You know a few things about me by now. Professional badass. Loyal to a fault. Fucking hot. Yeah, so I threw that one in there for the hell of it.
My point here? You’re probably wondering why someone like me does this to himself?
You’re shaking your head and thinking, dude, why do you keep coming back to a cracked-out lost cause when you know she’s toxic?
I wish I knew. It’s not like I don’t realize I need to walk away. I should let her live her own life and deal with the consequences without me there to bail her out and fix her messes she’s created.
It’s actually kind of ironic if you think about it. I’m constantly coming to her rescue because of her addiction and her inability to stay away from what she knows is bad for her, but in theory, I’m doing the same thing by not walking away when I know Rhya is bad for me.
In some ways, I’m just as much an addict. Rhya is my drug, and she’s slowly taking me down with her.
My Ducati screams down I-10 as I head into the city. At least it’s the direction of the airport and I won’t have to back track to get to my flight on time.
Doesn’t really matter though because all I keep telling myself is that I shouldn’t be going there. I shouldn’t be speeding through traffic headed to try and fix whatever mess she’s created. Again.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to her place. I park my bike on the street.
Drawing in a deep breath, I stare at her window on the second floor. The one with the black sheet hanging off the window to block out the southern California sun.
Still, you’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you? You’d think someone like me, a guy who on the outside has it all together professionally, shouldn’t be wasting his time with her. You would think that, but then you’ve never had a lifelong friend addicted to substance.
It’s a fact that most people at some point in their lives have made bad decisions. The difference between those people and people like Rhya is that they learn from those mistakes and walk away. Not Rhya. No, she makes a bad decision, and she learns nothing. She just keeps on making them. The same ones over and over.
I think that humans in general make most of their mistakes when they’re alone. Without human contact, touching, feeling, making eye contact, some of us are incapable of making good choices. Over the phone you can say anything you want because there’s nobody standing in front of you to answer to. You have no regard for what you’re doing to the person because you don’t see it.
This is why I had to come here. She needs to see what her choices have done.
Even with this reasoning going through my head, there’s still a good part of me that’s telling myself, don’t go in, man. Just fucking walk away.
Do I listen?
Nope.
She’s going to fucking explain to me why she fucked me over yet again.
Rhya lives in a studio apartment I rent for her in Los Angeles with the attempt to keep her off the streets. Sadly, she takes no interest in making it any kind of home. It’s bare in the sense she doesn’t have photographs on the walls or furniture. She’s got a mattress on the floor and a broken lamp that sits on a beat-up table next to the kitchen. Her apartment is just another part of her that exists. Nothing more.
I don’t wait for her to answer the door, I throw my shoulder into the center, grunting when it connects with a solid hit. A sharp pain rips up my arm. I quickly consider I could have just destroyed my shoulder.
Do I care? No.
“Open the fucking door, Rhya! I know you’re in there.” When she doesn’t respond, I kick it and slam my fist against the wood. Scuff marks from my foot mark up the gray paint, and I hit my fist against the door once more. “OPEN IT, GODDAMN IT! I won’t leave here, and you fuckin’ know it.”
She does know. I’m a relentless shit when I want to be.
Within minutes she whips open the door. She’s not hiding from me but she’s not welcoming me either.
“Stop pounding on the door,” she mumbles, yanking it open with a jerk.
Do you see the girl before me? The one whose hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a week and is wearing nothing but a T-shirt that barely covers her ass? The one whose once freckled nose and rosy cheeked complexion is now an ashen gray with red-rimmed eyes that look like she hasn’t slept in days? That’s Rhya Morgan.
With narrowed eyes and thinned lips, she backs away and leans into the wall when I enter the studio apartment, drowning green eyes focusing on the floor. She tugs at the hem of the shirt. “Why are you here?”
It’s as if she has no fucking clue. The worst part here? There’s a fifty-fifty chance she doesn't remember our conversation from twenty minutes ago.
“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” My heart pounds, blood raging with nowhere to go. Breathing in deeply, I pinch the bridge of my nose, preparing myself for the truth I’ll see at the sight of her eyes at a closer look. “Was Gage here?”
