How It Started

Chapter Twenty-One

"Remember how you kept telling me there are better things than..." I don't even want to say it. "...cutting myself?"

"Yeah..." he pauses the game and looks in my direction. He is furrowing his eyebrows, revealing the wrinkles in place of where his unibrow would be if he had one.

"What if I told you..."

"Spit it out, loverboy, c'mon! I got a game waiting for me."

"What if I told you I want to try Xanax?" I blurt without thinking.

His jaw tightens and Tim shakes his head. Not going to lie. His body language makes me regret even asking. But that doesn't change the fact that I still want to try it. What's the worst that can happen? I mean, I cut myself. There's more of a probable chance that I'd die from hitting a vein than me taking one stupid little pill.

"Don't be stupid."

If it's so stupid, why do you do it, Tim?

With the idea of coaxing him in mind, I refuse to let up or let the question go right over his head, "That's not fair... you do it. How can you blame me for wanting to try it when you do it yourself? You have even repeatedly said that 'there are better things than hurting yourself.'

He sighs heavily and doesn't immediately respond.
Most likely, he's trying to come up with reasons why he shouldn't budge. "I have two if you want to try one, but just this once. And if I give this to you, I better not see any new cuts for two months."

"Okay, deal. But why two months?"

"Because two months makes a habit." He retorts sternly.

I follow Tim to his closet and watch as he sifts through his wardrobe. He pulls out a sandwich bag from a grey suit coat with the pills inside.

So that's why having all these clothes is useful: clever hiding spots.

He walks toward me with disappointment written all over his face. I'd guess about eighty percent mad at me for asking, and twenty percent about having to share. Or the other way around. I just couldn't help myself. Since he explained that it helps him to forget, I couldn't get it out of my head. I was curious about how much it makes you forget and what it could do for me... How it could fix me.

The things I'd do to forget, just for a night.

He leads me to the bathroom, fills the cup on his sink with tap water, and swallows the Xanax. I watch his Adam's apple move as he drinks. When it's my turn, I don't hesitate one bit. Almost as if I had been craving this for a while —and I had. I couldn't think twice about it and potentially miss the opportunity.

"I'll be right back," His head hangs low as if it is entirely unsupported by his neck.
"Where ya going?"
"Taking a shot of fireball. None for you."
"Is that safe?"

Tim's eyes flare, smouldering straight through my chest. And to my heart. "It enhances the effects of the Xanax." He deadpans.
"Usually, I'll split a Xanax and drink more, but since this is your first time, I'd much rather you feel the effects of the Xanax and only the Xanax."

In the living room, Tim grabs a bottle from their wine bar. He takes a swig from the bottle, straight-faced. Not like Mom did when she would take shots with her friends, her face would scrunch every time.

"Alright, bed." He mumbles as he pushes his way past me and back into the bedroom.

He seems off. Not the same peppy and outgoing Tim I've come to know.

"Are you okay?" I say, closing the door behind me.

He's aggressively fluffing his pillows, and tucking himself into bed. "I'm okay, just tired."

"Okay — are you mad at me?" I ask as I try to get comfy in bed.

"I just feel like you put me in a really tough situation, and I just need time to process it."

"Tough situation?"

"You shouldn't have asked Ry. I really wish you wouldn't have. I get that you're curious, and maybe I okayed it to you when I mentioned that I take them, but I don't know. I don't want to be the reason why you have a pill addiction." He pauses to take a deep breath. "I guess maybe I just thought that you'd be more sympathetic toward putting me in a weird situation considering what you and Ciara just worked through. Forgetting isn't always the best solution to your problems. Sometimes you have to remember to forget. Like remembering all the pain, loss, and grief and making positive out of it."

I guess I can understand that I put him in a challenging position, and I know why he's mad, but it's not the same. It's nice that he's considering the possibility of me getting addicted, but he has no place to judge when he's addicted. I could say the same to him about 'making positive out of it'. Also— he doesn't even have a reason to be addicted. His life is perfect.

"And I care about you, Ry. I know I said, 'There are better things than hurting yourself', but this isn't one of those things. I cannot and will not be responsible for you getting addicted. So please, promise me that you will never do it again... I would feel SO guilty if you did."

"I promise."

For a moment, I could have sworn I was floating. All while the room spun around me, I somehow felt the most whole I've felt since...ever. The darkness suddenly feels inviting, and the voice in my head isn't so angry at the world.

As inviting as it felt, though, it isn't much different from how things are when the lights are on. Tension fills the entire room. Maybe even the whole house. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the one creating all the tension in the air, all by my lonesome.

"Hey, Tim?"
"Hm?"

He turns over and faces me. His presence is warm and comforting. I inch closer, trying my hardest not to get too close. Just hoping to feel more of his body heat overtake mine. The cold in my world seems to be inescapable. I can sleep with clothes on, and use extra blankets, but it doesn't work. I'm still always cold. Except for now and another time: the last time I was here.

"Thank you."
"For what?"

"For being here. And being friends with me. And taking the time to get to know me and being annoying and adamant as you were about sitting with me at lunch."

With every word, my heart drums against my chest. Tears fill my eyes as love, appreciation, and sadness wash over me.

Love for the friendship I've gained.

Appreciation for the kindness he's shown.

Saddened by the thought of losing him one day.

Because people always leave.

"Ry— please don't cry. You're welcome. I am glad to know you and happy you're a part of my life. More than you know." His hand drags across the 2 inches of the sheet between us. Slowly, but as loud as can be.

"I love you, Ry."
"I love you too, Tim."