Tragic Love (17 page)

“Track marks. If she’s shooting up, she’ll have track marks on her arms.” Darcie walks to the other side of Presley, trying to get to her sleeve, but I won’t let her.

“Don’t!” My chest is heaving from anger and denial. “Don’t fucking touch her!” I won’t let her pull up her sleeves because it’s not true. She can’t be a drug addict. Not Presley.

“Drake! She’s a fucking junkie!” Darcie shouts back.

Rage fueled, I grab a hold of her arms and violently push her away from Presley. Darcie lands on her ass as she braces her fall with her hands. The shocked expression passes through Darcie’s face and I can tell she wants to punch me in the jaw, but she doesn’t. She makes it to her feet and shakes off her anger.

“She’s not a junkie. She’s not,” I whisper in the air. My mind will not grasp what she is telling me and I don’t want it to. My chest is tight and my stomach is sinking further and further into the pits of my despair.

“Prove it.” Darcie points to Presley’s arm. “Pull up her sleeve and tell me there are no track marks because I can guarantee you will find them.” Darcie stands rigid in from of me, burning the truth into my eyes as she attempts to prove her point.

My gut is doing summersaults, flipping around and around as I reach my hand to the end of Presley’s sleeve. Her hands are cold and skin is slick with sweat. I run my fingers under the material and slowly gather the cuffed end, sliding the cotton up. The shirt doesn’t even make it to her elbow before I see the damage inching the way up her skin. Small needle-sized puncture holes are surrounded in bruises. Her pale skin is painted in bruises old and new. Some are greenish-brown in color and others are purple, obviously newer. The freshest wound has dried blood pooled around it.

Delilah’s hands move to her mouth as she whispers, “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

The weight of my body collapses onto the floor and I feel like the wind was just sucked out of me. I put my elbow on my knees and rake my hands over the top of my head. It feels like it weighs five hundred pounds, and just like my heart, the weight is crushing.

How could I not see this? She’s had all the signs lately, but I didn’t see them. Or did I just ignore them? Deep down, I knew there was something horribly wrong with her. I allowed Presley to push me away when I should have been holding on tighter. This should’ve never happened. I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m the reason she started to use because I pushed her away. If I only told her I would do anything physically possible to protect her, she never would’ve allowed the drugs to consume her life. This was my fault. I was blind to everything she’s been doing and now look at her. She’s an addict.

Presley

My head is spinning like a top, at any moment I feel like it’s going to spin clean off my neck. And my stomach, God, it hurts so much. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. Every movement twinges with pain and sets the motions of bile to rise from the depths of my throat. I slide my hands up to my face, running them over my forehead, and dig the pads of my fingers into my eyes. I feel like I have lead weights holding my lids down and I’m certain it’s impossible to open them up. However, I immediately know where I’m at. It’s my apartment.

I can smell Drake present in the room with me, close to me. My body is trained to know when he’s near; the electricity in the air sends signals to my unconscious whenever he is close to me. I can feel him, but I’m scared to open my eyes. I don’t want to see his pain anymore.

“Presley, wake up.” His tone is different. It’s not angry or disgusted like it normally is; his tone is meek and full of disappointment.

Acting of their own accord, my lids start fluttering, slightly cracking, allowing the bright light of the sun to send a jolt of pain into my brain. “It’s too fucking bright in here,” I say, not knowing where here is in my apartment.

I haven’t fully opened my eyes. The sound of vertical blinds slide across their tracks; scraping metal and thin flaps of plastic tapping into each other. It’s significantly darker, but my eyes are still closed. I don’t want to open them and face whatever lies ahead of me.

I run my hands down the side of the soft pallet I’m lying on and can feel the rough plaid patterns sewn into the fabric. I’m home, lying on the couch and Drake is staring at me. I can feel his eyes glaring back at me.

The sound of the front door opens as I hear Darcie say, “Is she awake yet?” Oh shit. If Darcie is here, then something happened last night. I try to stir up any memories after I kissed Carter, but I come up blank. The last thing I remember is lying to Carter, convincing him I’m attracted to him. All for one more hit before I came home. Oh my God, what did I do?

