Page 101 of A Love That Broke Us
I fucking break.
A “fuck” bursts out, tangled in a cry. Gripping my hair, I pull tight as sobs tremble through me, each one ripping from my chest in a shudder through clenched, chattering teeth.
I collapse back against the pillow, wishing someone would just put me out of my misery. I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to do this anymore.
But there is something that can make it better…
My mind wanders to the ibuprofen bottle.No. Jesus, no.I’m not going through this shit for nothing.
“Babe,” Alley whispers. “You need fluid. I’ll get a cup of crushed ice. Sorry, I should’ve brought that in the first place. I’ll be back.”
It feels like an eternity before she returns, and even though I want her gone, I like when she’s close by. It’s less terrifying.
“Here. Try an ice chip.”
The cold touches my lip, and I shake my head. “No.”
“Babe, if you can’t keep the ice down, we have to go in. You need fluids. If I had an IV kit, I’d do it myself.”
I reluctantly open my mouth because there’s no way in hell I’m going in. I let the cold liquid coat my tongue, sucking softly. I don’t heave.
“Good, babe. We’ll have another one in ten minutes, okay?”
I nod, and even though I’m not looking at her, I know she’s crying.
“Do you want me to stay?” she whispers.
I nod again, tears soaking my cheeks as I reach for her hand. My fingers find hers, gripping tightly, holding on like she’s my lifeline—like she’s the only thing between me getting through this and dying trying.
She grips my hand back. “I’m right here,” she says soothingly. And for a moment, I don’t even care that it feels like a mother speaking to her child. Because I need her.
More than anything. I fucking need her.
I wakein a puddle of water.No–sweat.Somehow, I managed to fall asleep. But within seconds, reality slams back in.This isn’t over, dumbass.
I’m shivering. Chills whip through me like a fucking storm, relentless. I curl into myself, trying not to cry like a goddamn baby.
I reach for my phone with shaky fingers, checking the time. It’s 2:00 AM. My hell. When is this going to end? I have work today. I can’t just not go.
I swipe up, fingers trembling, and open my browser.
How long do withdrawal symptoms from oxy last.
Fuck me. They peak at day three, then slowly subside. Day three? That’s tomorrow night. I can’t take work off all week.And I can’t fucking take this anymore.
I try to be rational—tell myself I can take a few days off. It’s only one more day. Then the worst of it will be over. But then, maybe not. This site says symptoms last five to seven days. I can’t do this for five more days. I can barely do five more minutes.
I could try again next weekend. Take Monday off, and start Friday night. Prepare. I’ll freeze electrolyte cubes. Stock Tylenol and ibuprofen. Prep everything in advance. Take my last pill Friday, work from home Tuesday.
I’ll plan it better. I’ll know what to expect.
Guilt comes crashing in as I push the covers off because I’ve alreadymade up my mind. I’m desperate—desperate for anything to pull me out of this fucking deathbed.
I sit up, barely steady on my feet.God, I’m weak.Everything inside me screams.
I shuffle to the door, stopping to rest against it. Making my way down the hall, I lean and bump into the walls with every step. My vision blurs. My knees buckle. I grip the wall like it might give me strength. When I round the corner into my office, my eyes lock on my backpack.
Dropping to my hands and knees, I fucking crawl to it. With trembling hands, I tug the zipper open, just enough to slide my hand inside. The fabric brushes against my skin, sending an aching chill up my arm, straight to the core of my bones. It takes everything in me to not cry out.
