Page 33 of Brutal for It
“Jami,” she stammered, voice breaking. “Please, please don’t do this alone. Move in with me and Crunch. We’ll figure it out together.”
Her arms wrapped around me, warm and desperate. For a second, I almost caved.
But then I pictured Crunch looking at me, seeing what I’d become, knowing what I’d done. I pictured Tommy hearing about me living under his brother’s roof.
And I shoved her away.
“No,” I snapped, harsher than I meant. “I can’t. Don’t ask me again.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Why? You’re my sister. You don’t have to?—”
“I said no.” My voice cracked, but I held the line. “I need to do this myself.”
She begged. She cried. She told me she loved me.
I still refused.
Because if I let her hold me, I’d fall apart completely.
So here I am.
A hotel room with peeling wallpaper and a view of the parking lot.
I get up every morning, put on the scratchy polyester uniform from the diner down the road, and sling pancakes and coffee for truckers who don’t tip.
The work keeps my hands busy, but not my head.
The loneliness claws at me, worse every night. The bed is too big without Tommy’s arms. The silence too loud without his laugh. The ring-shaped indent on my finger feels like a bruise that won’t heal.
I tell myself I left to find freedom. All I’ve found is emptiness.
By the end of the first week, I’m cracking.
The guilt about that night at the bar still coils in my gut like barbed wire. The way I woke up next to a stranger. The way I never told anyone. The way I looked Tommy in the eyes and lied every time he asked me what was wrong.
And then left him bleeding anyway.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I handed the ring back. The way his voice broke when he begged me not to go.
I hear the silence after I said don’t follow me.
It’s unbearable.
The voice in my head hisses louder every day. Trash stays trash. You were never clean. You’ll never be enough. Not for him. Not for anyone.
By Friday night, I can’t take it anymore.
I get in the car.
And I drive.
It’s too easy to find what I’m looking for. That is the thing about being an addict. We are very smart even when the world thinks we’re stupid. We will find a way to get a fix.
Once, I had to hunt. Now it feels like the whole damn world is waiting for me to slip.
A few blocks over from the diner, in an alley that smells like piss and grease, I see him. Tall, wiry, face half-hidden under a hoodie. His eyes catch mine, and he smirks like he’s been expecting me.
“You lookin’?” he asks.
