My knuckles barely graze Jenna's apartment door before it swings open, like she's been waiting with her hand on the knob. The hallway light catches her pink hair, making it look almost neon against her pallid skin.
"Hey," I manage, my voice rough from hours of driving aimlessly, screaming at my steering wheel, and crying like a goddamn child.
Jenna steps aside without a word, her oversized vintage sweater hanging off one shoulder, revealing skin that looks paper-thin. As I step into her cramped apartment, my eyes immediately lock onto the floor, a shoelace and a needle, abandoned like evidence at a crime scene.
"Oh Jenna," I breathe, the words catching in my throat. "I'm so sorry. Did it just happen last night?"
She closes the door behind me, her movements sluggish. The way her hand trembles as she turns the lock tells me everything I need to know about where she's at right now.
"Yeah," she confirms, hugging herself tightly. "Eleven months and twelve days. All gone."
"Fuck." The word hangs between us, inadequate but honest.
Jenna's eyes finally meet mine, bloodshot and heavy-lidded. She pushes her glasses up her nose with a shaking finger. "What about you? Summer did something?"
I collapse onto her threadbare couch, my legs suddenly unable to support the weight of everything I'm carrying. The mention of Summer's name sends another wave of nausea through my already-empty stomach.
"She's been drugging me," I say, the words sounding surreal even as they leave my mouth. "And I just caught her fucking Taevion again."
Jenna's face transforms from misery to shock in an instant. She drops down beside me, close enough that I can smell the sour sweat of withdrawal clinging to her clothes.
"Holy shit," she whispers, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Drugging you? Like, with what?"
I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots just to feel something other than the hollowness spreading through my chest. "I don't know exactly. Something that made me feel... good. Warm. Like everything was perfect when I was with her."
The bitter laugh that escapes me sounds like it belongs to someone else. "I thought it was love. Can you believe that? I actually convinced myself I was falling in love with her again."
Jenna's mouth falls open, her eyes widening in disbelief. She sinks deeper into the couch cushions, the withdrawal tremors momentarily forgotten.
"How did you even figure it out?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I rub my temples, trying to ease the pounding headache that's been my constant companion since this morning. "The withdrawals started today. Nothing too severe, just sweats, anxiety, nausea. I think the dosage was pretty low, just enough to keep me dependent on her presence."
Jenna shakes her head slowly, pink hair swaying with the motion. "And she just... what? Was fucking Taevion after you got back together? While drugging you to keep you compliant?"
"I don't know," I admit, the words like ash in my mouth. "I just can't be home right now. I drove to his house, and there she was, coming out of his place with this backpack." My voice cracks embarrassingly. "She looked shocked to see me, like she never expected to get caught."
As I shift on the couch, my gaze catches on something partially hidden beneath Jenna's coffee table, a small baggie containing what is unmistakably heroin. My heart sinks further, if that's even possible. The universe seems determined to surround me with temptation today of all days.
My eyes linger on the bag. The powder inside catches the dim apartment light, almost shimmering. It's been a while since I've seen it this close, but my body remembers. My mouth goes dry, a Pavlovian response that disgusts and terrifies me in equal measure.
Jenna follows my gaze, her eyes darting between me and the baggie. She reaches for it with trembling fingers, cradling it in her palm like something precious.
"I have enough for both of us," she says, her voice soft but eager. "If you want some."
The offer hangs between us, impossibly tempting. My skin crawls with withdrawal symptoms I don't deserve, they're artifacts of Summer's manipulation. But they're real enough that my body aches for relief. Just a little would make this pain stop, would quiet the screaming in my head, would let me forget how completely I've been betrayed.
For a moment, I can almost taste it. The sweet release.
"Scott?" Jenna whispers, her eyes wide and hopeful.
I reach forward and take the baggie from her hand. The plastic crinkles between my fingers, so light yet so impossibly heavy with consequence.
"Wait, really?" Her voice catches, surprised but pleased.
Without answering, I stand up and walk straight to her bathroom. I don't hesitate, don't give myself time to reconsider. I flip open the toilet lid and empty the contents into the bowl, watching the powder disappear in a swirl of water as I flush.
When I turn around, Jenna is standing in the doorway, her mouth hanging open in shock, eyes wide behind her oversized glasses.
"Scott..." she breathes, her voice caught between disbelief and betrayal.
I move toward her, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders. Her body feels fragile beneath my grip, bones like bird wings under paper-thin skin.
"Jenna, listen to me," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "You only just relapsed. If I stop you right now, we can make this a small bump in the road, not a complete derailment."
Jenna's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and something else, maybe admiration, flickering across her face.
"You just... flushed it," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Without even thinking."
I keep my hands on her shoulders, feeling her trembling beneath my grip. "We've worked too hard to throw away our sobriety, Jenna. Both of us. One bad day doesn't erase all that progress."
She shakes her head, pink hair swinging limply around her face. "But your wife..." Her voice cracks. "She cheated on you. She's been drugging you. If anyone deserves to check out for a while, it's you."
I exhale heavily, my shoulders sagging under the weight of everything. "Whatever monster Summer turned out to be, she's nothing compared to the monster I become when I'm on drugs," I say, looking Jenna directly in the eyes. "I've been down that road too many times. I won't go back there, no matter what she's done."
Jenna's eyes drop to the floor, her voice small. "I really wanted you to do some with me. I didn't want to be alone in this."
"Listen to me," I say, guiding her back to the living room and sitting her down on the couch. "We've both relapsed. And it doesn't matter how we got here. We both have to start over, right?"
I take her trembling hands in mine. "So let's start over together."
Jenna's eyes meet mine, a storm of conflicted emotions swirling behind those oversized glasses. Her fingers twist together nervously in her lap, and I can see her battling with herself, the addict who wants company in her relapse versus the woman who's fought for eleven months to stay clean.
"And what if I say no?" she finally whispers, her voice small but with an edge of defiance. "What if I don't want to start over?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I know this moment, I've lived it myself countless times. The desperate bargaining, the search for any excuse to keep using. I recognize the hope in her eyes that I'll back down, that I'll say it's okay just this once.
"I really hope you don't say no."