Page 159 of Camp Bliss
He huffs a bitter laugh, still not looking at me. “You say that like this is news.”
I shake my head. I… I…
How did I not see this before? “No, I mean, I knew you used alcohol to cope with your anxiety and depression, but…”
Josh lifts his head and meets my eyes with a dark smirk. “You didn’t know I was an alcoholic?” His question is skeptical.
My heart sinks. What the hell is wrong with me? What kind of counselor am I?
Jesus. He was my boyfriend. I lived with him for two-and-a-half years.
I tell him the truth—or at least the version I’m willing to tell myself. “I thought it was behavioral. A choice. A habit,” I explain, a torrent of guilt beating down on me. “Not a physiological dependence. Alcohol abuse. Not alcohol dependence.”
Josh snorts. “You saw what you wanted to see.”
Shit. He’s right. Dammit. Of course I knew.
And as I confront this truth that has popped out at me like a jack-in-the-box, I feel as ashamed as he looks. Because he’s right.
I saw what I wanted to see.
Could I have helped him more? Could I have done what I’m about to do now? Find him professional help?
Could I have prevented all of this? His desertion? His betrayal?
Would we still be together?
Emotion chokes me.
Zach.
I wouldn’t have him.
I would never have known him the way I know him now. Never have seen the side of him he showed me after Josh disappeared.
I never would have had the chance to love him.
I swear, the room sways, and I grip the counter for support.
My mind is reeling. Truths are pummeling me from both sides.
If my eyes had been open, I could have helped Josh.
If I had helped Josh, I might have never found Zach.
Guilt is a crafty motherfucker.
Because I think I’ve just lost the ability to lie to myself.
And the truth makes me a horrible person.
A horrible, selfish, small-hearted person.
Because I’d choose Zach.
IchooseZach.
I’m horrible because I’m so grateful Josh ran away with half our money.