Waiting on an answer I know I might not get, I let my eyes drift to hers. She looks like shit, hair pulled up in a messy bun now, oversized T-shirt, red marks marring her neck and arms, and she’s as skinny as a fuckin’ rail.
Despite all of that, she’s still pretty. Covered in ink, much like myself, you can still see the beautiful young girl she used to be, but it’s the hollow eyes that haunt me. They’re the window to the devil in her soul. I try so fucking hard to act indifferent, but it doesn’t always work for me. The truth is, I’d do anything to bring the light back to her eyes.
Rhya doesn’t say anything. Instead, she steadies herself with a blank stare and shrugs. I’m not good enough for an answer. I hate how calm she is because she knows I’m raging inside over her. She knows I’m ready to explode at any minute.
And then I do, uncontrolled and unprotected, much like the way she leaves me.
In an act of frustration, I take the bottle of whiskey that’s sitting on the table beside the door and throw it across the room. It smashes against the wall spraying glass and liquor on the floor in a deafening crash.
My jaw clenches and I step toward her, harsh breaths and uncontrolled actions overtaking me. Pain and adrenaline punch my stomach, it sits, finds a resting point and feeds there knowing this girl and her fucked up choices have dominated me for so long. I’m at the end of my rope. My sanity is hanging by a thread, and I realize I can’t be this person for her any longer.
Dipping my head, I catch her eye sight, caging her in. “Am I not good enough for an answer?”
My temper doesn’t faze Rhya. It usually never does. She stares at me, still blank-faced to the fact I’m here, in front of her demanding answers. It occurs to me she’s probably caught off guard seeing me.
Truth is, I’m never in town anymore and I certainly never went to see her while she was in rehab. I couldn’t. I was in Germany the entire time. Maybe that’s why she decided to get high today? Maybe she thought, Shade’s not here; he won’t find out I wasted his fucking money again.
But here I am, and now I want some fucking answers.
Eventually, Rhya speaks, her hands still fidgeting with her shirt. “Look. . . I know what this looks like.”
Does she? Did she plan this? Get out and get high to make a point?
She willingly took me up on the offer to go to rehab again so why do this?
Her words only piss me off.
I kick the door shut with my foot and take a step toward her. “Tell me, Rhya. . . .” I take another step. I’m not going to touch her—I never would in anger—but she senses the rage radiating from me. “How many more times are you going to fuck me over?” Her body trembles and she catches her breath. My words seem to take her already drowning eyes and suffocate them completely.
She’s breathing heavily now but nothing compared to me. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she whispers and the lack of words “I’m Sorry,” aren’t lost on me. Then again, she’s never been sorry, so why would today be any different? She’s never understood the meaning. And then she shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. With no regard for me, she adds, “I told him not to come over. He came over anyway.”
“Oh give me a break. That’s fuckin’ bullshit, and you know it.” I reach out and grab her wrists in my shaking hands. “How’d you get the drugs? I know damn well you’ve got no money. Did you fuck him? Is that how you’re paying for your blow when you’re not shittin’ my money down the fucking drain?” I let my eyes wander to the marks on her, the ones she always has when Gage has been around. Raising my eyebrow, I smile, let go of her and then grab for the table next to the door. “ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING SORRY?” Hauling it over my head, I throw it at the window above her bed. It shatters the window on impact, the sound echoing like shock waves in the small space.
Rhya doesn’t budge from her place. Her only reaction to me breaking the window is to wrap her arms around her tiny waist, curling into herself.
She’s afraid now.
Good.
“How many more times are you going to fuck me over? How many more ways, huh?” She’s starting to cry now and it makes my anger soar higher. “Goddamn it. . . ANSWER ME, you stupid bitch!”
Too far? I don’t think so. I’ve never called her a bitch. Until today. And I think that’s the only reason I’ve gotten a reaction out of her now.
At the words, her body tenses, suffocating blackness closes in on me. Something in her changes and her own anger takes over, a side I haven’t seen in a while, surfacing and raging, spit through gritted teeth and tight lips, betrayal in her eyes. “I don’t have to tell you shit, Shade. You’re not my fucking boyfriend. You’re barely a fucking friend these days. Not once did you come see me while I was in that hellhole. But do you know who did? Gage, that’s who.”
