Page 13 of Sin With Me
I’m not even that drunk tonight, but considering how fucked up I got two weekends ago, it’s best I take it easy. Especially since I don’t even remember that night she’s talking about.
And I don’t want to see the look of disappointment on her face again.
Leaning in closer to her ear, I feel her shiver against me. “I’m ready to go if you are.”
Her brows furrow as she cocks her head. “It’s only midnight.”
I shrug, not really in the mood to drink anymore.
This is when I should admit the new meds I started yesterday aren’t supposed to be mixed with alcohol. Eight months ago, I started going to therapy and stopped having sex and drinking alcohol to get clean and focus on my mental health.
But then three months ago, I started drinking again when the pain got to be too much. It was either drink or cut, so I chose the lesser of two evils.
But I’m still abstinent, so that has to count for something, right?
The last woman I slept with was Jen—my on-again, off-again fling—who I haven’t seen in almost a year. She caught me flirting with her friend, Bethany, who I didn’t know was her friend at the time, and stormed off. She knew we weren’t exclusive or serious and yet she acted like we were.
“I need an alcohol detox,” I admit. “At least for a month.”
That’s how long my psychiatrist told me it’d take for the antidepressants to start working.
So I get to be soberandmiserable until then.
I haven’t told anyone that I’m trying them, not because I’m ashamed, but I don’t want to hear their praises or how proud of me they are—at least not until I deserve to. Therapy has been great, and I consistently attend my appointments, but the sadness still tempts me to self-medicate with cutting and alcohol. When he suggested trying a low dose for the “seasonal depression” time of year, I agreed. At this point, I have nothing to lose but myself.
The last thing I want to continue being is a burden on my brother, who’s always been there for me. He’s happy for the first time in years, and I don’t want to take that away from him.
Or anyone else.
“Awholemonth?” Delilah feigns shock, smacking a hand to her chest. “I’ll be so bored not carryin’ your drunken assupstairs to your room. Whatever shall I do with all that free time?”
“Just admit you like hangin’ out with me.” I flash her a lopsided grin, but she doesn’t fall for it.
“I might get a life of my own if I’m not always in charge of yours,” she retorts.
And there it is.
Although her tone’s teasing, there’s truth to it.
The guilt wraps around my throat until it cuts off my windpipe, and I choke on it.
Not because she’s wrong, but because Delilah has spent half her life taking care of people, and I hate that she’s been liable for me for the past year. Even though I enjoy spending time with her, it’s not the same if she feels obligated.
Before I stopped drinking the first time, she tagged along for a few months, and then when I started drinking again, she continued without complaint.
Though I’m not sure why.
She doesn’t owe me anything.
But still, she took on the responsibility, and I should relieve her of that.
“Tonight’s the last time you’ll have to babysit me, I promise.”
She arches a brow, genuinely curious. “You’re serious?”
I nod, pulling out my wallet so I can pay the tab.
“At least until Vegas,” I clarify jokingly. “Everyone else will be drinkin’, so it’ll be hard not to.”
