Carter's POV
I stopped counting the days after the third pill.
It started like it always does—just one, just this time, just tonight. I told myself I hadn't slept in days. That I needed to quiet the noise in my head, the ache in my chest, the hollow weight of what Aishwariya said to me. Her words still echoed in corners I couldn't shut out.
"You're just a stranger to me," she'd said, her eyes finally meeting mine. "We've only met three times. I'm getting married in three months. We shouldn't talk anymore."
It played on repeat—when I closed my eyes, when I stared at my ceiling, when the city kept humming and I stayed still, unable to move. And then Emily showed up.
Since then, the haze hasn't really lifted.
She came back the next day like she owned the place. I should've changed the locks, should've ignored the knock. But I didn't. She walked in, soft voice, softer touches, and something in her smile told me she knew exactly what she was doing.
"You're not okay," she'd whispered that first morning after, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on my shoulder. "You need help. Let me help you, Carter. I can make that feeling go away."
That's what she called it—help.
She brought coffee. She brought pills. She cleaned up the mess in the living room. She didn't ask questions about the bloodshot eyes, the untouched food, or the empty bottles I didn't even remember opening. She just kept talking. Soothing. Smiling. And leaving things behind in little bottles that never had labels.
"This will help with the ache," she murmured, pressing a small white pill into my palm. "Trust me. I know what rejection feels like."
The first one made my chest stop hurting.
The second one made me forget the way Aishwariya looked away when she said goodbye.
The third one made me feel like I could breathe again.
Now, I don't know what number I'm on.
I missed Monday's meeting. Then Tuesday's.
By Wednesday, I showed up an hour late, sunglasses on, head pounding, heart racing like it was trying to escape my chest.
I stopped answering Olivia's messages. Sebastian messages.
I told myself I'd reply tomorrow. Then I didn't.
The thing about spiraling is that it's not loud. It's silent. You slip. You slide. You drown quietly, still looking like yourself on the outside, while everything underneath gets darker and colder.
And then Olivia came.
It was Thursday, just past two in the afternoon. I'd locked the office door, told my secretary not to let anyone in. I sat at my desk, blinds closed, light too bright. My hands were shaking. I couldn't focus on the draft in front of me, couldn't remember if I'd taken something that morning or not. I felt floaty. Disconnected.
Then came the knock.
Three taps. Pause. Then again.
I froze.
"Carter, it's me."
Her voice cut through the thick fog in my brain like a knife.
Olivia.
I didn't answer.
She knocked again. "I spoke to your secretary."
"She said you've barely been in the office. That was your last email a week ago. Carter, open the door."
I dragged myself to my feet, fingers fumbling with the lock. When I opened it, Olivia's face crumpled the moment she saw me.
Her eyes scanned me—hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, jaw unshaven. I knew what I looked like. I saw it in the mirror this morning and avoided looking again.
"Jesus," she breathed. "You look like hell."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Her voice hardened with familiar concern. "We've been here before, Carter."
"I've just been tired."
She crossed her arms, stepping inside without waiting for permission. Her eyes narrowed.
"Don't lie to me. I know that look. I've seen it before—hell, I lived it. It's the same when you came to my house late at night years ago. "Are you using again?"
That question hit me harder than I expected.
I blinked. My mouth opened, but no sound came.
"You're missing meetings. You look half-dead. Something's wrong."
"I said I'm fine," I snapped, sharper than I meant. "Drop it. Not everyone needs saving."
But Olivia didn't flinch. "No. I won't drop it because you were doing okay. And then suddenly you're not. Something happened. Someone happened."
I said nothing.
Her expression shifted—confusion tightening into something like suspicion. "Is it... is it about Aishwariya?"
My pulse jumped.
"What?"
"I know you liked her. I saw it that day when you talked about her—you smiled, Carter. Actually smiled. It was nice seeing that after such a long time." Olivia's voice softened. "And now... you're spiraling."
I looked away. "This has nothing to do with her."
"Then what?" Olivia's voice rose. "What the hell is happening to you?"
I walked back to my desk, tried to sit down, but my legs trembled. My hands shook as I grabbed the water bottle, hoping it would hide how clammy my fingers were.
"I'm just... tired. Burnt out. That's all."
She stared at me, disbelieving. "No. You're high."
I froze.
"You're high right now, aren't you?"
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and unrelenting.
"I'm not—" I started, but my voice cracked. I wasn't even convincing myself.
She stepped closer. "Carter. Don't lie. If something's going on, you need to talk to someone. Me, Sebastian, hell—go back to your sponsor. Just don't do this to yourself."
"I don't need help," I said, barely above a whisper. "Not again. Not like last time."
"You're not invincible."
"I didn't ask to be."
"Then stop pretending you are." She leaned forward, eyes searching mine. "Three meetings with someone shouldn't send you back to pills."
I shut my eyes. I didn't want to cry. I didn't even want to speak. The room felt too small, her presence too loud. My own thoughts were already shouting over each other.
And somewhere behind that noise, I could still hear Emily's voice from earlier that morning when I told her about Aishwarya:
"You barely knew her," she'd whispered, tapping another pill against my lips. "But she still got under your skin, didn't she? Just take this. It'll make it stop. The wanting. The wondering. The what-ifs. Just one more, Carter. I promise. Then you'll feel better."
I had let her. Again and again.
She kept showing up, slipping pills into my palm like kindnesses. Stroking my hair like a lover. Kissing my forehead like she cared. She said I was broken. Said I needed saving. And every time I believed her, I slipped a little further into the quicksand I thought I had left behind.
"The pills make it easier," I mumbled, not realizing I'd spoken aloud.
"Easier than what?" Olivia demanded, suddenly alert. "Feeling disappointed? Rejected? That's not worth destroying yourself over."
Olivia was still watching me. Waiting for me to say something real.
But I couldn't.
If I admitted the truth—that Emily was here, that she knew where I lived, that I hadn't slept in four nights and didn't even remember what day it was—what would Olivia do? What would she think of me?
Would she see how pathetic I really was? That three brief meetings with Aishwariya had somehow mattered more than two years of sobriety?
"Please," Olivia said, quieter now. "Talk to me. I can help."
"No one can," I whispered. "Not anymore."
She reached out, touched my arm, and I flinched without meaning to. She noticed.
"Who's giving you the pills, Carter?" Her voice had dropped to something fierce, protective.
I turned away, blinking hard, trying to focus on anything else. The window. The shadows. The pounding in my skull.
"I need to go," I muttered.
"Carter—"Is it Emily"
And I froze, but just said to he,r "Please, Olivia. Not now."
She lingered a second longer, then finally nodded.
"I'm not giving up on you," she said, her voice heavy. "And neither will Sebastian. You were getting better. You were smiling again when you talked about Aishwariya. Whatever this is—whoever is giving you these pills—they're not worth losing everything you've fought for."
I didn't answer.
When she left, I sank into the chair, breathing like I'd just run ten miles. My hands trembled as I opened the drawer. The pill bottle was waiting, tucked under a notebook.
I stared at it for a long time.
I told myself it was just this one.
Just to make the pounding stop. Just to make the guilt fade. Just until I could think straight.
But the truth sat heavy in my chest: I was already gone.
And when I finally swallowed the next pill, my body betrayed me all over again.