Do you see that guy shaking with anger? He’s fucking pissed now. Just wait. It gets worse.
I breathe out, shaking my head, my jaw tight and ears ringing. “Yeah, I bet he fucking did.”
Do you see the lifeless girl in front of me? The one with flushed cheeks and black pupils? She’s pissed because I called her a stupid bitch, but she’s being one. She’s not concerned with anything other than the fact that I called her a bitch.
She doesn’t see it. She has no fucking clue.
Thirty thousand dollars. That’s how much it was for me to send her to rehab only for her to get high the day she’s released. If that’s not a slap to the face, I don’t know what is. How does she not see it that way?
I grab the back of my neck, attempting to ease the annoyance from my tone. “I’m not your boyfriend, but I am your friend whether you want to see it that way or not, and friends don’t do shit like this. I paid for your rehab because I care about you. Do you realize what a slap in my face this is?”
“I never asked you to pay for it!” she screams in my face. “What the fuck do you want me to say? Is me telling you I’m sorry really going to make a difference? Damn it, Shade, I want to make you happy, I really do, but no, I didn’t want to quit. You constantly think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t. You have no goddamn clue what my life is like.”
She’s being honest. I know she is and you know, a good part of me knew when she went to rehab she was only doing it for me. I just thought maybe at some point while she was there she’d realize what she was doing to herself and decide to stay for her.
Apparently not.
I run a shaking hand through my hair. “Why even go then? Do you even know what damage you cause every time you pull this shit on me, or do I really matter that little to you?”
She nods, blinking slowly, cold and collected, as if nothing in the world can affect her now. “I do care about you, Shade, and I am sorry you’re upset.”
“Sorry I’m upset. . . but not sorry you got high the moment you were out? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” I can barely even get these words out. There’s so much anger emanating from me that speaking is an effort. “Because that’s pretty fucked up, Rhya.”
Her eyes dart away, unable to look at me. “I know.” Her voice breaks, like the glass beneath her and I feel a jolt of nausea hit me.
You know in poker when you can tell when someone’s bluffing? Well, this is Rhya trying to bluff me.
I swallow over the acid rising up, continuing to watch her.
“I’m really sorry.” Tears surface, soak her cheeks and my heart. “I. . . I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, Shade.”
Lies. All fucking lies.
“Love me?” I laugh in her face, shoving her lightly back against the wall and trapping her in there so my words will hold her in place. “That’s bullshit. Bull. Fucking. Shit. You don’t love me. You don’t know how to love someone else. The only thing you love is addiction. You’ll lie, steal, or hell, you’ll even fuck your way to get what you want.”
Knowing I’m crossing a line, I back up from her, just a step, I can’t take the heat, the way my mind reacts when I’m around her.
But then I think, go ahead. For once maybe I should show her what a piece of shit I can be. Maybe now I should show her something other than forgiveness, and she’ll finally understand what she’s done.
“I hate you, Rhya. I fucking hate you for what you’ve done and who you’ve become to me over the years. . . . ” My eyes shift from hers to the floor, the wall, the window, then search bloodshot eyes that have no depth or reason. “I hate that I believed you, constantly, and you fucking use me. You’ve used me from the beginning.” I should shut up, but I don’t. I want her to feel the hurt and agony I have. She needs to understand what she’s done. “I want to be done, Rhya. I don’t want to be friends with you or even know you anymore. I want you to feel just an ounce of the pain you cause me. But I can never seem to do that. And you know it. Hell, you bank on it. I hear your voice and I come running thinking maybe I can save you this time. Maybe I can bring you back.” My eyes burn so I turn away, hiding what she doesn’t deserve to see.
But then I turn back because you know, fuck her, let her see it. Fuck this goddamn shit she puts me through. Let her see my pain. Maybe this will be the time she finally understands it. I’m so frustrated and lost and consumed by this anger I can’t even see straight. The words spilling from me, from my chest, leave me bitter and never so vulnerable. The anger makes me hazy, and I’m doing and saying things I might not mean, but then again, I do.
