Page 102 of A Love That Broke Us
My fingers find the bottle, barely able to hold on. I pull it out and drop to my ass, slumping against the wall, head tipped back, eyes fixed on the label. My arms rest on my knees, feet flat on the floor. I swallow, blinking back the failure burning behind my eyes.
I’ve never hated anyone more than I hate myself in this moment. Right here. Right now.
I unscrew the lid, tilt the bottle, and let the little white pill fall into my palm. My fingers curl around it, clenching tight. My jaw locks. My breathing’s heavy. Hands shaking. And that sting of failure slips down my cheek.
For the first time in my life, I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never come up against a fight I couldn’t win. And this isn’t just a battle I’m losing. It’s one I’ve already surrendered to.
I’ve fucking quit.
I place the pill on my tongue, letting the now familiar, bitter taste seep into my taste buds.
I swallow.
The pill wins.
Chapter Thirty-One
ALLEY
THEN
MAY
Oh my God.
He’s on something.
I had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t even go there. But now I know.
He’s definitely on something. I just don’t know what.
I wrack my brain, digging through everything I know about withdrawal—because that’s exactly what’s happening in our bedroom right now. Again.
It’s Sunday morning. One week ago, Jensen woke up with the same symptoms—symptoms of withdrawal.
“Shit,” I say aloud. I’m in the kitchen, coffee in hand, rooted to the spot. My brows pull together, cursing myself for not seeing the signs earlier, the sleepiness that started last fall, the irritability, him showing up late… his eyes.
But he didn’t have a prescription.
It doesn’t matter. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve freaking seen it.
Dammit.
I take a deep, shaky breath, my fingers trembling around the mug’s handle. I set my coffee down before I spill it, and that’s when it all comes crashing in—six months of memories flooding at once: leaving the Halloween party, New Year’s Eve, the night he was “helping a coworker” with his car. The arguments. Our sex life. All those feelings I had that things felt off.
And I just ignored it. I pushed it down because I didn’t want it to be true. It’s not like pain pill addiction is my go-to when it comes to my husband. He’s my person. The one I love more than anyone else. The one I trust with my life.
There’s a mix of emotions brewing deep inside me—anger, confusion, sadness—and the one bigger than all the others?
Betrayal.
He didn’t tell me. Not only did he not tell me, heliedto me.
My vision blurs as it all slams to the surface, and I gasp, realizing I’ve been holding my breath.Calm down. Maybe I’m overreacting.This may not be what I think it is.
I’m moving before I can even process, and a strange calm settles over me as I walk down the hall, barely aware of my own footsteps. I open the bedroom door and step inside.
Standing at the foot of the bed, nausea settles in the pit of my stomach as I take him in—shivering, soaked in sweat, dry heaving all morning. Aching. Groaning. Curled into himself.
