyone was already in bed. A quick glance in the darkened living room as we crept toward the stairs showed Mason and Shawn fast asleep on the L-shaped sectional.

While Ivy went straight to bed once we got upstairs, joining Phoebe in Will’s parents room, I opted for a shower first before joining them, needing to scrub off all the glitter and grime and sweat from all the bodies pressed up against me back at the club.

Only once I was done, rather than find space on the bed, I grabbed my stuff and came out here instead, relieved to have some alone time to decompress.

I return my pencil to the sketchbook in front of me as my mind drifts back to the dude I hooked up with earlier at the club.

We didn’t do much. Just a quick exchange of hand jobs in one of the darkened corridors by the bathrooms. He invited me home with him after, but at that point, I was coming down hard from my climax, and just wanted to get away. I just wanted to be alone.

What little buzz I managed to get from the alcohol had all but fizzled out with my orgasm.

It helped having a valid excuse to give the guy whose name I can’t even fucking remember—if I even got it at all. Like hell was I leaving Ivy alone. I already felt like shit for abandoning her, albeit briefly, all in a shallow effort to get out of my head.

Scooting down in the lounger, I bring the blunt back to my lips and take another long hit. Tucking my knees up, I balance my sketchbook against my thighs, and reach over for my phone, tapping the volume button along the side until the music is all I hear.

My surroundings fade into the background as everything becomes sensation for me. The pencil gripped tightly between my fingers, the graphite point scratching sharp lines along the white paper. More smoke fills my lungs, before skating over my lips as I release it into the night.

My body feels heavy yet weightless in that way only weed can make it feel. My thoughts muffled; still there, but not as loud and domineering as they were prior to coming out here.

I start shading, loving the way it feels brushing the edge of the pencil along the paper, watching the way the shadows fill up, giving the sketch definition. Watching the scene depicted before me come to life.

A jagged, pointed city skyline.

A crowded street full of faceless bodies. No details whatsoever. Just curved outlines.

And in the center, two completely blacked out figures standing side by side. I make it so it looks like they can either be staring at me, or facing away, staring somewhere in the distance. A trick of the light meant to evoke different interpretations.

They don’t touch. Their balled up hands hang loosely at their sides. Over the one figure’s head, I draw a cloud—a thought bubble.

But when I go to write something in it, I pause, my mind blanking over.

What’s going through your head?I wonder.

Awareness prickles along the back of my neck and I blink, slowly lifting my gaze off the paper to stare into the long, narrow fenced in yard stretched out before me.

My fingers twitch along the pencil, and a lump forms in my throat. I don’t know how I know he’s there, but it’s always been like this.

Whether it’s in a room of fifty people, or late at night, outside, alone, somehow I always sense when he’s near. Like every nerve-ending of mine has been tuned in to when he enters a room, and isn’t that the most cheesy, stereotypical thing you’ve ever heard?

I quickly bring the blunt to my lips and take one last hit, steeling myself for whatever’s coming.

This time, I blow the smoke out harshly. Too harshly. Wincing, I turn and muffle a cough into the crook of my arm.

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