I drag my eyes from hers, sighing. I’m exhausted. I’m so fucking done with this. “I came here to tell you I’m done. I came here to see your face when I told you I won’t be here the next time you need me.”
She says nothing. Just watches me as if she’s unfazed by anything I’m saying.
“No more lies. I want you to say it.” I stare at her, my eyes narrowing.
She knows what I want her to say. I don’t have to explain myself. Not this time. “Shade. . . I. . . .” She reaches for me, but I refuse and fling my arm from her grasp.
“No. More. Lies. Don’t make any excuses. Tell me you’re high. Tell me you used me, and Gage was here because you wanted him here not because he just showed up.” I turn to the broken window, arms crossed over my chest. “Own up to it. Say it.” I glance over my shoulder at her, then turn around, wanting to see her reaction. “Tell me you did it.”
Her voice is as weak as her will to survive life when she whispers, “I used again.”
“Why?” I ask with a slow exhale, my face contorted in pain and confusion.
She doesn’t answer me. She bites her lip, chewing on her next lie.
“What? Are you going to tell me you don’t even know?” She shakes her head, and I flinch, a dagger to my heart. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“What did I tell you?” I’m in her face again, demanding, refusing to let up. “I told you to stay away from Gage. He’s the one guy I asked you to stay away from. I fucking begged you to stay away from him.” God, I’m so fucking disgusted with her I can’t even look at her. “Reece knows too.” Unable to stand still any longer, I pace the floor, my feet crunching in the broken glass. Disappointment in myself gnaws at me, and I bite my nails, a nervous habit I’ve had my entire life. “You know he’s going to be here next wanting to know what the fuck your problem is.”
Her shoulders lift in a careless shrug. “I fuck up everyone’s lives.”
I’m not letting her feel sorry for herself. Not today. “Yes, you do, Rhya, because you fucking let yourself. You are so fucking selfish that you’re blind to everything around you. You can’t see everyone you’re hurting anymore.” I pant through heavy breaths, the rage nearly consuming me entirely.
She reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the counter. “What is it that you want me to say, Shade? You’re obviously looking for an answer, and we both know I don’t have one for you. At least not one you’re going to like.”
“Jesus Christ, Rhya. . . why?” I knock the cigarettes out of her hand. “Why wasn’t I enough?” I ask, my words rough with the unrelenting anger rooting me in front of her. “I gave you everything you needed. Why couldn’t I be enough to save you?”
Her eyes dart to the ceiling as though this, standing here with me is the last thing she wants to be doing. “I don’t need saving.” She shakes her head and throws her arms up in the air, dejectedly.
This is always her answer. I don’t need saving. But then why does she call me when she’s in trouble? Why does she use me?
For years she’s told me she doesn’t have a problem. It’s not an addiction. She can quit at any time. It’s all lies because she can’t quit, clearly. Or maybe she could, and she just doesn’t want to. Either way, I’m done. I won’t do this with her anymore.
“You’re right. You’re fucking broken beyond saving. And I’m done,” I spit, rage-filled eyes stabbing her with my use of past tense. “I can’t fucking do it anymore. The simple fact of it is the best thing that has ever happened to me is you going back to using. I’ve finally hit rock bottom when it comes to you.”
I know I shouldn’t have said that, but I did. I want to storm out of here, rip myself from her life for good, but something stops me, and I lean into the wall, my body sagging as I slide down it, the emotions catching up with me.
“I can’t.” I crash and brace myself for what’s coming. My legs give way, my feet sliding against shards of glass. “I can’t do this anymore.”
For so long I’ve held in my emotions when it comes to Rhya and what she’s done to me over the years. Never really showing her the damage she’s caused, but I don’t want to anymore. I know I need to walk out of her life for good. I’m just not sure how to do it. I love her, and I shouldn’t. I don’t want to be in a relationship with her, but I do love her with all my heart. I want her to be better, to have a life filled with happiness, but I know that’s never going to happen.
