The silence she left behind was total.

“Fuck,” I whispered. I wanted to fall back into my bed, but everything hurt. Including my heart.

I’d driven her away.

I’d made a huge fucking mistake. 

That night the ibuprofen couldn’t even touch the throbbing. I grabbed my crutches and hopped to the bathroom. I stood by the sink and pulled the pill bottle, never opened, of opioids out of the medicine cabinet.

It fit so neatly in my hand. Like it belonged there, nestled into the crook of my palm. Just holding it seemed to give a measure of relief as every cell in my body went quiet in anticipation of the hit. 

It sat heavy in my palm, too heavy, it seemed, for me to lift it. I looked down and stared at my name on the label. 

It had my name on it. The pills were literally calling my name. 

When the prescription came home with me I was too out of it to flush them. I’d had ample time to flush them in the weeks since, but something had stopped me. 

I must have known I’d need something to help with this. Driving Everly away was a different kind of pain. 

Numb, I moved to twist open the bottle. The grooves slid into place, the child-lock came loose. The cap was untwisted, ready to fall off into my other hand. 

I froze in place. My heart stalled in my chest. I was so close to popping the pill, but...

I didn’t take the cap off. 

Slowly I exhaled. I ducked away from my reflection in the mirror, feeling like it was watching me, disappointed. Pleading. Reminding me of all those nights in rehab where I’d felt the same compulsion. The devil on my shoulder whispering encouraging words about risking it all. He’d never gone away. I’d been drowning out his voice with thoughts of Everly. 

“Fuck,” I whispered again. I’d been right. I didn’t need her help. I needed...

Her. 

Her hard-won smiles, her sass, her determination. I needed her physical presence in the room with me, her body’s nearness to mine. I needed her, and I’d driven her away. Lost in my frustration at my weakness, I’d driven away the very person I needed to make me strong again. 

With calm resolve, I re-latched the bottlecap and set it deliberately back into the cabinet. I shut the door on the pills.

It was only then that I realized my entire body was shaking. In fear. And in anticipation of the beautiful hit, that wonderful bliss.

“Fucking weak,” I snarled in the back of my throat. Enraged, I slammed my fist into the wall, but the sting in my knuckles didn’t make me feel any stronger. “I hate this shit,” I muttered. All of this shit. The pain, the weakness, the helplessness. The Gabe I was before, the old me, he took these giant risks every goddamn day, put his body and his self on the line just to feel something. And here I was hiding in the bathroom after sending away the only thing that had made me feel in months. Fuck, I’d found her again, after months of wondering, and I was gonna push her away because I felt sorry for myself?

Fuck you, the old, risk-taker Gabe said to this new, wimpy Gabe. Fucking call her and tell her you’re sorry. 

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Fuck.” I repeated it one more time because it felt necessary, but my throat was tight and dry and I couldn’t get a full breath. Don’t pussy out now, the part of me that still had pride insisted. If you’re not gonna call her then fucking text her, you weak piece of shit. 

I nodded and hopped back to my bedroom, then grabbed my phone from its place at my bedside table. Quickly, before the weakness could take hold again, I flicked to her contact and started typing. 

Me: Are you up? 

Lame. But it was a start.

I waited, glancing down out of my window. Her house was nestled down there by the raging creek, dark and shut up for the night. I hoped she was too pissed at me to go right to sleep.

She was.

Everly: Do you need something?

Cold. Professional. I deserved that.

Me: Yeah. I need to tell you that I’m sorry.

I waited, but she didn’t reply. I glanced down at her house again. The light was still on, so I took a deep breath.

Me: I do need you. I need you around. You make everything better.

Me: And I’m sorry I haven’t said that until now. 

Me: Fuck, I mean I just found you.

Me: I might be an idiot, but I’m not going to let you go again.

Me: I promise.

The light went off. With my heart in my throat, I watched my screen, but there was no sign of a reply. With a heavy heart, I set my phone back down on the nightstand.

Where it glowed with a new text alert.

Everly: Open your door. I forgot my key.