A soft, gentle hand slides down my arm and Delilah’s voice floods my ear. “Hey sweetie. Come on, let’s get you up and get some food in you.”

Okay, it’s time to open my eyes and face the music. They’re here for a reason and treating me like I’m broken. They have something to tell me. Drake’s probably here to break up with me and Delilah is here to soften the blow. Honestly, I was wondering when this was going to happen. He’s been way too patient with me and I’ve been way too evil to him. I’ve finally pushed him to leave.

I brace my arms underneath my chest and slowly push my body to a seated position. My eyes are still closed. I’m too terrified to open them. I can’t look at him right now, knowing how I’ve broken him. Delilah said it yesterday. He’s broken and it’s entirely my fault.

The cushion of the couch concaves next to me and his warm arm secures me in his embrace. The breaking sobs begin as I feel my eyes leak tears down my cheeks and into my hands clasped tightly in my lap, bracing myself for the inevitable.

Drake leans over and kisses the side of my head. “Shhhh…it will be okay, baby.”I fall in closer to his strong arm and rest my head on his chest. It won’t be okay. Nothing will ever be okay because he will be gone and I will be dead. “We’ll get you help, baby. Shhhh… just stop crying, please.” Drake’s voice is cracked and fueled with emotion. “Just tell me why. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

What does he want to know; my inner demons, my lack of love for Mia or my uncontrollable addiction with a needle? Does he want me to admit the turmoil my mind goes through every time I close my eyes? What will he say when I tell him that for the last three years, Robert has haunted every minute of my life and only when he touched me did the pain subside until Mia was born? He can’t help me. No one can. Heroin is the only way I can face the murderous eyes of Robert in my dreams and my inability of being a mother to Mia.

When I finally open my eyes, I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze. His eyes have turned into melted chocolate as they glisten over with tears. He’s trying not to cry. Drake never cries. With all of the hardships he’s had to overcome in his life, I’ve only ever known him to cry twice. What the hell have I done? Delilah sits on the other side of me with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She sets it on the coffee table and rubs small circles on my back.

“We know, Presley.” Darcie’s voice comes across harsh and full of hurt.

I lick my dry, cracked lips, grabbing at my pockets for my Chapstick and drag my eyes up to hers. “What do you know?”

“That you’re a fucking junkie,” she snaps back at me. Instantly I sit up and meet all of their eyes. I look down to my sleeve and see my secret has been exposed. The damage to my veins is staring everyone in the face, shouting,
look at me, look at me
. I’m uncomfortable as hell and I want to leave. I want to go to Carter’s and take all the pain away. I want to be numb. I want to be numb forever.

“Darcie!” Drake yells at her then stands as he runs his hands over his short brown hair. The protruding bags under his eyes shows me the little sleep he got last night and his clothes are disheveled. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I release a deep breath and start to spill my inner most secrets. There’s no point anymore. I’m knee deep in a mess I can’t fix. I’m just…done. “I’ve been lying to you for the last three years. I was never fine after everything that happened in that house.” Drake’s eyes drop to the floor and his throat bobs as he swallows the lump trying to rise. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his. I see Robert’s glaring back at me with the razor blade dripping with my blood. I see the smoke of his cigars clouding the room and taste it in my mouth. I hear his words whispered into my ear, ‘You’re only bait. I’ll put you out of your misery soon enough’.

“All the evil feelings built up and began consuming my every thought. Thoughts even you can’t takeaway anymore.” I glance over to Drake then back down to the floor. I can’t look him in the eye when I admit the last part. “It helps me cope with those nightmares and numbs me from the guilt.” I don’t know if I can say it. This part will be what finally breaks him. Taking a deep breath, I let the truth be told. “…and the guilt I have over being a bad mother.” Delilah sputters, sobs and folds herself in half. “Mia deserves better than me.”

Drake’s shoulders slump forward and it takes everything he has to keep himself on his feet. The darkest feelings I’ve been battling with for the last two plus years are finally released. However it was what I last said that killed him inside. He knows what it’s like to be abandoned by a mother…a mother who loved heroin more than her own child. Now that’s what I am to him, the mother of his child who loves drugs more than her own baby.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve helped you.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“You believed the lie and I didn’t…didn’t want to disappoint you. Once I lied, how was I supposed to tell you how scared I really was? Then you would have known how messed up I am. I was trying to be strong, like Darcie, for everyone. Then, the next thing I know, I’m pregnant and every single bad feeling living in my body overtook me and I needed it all to go away.”