My body shakes as she steps closer, one tentative step and then she’s sitting next to me, her knees drawn up to her chest and I’m reminded of every time I’ve had to go rescue her from some crack house she’s been in. I’ve found her in this exact position, on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, crying because she’d been used and abused for the sake of a high.
My eyes dart to her knees, red and torn up, no doubt from being on them while Gage was here. I imagine her giving him head, his hands in her hair shoving his cock down her throat all because she couldn’t pay for what she wanted to snort.
I can’t control my reaction to the images in my head, but it happens, my body reacting, the tears in my eyes spilling over my cheeks. There’s so much pain, hatred and sadness pouring from me I don’t even know what to make of it or what else to say.
I’ve never been one to cry. I can’t remember the last time I did, but this, knowing what I’m going to do next, it brings tears to my eyes because I tried for so goddamn long to save her and couldn’t. Why couldn’t I have been enough?
Rhya cries next to me. Not just any cry. It’s the kind of crying you think might never stop. She knows what’s happening. She knows what I have to do. It hurts more to look at her, burns even worse and kills me just as much. Despite being high and having her mind all over the place, by my reactions, she knows I’m leaving for good.
Minutes pass. Could be five. Could be five years. The amount of time it took for her to destroy our friendship completely.
My feet slide, and I attempt to stand, trying to brace myself but I can’t.
Instead, my head falls to my hands. “You’re destroying my fucking life, Rhya. Eventually, there’s going to be nothing left of me. Nothing.” I shake my head but still don’t look at her and instead focus on her mattress on the floor and the sheets pulled up at the corners remembering a time when I was with her on that same mattress, confessing a love she’d never return to me. I can’t say what I was telling her that night would have gone anywhere, but four years ago, at seventeen, I was in love with her. And I told her only to have her break my heart, over and over again. “It’s all about you, and me trying to save you. I can’t do it anymore because it’s destroying me.” I pull myself up to stand, strong and tall, hands that have held her up for years shoved deep in the pockets of my jeans and I step toward the door. “I’m tired. I’m just so fucking tired of your shit.”
When I’m reaching for the door handle, she looks up and asks, “Are you ever coming back?”
I don’t look at her. I can’t. “No.”
I’m staring at the handle of the door, begging myself to turn it and walk out of her life forever when she whispers behind me, “Do you honestly believe I want to be this way, Shade?”
I do believe she wants to be this way.
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding against each other. This time I look at her. I turn on my heel and face a hopeless girl who will never understand what she’s done to everyone around her.
Me, my brothers, Willa, Reece, she’s let us all down.
“Yes, I do. I think you want to be this way because it’s your fucked up way of trying to forget everything that’s happened to you.” I know I shouldn’t say this next part, but I’m so angry the words just keep coming. “Fucked up shit has happened to you. I get it. I do. I’m sorry your dad molested you. I’m sorry your uncle took innocence from you when he should have protected you. I’m sorry Jaime didn’t know what the meaning of no meant that night. I’m sorry for all that, and we both know that I understand the meaning of I’m sorry, but you’ve done this to yourself. You needed to choose happiness. It doesn’t choose you.”
Paralyzed with shock I said those things to her, brought up her past to slap it across her face, it takes her a moment before she reacts. And when she does, her body trembles with rage in front of me, the memories she keeps hidden down deep surfacing like they’re coming up for air, gasping and clutching onto her heart. “How dare you throw all that up in my face again!” she screams at me, crying uncontrollably.
Standing my ground, I shake my head and bury my hands in my pockets. “No. You don’t get to push that on me. I didn’t throw anything in your face. I spoke the truth. You’re taking offense to it because you’ve never faced the reality of it. Yes, bad shit has happened to you, but it doesn’t give you the right to hurt and use others because of it. I loved you, and you never saw it, you just used me for what you needed and ignored the fact that I had any feelings at all.”
“You loved me, Shade?” She laughs through tears as though it’s entertaining to her, saying my name like I’m a star she’ll never touch. In her eyes, I am. I always will be because she lets me.
Her jaw clenches, her face hardening into what, I’m not sure. Defiance?
