Page 125 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

Month Three

I hate this fucking place, these people, the constant motivational speeches and positive aspirations.

The rehab I was at after my parents died and I OD’d wasn’t as bad as this one, but I suppose when I went last time, it was for a different reason. It was only the third time I stuck a needle in my arm that I overdosed, and well, everything spiraled from there.

This time, though, I was in much deeper—in every fucking way.

My body didn’t belong to me anymore, neither did my mind, or my fucking soul. Everett Boyd owned every inch of me—and I think he still does.

I haven’t seen or spoken to him since before I woke up in the hospital. I remember hearing his voice flutter in and out with the lights and the noise of the machines. I remember some of the words he spoke, the pain in his tone he couldn’t hide any more. But by the time I finally opened my eyes, I only saw Essa. And Vincent.

Rhett got kicked out of my room, and after I told Essa I would get help as long as she made sure Rhett stayed away so I could do it, she made it happen.

It’s one of the many deep regrets I still bear close to my freshly revived heart, but I knew if I saw him, if I let him touch me… there would be no separating us again. There’s only so much an addict can resist—and his greatest temptation isn’t one of them.

I hope he forgives me, that he’s moving on.

I now understand why he did what he did, even if I don’t agree. His reality was warped into something he needed to believe, and I just happened to be the casualty.

When I speak of our relationship, of our sick love, it’s always in short intervals because even thinking about him brings not only the memories of our destructive time together to the surface, but also a great deal of physical pain, and right now, I have to learn to heal one piece of myself at a time.

I’m just finding it extremely difficult when I gave every piece to him.

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