Page 67 of Dead Love
I swung the bathroom door open. Muggy air enveloped me. Justin laid in the bathtub, the water steaming, his eyelids drooping. I lifted the sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“What does it look like?”
So it was what I thought, then. I scowled. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t.”
The paper crinkled in my hands. “When did you get this?”
“About a week ago.”
“And you’re showing up now?”
He lifted his shoulders, then slumped down, sinking until his chin was in the water. A full syringe laid on the side of the tub. I backtracked, opening the closed door of the studio: the floorboard was removed. Vials and pills and more crap we used to keep away from our uncle were spread out on the floor. I hadn’t touched any of it in a long time. And Justin? He had been off of it longer than I had.
So he was self-medicating, then. Not my problem. At least, not right now. I went back to the bathroom.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
His pupils were dilated, his breathing slow. “What do you mean?”
“When do you start treatment?” I pointed in the direction of the funeral home. “We hired that new employee. And in a few weeks, we can give her a raise. Or—” I shrugged, “—increase hourly service costs to cover the medical bills.”
He leaned his head to the side and let out a long breath.
“So?” I asked.
“Don’t care, really.”
Fine. I could figure this out myself. “She needs the money. So we’ll—”
He sat up, wobbling from side to side like the energy had rushed to his head. “Have you forgotten what it was like? Watching Mom die?” He forced a laugh. “How it destroyed us? I’m not going through that. And I’m not going to makeyougo through that.” A sigh whined through his lips. “And you sure as fuck aren’t going to make me.”
I narrowed my eyes. He acted like he was destined for the same fate as our mother, when he hadn’t even tried to do anything to stop it.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” I said. “There have to be better treatments available—”
“Not enough.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last week?” He grimaced, folding his arms across his chest. He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m not going through that.”
“You don’t know what would happen.”
He gave me a hard smile. “Are you that stubborn?”
I clenched my fists, biting my jaw so hard that my teeth crunched in my ears. “You can’t give up.”
“It’s my fucking life.”
“And mine too,” I shouted. “What you do affects me. You’re not going to do this. You can’t. You’re about to—”
“What?” Justin shook his head. “I’m about to dowhat?You have the new employee. Make her do the people work.” His gaze flicked upward, avoiding my eyes. “Trust me. We both know it’ll be better when I’m gone.”
I wanted to punch him in the face for suggesting that. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