Ripping the oversized T-shirt over her head, she tosses it aside, her fragile body bare for me to see. She’s completely naked, but that’s not what’s shocking to me. It’s the bruises, the bones, the scars, all of it. Everything screams damage and I know it’s more than skin deep.
“You can’t love someone like me. I’m a motherfucking curse.” She shakes her head, eyes on the floor and the glass.
Carefully, I draw in a deep breath, shrugging, and the breath. . . it feels like I’ve been dying to take that breath since I met her. I don’t want to see her like this, but I know why she did it. She wants me to walk out that door and leave for good. “That’s my problem. I don’t know that I can ever stop helping you, but I know I need to.”
Just as I’m leaving, reality starts to set in and she makes one final attempt to keep me there, her cold hand grips my elbow.
“I know you’re going to walk out of my life for good now, but would it change your mind if I told you I wanted you to stay?” Her question’s weak, like her will to stay clean, but I hear what she’s really trying to say.
She wants me to feel guilty. While she might be addicted to cocaine and God knows what else, I was her first addiction. She turns to me to escape the emotional pain of her reality. When I don’t work, she turns to the other. This is her reaching out, and part of me thinks I shouldn’t leave. The other knows I need to.
“Why?” I ask, turning to face her, my brow drawing together. “Why would you want me to stay? What would staying do for either of us?”
Rhya breathes softly. “I don’t know.”
Look at her face. She doesn’t know. It’s not a lie. Probably the first truth she’s ever told me.
I don’t say anything and continue to watch her.
Her dilated eyes are empty, like a needy devil.
Frustration pulses through my veins, clawing at my will to remain civil with someone who constantly takes from me.
Again, she says nothing, her mind in another place all together. I think some people can’t help being sad. Something inside them forces them to shut out the rest of the world and wallow in a misery they won’t allow anyone including themselves to understand. It’s something that shoves them to the edge of darkness and has them teetering on the edge of control.
That’s what happened to Rhya. She was pushed. But she’s also never tried to climb her way back out of it. She let herself slowly disappear alone in the blackness of the isolation.
She stares at me. Probably waiting for me to fall to her feet and beg her to be better. For me. For us. For herself, but you know, I’m tired of begging her to do anything.
Her eyes move to mine and they tear at my chest. I feel her in every part of my soul, and that’s the overwhelming and consuming part about this.
Being near her isn’t healthy for either of us. It’s a fucking slow and painful death sentence.
My eyes squeeze shut and I know she sees the pain. It’s falling from me and landing at her feet where I’ve always been. She can’t say she loves me and mean it any more than I can tell her I love her and it makes a difference.
“If you’re not enough for yourself, then I’ll never be enough for you. Remember, Rhya, you choose happiness. I can’t choose it for you.”
Rhya Morgan will destroy you, lie, cheat, steal. . . anything to make you think she means it. She’s torn me apart to the point there’s no repair.
Tears well up in her eyes again and I think, no, maybe she finally understands. Her words tremble with, “That’s always been the problem. We’re not the same people, Shade. Happiness isn’t a choice for me. It may be for you, a guy who has it all, but it was taken from me,” she mumbles, each word more drawn-out than the last.
I nod. She’s just giving me excuses now. “You’re right. We’re not the same people. Everything I have, I’ve worked for. I’ve made sacrifices and pushed myself because I knew I could do it. You don’t. You give up.”
My breath catches when she lifts her eyes to mine, and it’s as if pain radiates through her like a blinding sunlight staring back at me. “Whatever happened to I’ll always be here when you need me?”
Pulling my hands from my pockets, I scrub them over my face.
Do you see that guy at the door? The one getting ready to walk out for good? He’s done. He’s broken and finally taking back what she’s taken from him. His life. His love. His sanity. “A fourteen-year-old boy made that promise and he’s tried for seven years to keep it, but sometimes you have to know when to quit. I’m sorry, Rhya, but I quit.”
And then I leave without another glance. She doesn’t stop me.
I can’t look back at her because I know the look she’ll give me. The one that begs and pleads and breaks me down.