Page 279 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“Can you?”

I hesitate.

Truth is, I don’t know. IthinkI can handle a lot. I handled my brothers. I handled my dad. I handled grief by not looking at it too long. But handling something that wants to stay? That’s different.

“I don’t want to screw it up, especially with her,” I say quietly. “If the expectations are low, no one can be disappointed.”

“There it is,” he murmurs. “Making yourself become the screw-up someone has told you you are, even though you aren’t. Don’t you think you can do better than that?”

“You know what,” I mutter, leaning back again, forcing a smirk back into place. “What kind of therapist talks to their patients like this?”

He doesn’t even hesitate to answer. “The kind that’s your friend and not your actual therapist. Mind you, that you don’t even have, anddefinitelyneed.”

I stare at him, then shake my head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you,” Bash says calmly, “are overdue for actual help.”

I grab my coffee and take a sip, even though it’s cold now. “You’re lucky you’re my friend,” I mutter.

He smirks. “You’re lucky I care.”

I look down at the table, annoyed. Because he’s not wrong…about any of it. And that’s the part I hate.

56

Simone

Everyone’s screaming about summer like it’s the finish line, like most of us won’t all be right back here in a couple of months.

The end-of-the-year blowout is the craziest party of the year.

I know people say that about every party, but this one seriously is. All the seniors go a little too insane, knowing they’ve already secured their degrees and won’t be coming back, so they won’t get in trouble for anything that might happen.

I’m standing on the back wall with an untouched cup in my hand, not really listening to the girls around me as I watch Mason from across the room.

He’s currently the center of attention.

Like always.

A group of guys are circled around him, chanting his name as he chugs an entire bottle of Tito’s. Someone slaps his back hard enough to make him stumble forward, and he throws his headback, laughing. They’re all hyping him up like this is normal—this is college.

It’s not.

Not for him.

Drinking for him isn’t the same as drinking for them. Hell, I don’t know if drinking is the same for anyone, honestly. We’re all probably hiding shit deep down that we don’t want to think about or feel on nights like these.

All I know is that from over here, this is just a party to them. But for him…it’s anesthesia.

I watch as he tips back a chaser before grabbing another random cup on the table and chugging it too. His jaw tightens for just a split second before he plasters a grin back on for everyone around.

My chest aches for him. It always does. It hasn’t stopped aching for him since that day I found out he was drinking again.

That was months ago. And nothing has changed. If anything, it’s gotten a hell of a lot worse. Every day I’m scared will be the day he goes too far. And every night I’m left begging him to stop when it gets to be too much. Half the time, I feel like I’m using my body as a distraction just so he’ll be present with me for a little longer, so I don’t have to watch him drown himself. I’ve even been staying over at the Sig house more, just so I can be the buffer between him and a bottle.

Every time I spend the night, I wake up, and the first thing on my mind is how long I can get him to go without picking it up from beside his bed.