Page 294 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Bash raises an eyebrow.

“But I guess I have to, don’t I?”

He nods. “I’d say with everything I know about him through you, I’d do that over a phone call before you go back there. Iwouldn’t have that conversation in person. I don’t think it would be safe for either of you, honestly.”

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling overwhelmed.

My chest tightens, my jaw clenches, and my brain starts racing through every possible version of how this could go.

I feel the urge creeping up my spine. I feel the restlessness of my hands shaking in my lap, begging for a way to calm them. I feel it all, and it’s relentless in its need to be sated.

I stare at the condensation sliding down my Gatorade bottle and imagine it’s beer instead.

Bash leans forward suddenly. “Hey.”

I blink, being pulled back into the moment.

“You disappeared just now,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

I swallow, but don’t say anything.

Bash checks his watch and stands. “I’ve gotta go. Lydia’s waiting on me.” He looks down at me. “But if you make that call? Don’t hesitate to call my phone after, okay?”

I nod.

Erik stretches in his seat. “I can stay if you want.”

I just wave him off. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.”

He stands, pushing his chair in. “Good luck, man. On everything. And if I don’t see you before break—” He slaps me on the shoulder, “take care of yourself, okay? Text me if you need anything.”

Then they’re gone, and I’m alone again.

The silence creeps back in, and I sit there for all of maybe thirty seconds before standing up and going inside. Straight to the fridge to grab a beer before I can talk myself out of it. I just need to loosen the edges. I don’t need to go far, just a little before the ledge.

By the time I’m in my room, I’ve opened a second one. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, knowing if I do this, I can’t do it sober.

The first bottle I pull from beside my bed is empty, so I set it on top of my side table before looking for another one. After finding four empty glass bottles, I finally find a half-full bottle of Maker’s Mark.

Of course, my least favorite liquor.

Hell, I don’t care at this point. Anything to do the job.

I open it and take at least two shots worth. Not too much, just…enough. Then I finally hit call.

It rings once.

Twice.

I almost hope for a voicemail to greet me.

Then he answers.

“How’s packing for rehab going?”