Page 82 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“I’m clean. Have been for six months. I didn’t do any drugs after I got out of rehab.”
That didn’t make sense. If he’d been clean this whole time, why had he stayed away for so long? “So, you just took off on a little vacation. Fuck everyone else. Is that it?”
He looked over my shoulder. “Ava here?”
“No.”
Connor lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a breath. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Are you going to tell me what the hell you’ve been doing for five months?”
He pushed past me. I slammed the door shut and followed him out to the courtyard. “Place looks good. Did Ava do that?” he asked, jerking his chin at the honeysuckle climbing the wood trellis on the side wall.
Ava planted it, along with the mint and lavender that kept getting trampled by drunks and watered with beer and cocktails. But she tended to it every day. Like Eden, Ava was an optimist. “Yeah.”
Connor’s gaze swung to the wall Eden painted. I watched his face as he took in every detail. He crossed the courtyard and crouched in front of the wall, studying her mural up close and at eye-level. Connor looked at the world through an artist’s eye. He noticed things I didn’t, but he missed a lot too. When we were kids, he lived inside his head, a dream world he’d created to escape reality.
Sometimes I used to think it took balls to do drugs right under Seamus Vincent’s nose, but other times I recognized it for what it was—yet another way for Connor to escape the real world. When he was high, he didn’t care who he hurt or who he let down. All he cared about was chasing his next high. He’d stolen from me, lied to me, and asked for my help. I’d always gotten to Connor before Seamus did, which was nothing short of a miracle. But then, I got all of Seamus’s attention, and Connor got none. I was Connor’s human shield, his invisibility cloak.
“Now that I’m back, I’ll start going to NA meetings,” Connor told the wall. “And I’ll get a sponsor.”
“I’m giving you one last chance, Connor. If you screw up again, I can’t help you.” Who was I kidding? I’d keep giving him chances until he got it right. But if he disappeared again or went back to drugs, I didn’t want to go through that again. I’d helped him detox at home a few years ago. I’d stayed up with him through the night. Held his body in my arms to try to stop the shaking. Cleaned up his vomit. Helped him into the shower, holding on to his arm so he didn’t fall and crack his head open. I’d talked him down from wanting to kill himself when all he’d wanted was to die. Horrible didn’t even begin to describe those awful days and nights when I’d guarded over him. Finally, I’d taken him to a detox clinic and they’d dosed him with methadone, something we should have done from the start. A month later, after going to hell and back, he started doing drugs again.
He nodded. “I know. It’s something I need to do for myself.”
Maybe I should have questioned his answer, but it was the first time he’d acknowledged this was his responsibility. I wanted to believe in him. I needed to believe in him. Taking care of Connor was my job, and I hated it that I’d failed him.
“I’ll do everything in my power to support you,” I said.
“You always do,” he said, still looking at Eden’s wall. “I don’t know how you do it, Killian.”
“Do what?”
“Be you.” He turned around to face me. “I don’t know how you fucking do it. Do you just turn off a switch? Block it out? Lock it down? Is it all inside, eating away at you? Or did you punch and kick your way out?”
I clenched my jaw. “I’ve got shit to do. I don’t have time—”
“I’m not the only one with an addiction problem.”
“I don’t have an addiction problem.”
“You’re addicted to pain.”
“Fuck you.” I left him in the courtyard, stalked down the hallway and into the office, slamming the door shut behind me.
You’re addicted to pain.
Who did this to you, Killian?
I’d never hurt you, Killian.
The door swung open and Connor filled the doorway. “I’m not leaving again. I’m done running.” I didn’t answer. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. Do you want a medal? Should I throw a party?”
“Who painted the wall?” he asked. “Who’s Eden?”
Who is Eden? She’s everything. But she still had no idea how fucked up I was. Every day she made me happier than the day before, and every day I worried that I’d ruin us. That a guy like me wasn’t cut out for a healthy, functional relationship. I had no guidelines, no blueprint to follow, no role models to emulate. All I had was my gut feeling that told me this was real, and it was good, and I’d never known anything like it. I wanted to hang onto it for as long as I could before the house of cards came tumbling down.
