Page 2 of Relapse

— Blair

Chapter four

Chapter One

Blair

My name is Blair.

And I didn’t come back to Severance Point to heal.

I came to disappear.

To find what they tried to erase.

To figure out what really happened to my sister.

Even if it takes me with her.

I drag another inhale, cough like it personally offended me, and blow smoke into the kind of muggy morning that sticks to your skin like a bad decision.

The street’s quiet in that hungover, beach-town kind of way. Gravel crunches under my boots, and the air smells like hot asphalt, salt, and sunscreen that’s given up. The ocean’s close enough to taste—humid, thick, and vaguely fishy, like California’s trying to remind you it’s not just pretty sunsets and palm trees. It’s rot underneath, too.

Then I see it.

A black bike idles at the curb. Matte chrome, purring low and dark, like a secret that’s been waiting to be whispered.

And him, leaning against the frame. A cigarette burning lazily between two fingers, sleeves shoved up, with his inked arms on full display. His boots are planted wide and his head is tilted just enough to say yeah, I see you.

Like he knew I’d look, because I always do.

His eyes track me. Slow. Steady, like he’s not surprised.

Like I’m his favorite fucking fix.

He flicks the ash to the pavement, smirks, and just like that—

The overdose begins.

I don’t even think about it.

One second I’m standing there with a cigarette hanging off my lip like I’ve got my life together, watching him like I’ve just spotted a ghost I’d absolutely follow into hell, and the next, I’m clattering down a set of deck stairs that look like they’ve survived at least three lawsuits and a small fire.

Honestly? If I eat shit and die right here, that’s on brand.

I make it down in one piece—tragic, and step off the curb.

Gravel crunches under my boots, loud in the quiet morning air, like the whole damn street is narrating my bad decisions in surround sound.

Here she goes again, folks. Watch her make the same mistake twice—no, wait—bigger this time.

Love that for me.

He watches me every step, because duh, of course he does. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge how fucking weird this entire situation is.

He just leans there like he owns the whole fucking moment. Like he’s had this whole thing already written and I’m just late to my cue.

Yeah.