“Me?” she asks with her nose crinkled. “What about me?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you have no fucking clue what he said about you, and don’t fucking lie to me. I found the oxy in your purse, the ones you stole from Reece and Cynthia. I know you’ve been struggling, but I thought you were determined to fight this shit.”
“I tried,” Evelyn says as she lets her hair fall across her face, refusing to look at me. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she says. “Until you’ve been addicted to something, you don’t get to throw stones or whatever.”
“I am an addict,” I admit to her. “I’m addicted to you, and I have been for so long that I don’t remember a time when you weren’t the only thing I think about constantly. Which is why I worked my ass off to help you and Rita. I love you too much to let you keep hurting yourself. I flushed the pills.”
“Why would you do that?” she huffs.
“I just told you. You’ve got to stop this, Ev. Whatever it takes.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?” she asks.
“I’m not exactly giving you the choice.”
“It sounds like you’re giving me an ultimatum, either give up the pills or leave.”
“I’m not letting you leave,” I tell her. “I don’t just mean that I’m not going to let you leave me, but I’m not letting you leave this fucking room without me until I trust you not to fuck up your life!”
Ev gasps and then rolls out of bed, most likely surprised that I’m putting my foot down with her when I’ve never done that before. “You can’t keep me locked up here all the time!” she shouts at me as tears fill her eyes while she staggers around looking for clothes to put on. It’s obvious from watching her that she’s not just groggy from sleep. “If you try, then-then you’re no different from him!”
“I am nothing like that son of a bitch, Lowell!” I get out of bed and go stand in front of the door, leaning my back against it with my arms crossed over my chest, blocking her only exit. “He kept you locked away out of jealousy and possessiveness. I’m doing it for your own good, so you won’t use again.”
“I won’t! Okay? Why can’t you believe me?” she asks while jerking a shirt over her head and then pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Because I know how hard it’s been for you and how far you stooped to get more pills. I want more for you than being fucked up all the time! That’s all, Ev. I swear.”
“If you care about me, you’ll let me go.”
“I won’t let you go because I do care about you,” I correct. “Does Rita know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re addicted to pain killers? Do you steal hers from her cabinet?”
“I would never do that to her!” she exclaims as she shoves her feet in her shoes.
“You wouldn’t? Really? I have a hard time believing that when you just stole from one of my brothers!”
“Fuck you, Cedric!” she throws back at me. The words may as well have been knives for the painful impact they have, slicing through me. It’s the addict talking, not her. Still, it’s hard to differentiate when the words are coming out of my Evelyn’s mouth.
“I love you, Ev, and I know that you love me too even though you’re pissed,” I tell her calmly. “I can handle it, though. Yell at me, hit me, kick me, do whatever you want, but I’m not going to let you leave this room again unless it’s to see your mother or go to an NA meeting.”
“NA? Seriously?” she scoffs. “I don’t need NA! I’m not…I’m not like that, not that kind of an addict. Pills are all that kept me alive for two years. Not you. Not my mother. The pills that pushed down the pain I felt in every inch of my body having to live with Lowell!”
“I’m sorry, Ev. More than you’ll ever know. If I could’ve stopped him, stopped you from leaving with him that night, I would have. But I couldn’t back then. I wasn’t strong enough for you or for us two years ago. Now I am, and I won’t let you down again. He left you with a disease, Evelyn. And I promise you, we will cure it together.”
Chapter Eighteen
Evelyn
No matter how much I thrash against Cedric or yell at him over the next several days, he doesn’t budge. Someone brings us food, and occasionally Cedric carries me into the shower and bathes me while I cry and beg him to find me some oxy or Vicodin, anything to make the agonizing pain stop.
Days and nights blur together until eventually I can breathe without the craving bearing down on me with its crushing weight.
“You slept all night. Finally,” Cedric says from the doorway of the bathroom where he’s running a towel over his dark hair and another one is slung around his hips. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I reply while drinking him in. A craving is back, but it’s not one for pain meds. And while I may want Cedric, I’m not sure if he feels the same about me after what I’ve put him through. Withdrawals are not exactly sexy.
“How long has it been? How long have we been here?” I ask while sitting up in bed, propping my back against the headboard.
“Five days.”
“Five? Wow,” I mutter.
“You feel like getting out of here today?” he asks.
“God, yes.”
“Good. You’re going to see your mom, and then I’m taking you to an NA meeting,” Cedric tells me, not asks, before he heads back into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving me in the dark again.
Oh yeah. He’s pissed. And he has every right to be angry at me. I fucked up. He’s worked his ass off trying to help me, and this is how I repay him, by being an ungrateful bitch addict.
The worst part? I know that the urge and need for pills is just another reminder of Lowell, like we’ll never be rid of him and he’ll always come between us.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t. Because I love Cedric so damn much. I would do anything for him just like I would do anything for my mother, even if it means suffering through the withdrawals, fighting against the demons inside of me.
It’s the least I can do for him, damn it! So if he wants me to go to NA meetings, I will.
Today is going to be a fresh start for us. One where I accept responsibility for my addiction and refuse to let it ruin my life.
The closest NA meeting is held in the basement of a local church every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at six p.m.
Cedric offered to come inside with me, but I told him I wanted to do this on my own. Besides, I wasn’t sure if he was offering out of moral support or because he was worried I would try to make a run to the closest pharmacy.
When I take a peek out of the high windows, I see it’s likely the latter, because he’s leaning against his bike in the parking lot, scrolling through his phone. Occasionally, he lifts his eyes to the entrance as if confirming it’s not me making an escape.
“Hey, how’s it going?” a woman comes up and stands beside me while I’m watching Cedric.