“Presley, honey, we need to get you some help.” Delilah’s words are soothing, but frustrating.

“I… I feel better now. I don’t need help. It’s not that big of a problem. I can shake it, I know I can,” I utter, hoping to convince them and myself I’m not what Darcie said I am, a junkie.

Darcie huffs in the air, trying to say something smart when Drake cuts her off, “We saw your arms, baby. It’s a pretty big problem. Delilah found a program sponsored by the hospital where her dad works. You can go to Memphis with her and get help for this and your depression.”

“Drake, there is no way you can send me to a rehab center, especially one recommended by Delilah’s family.” I look over to her and apologize with my eyes. She’s never allowed money to come between us, but out of desperation, I need to make it come between us. “They’re fucking loaded, Drake. I don’t have that kind of cash and they sure as shit are not going to let me go there for free.” I’m hoping to convince him to keep me home. I don’t want to leave. I won’t leave.

“Don’t worry about the money. I’m not going to let you make that your excuse to keep you from going to rehab,” Drake sternly replies.

“No! I’m not leaving.” I stand and feel the room spin in circles. Drake’s arm snakes around my waist, gripping tightly to keep me from falling to the floor. He wraps me in both his arms securely, pressing my body firmly against his.

I can’t leave! If he leaves me in Memphis, I won’t make it. I know I won’t. I need to get out of here. I need to make all this pain go away and fast. I start jerking my arms out of Drake’s hold. I’m pushing my hands against his waist just to get out of his grasp; his grip is incredibly strong. The tears have surfaced again, saturating my face.

“Let go of me!” I shout to Drake, but he refuses to loosen his hold. I start punching him in the chest. “I said, let me GO!” My fists are furious as I punch him with all the strength I have in my body. I’m pounding them over and over in his chest, but he doesn’t budge. He only holds me tighter.

“NO!” He snags my wrist tightly then pins my arms behind my back, restraining me. “You’re going to rehab, Presley. End of story!” Drake shouts.

Falling limp in his arms, my fight begins to disintegrate, vanishing into the old, worn out carpet. Holding me up, Drake anchors me when all the strength and determination leave my body.

I’ve missed so much over the last several months because I allowed my demons to run my life. I know I can do this if I just have Drake by my side. I know I won’t survive rehab this time, especially if I have to go back to Memphis. Fourteen hours away from Drake.

“I can’t go anywhere. I can’t leave you,” I tell him.

Drake lets go of my arms and wraps me up in his embrace. His voice weakens as the anger subsides and helplessness wins. “Baby, you can’t keep living this way.” He cups my cheeks in his hands; the wetness accumulated in his eyes trickles down his cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t watch you die, Presley. I won’t survive. I won’t survive this life without you.”

I can feel the slight trembling of his shoulders as I wrap my arms around his neck. His grip is firm, like he’s holding his own life in his hands. Then it occurs to me—he needs me to breathe as much as I need him. Selfishly, I was too blind to see that. I was too Goddamn blind to see anything beyond my nightmares. I’ve been so concerned about my own problems that I never really saw what I was doing to him. I should have never allowed my depression to get so out of control. I should have never let Robert Stein claim my life for the last three years. I do need help. I need to save myself so I can save him.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Okay?” Drake confirms.

“Yeah, I’ll go to Memphis. When do we leave?”

Suddenly, I am wrapped in a three person embrace. Delilah is crying tears of joy and whispering thank you to God. Drake is squeezing me with so much strength it hurts and Darcie holds me just as tight, tears striking her eyes as well.

“I have a flight booked for tomorrow morning. I’ve already made the arrangements and the treatment center is expecting you. This is a good place, Presley. They will treat you initially for your heroin problem then work through your depression issues,” Delilah says through her tears.

“How…how long do I have to be gone?” I ask, knowing this is going to be extensive, more than the time I spent when I was younger.