𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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I felt suffocated.
For the whole week, the girls have not left my side, and I've been having withdrawal attacks. Travis has managed to get a hold of Damien, my dealer, and blackmailed him into not selling anything to me.
I've been on edge, I've been anxious, irritated, I've even gained insomnia. I can't even keep food down as I've been running into the bathroom at random times to throw my guts out. I've noticed that I wake up sweaty and shaky, my body has developed tremors, and my muscles have been aching.
But most of all I was craving for relief more than life.
The scratchy beige armchair felt like a torture device. My skin crawled, a constant, low-level hum of unease thrumming beneath my forced smile. Dr. Olivia, my therapist with kind eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses, sat across from me, her expression a careful mix of concern and non-judgment.
She sat on her fancy chair, all smiles like a toothpaste ad. "Winter, how's it going?"
I slumped in the other chair, tossing my bag down with a thump. "Good," I mumbled, my voice dripping with 'don't believe me for a second'.
Her smile flickered for a second, good. "Yeah, I get therapy isn't exactly fun. Maybe today you could tell me a bit more about what happened with the drugs?"
Drugs? More like a total meltdown, but I wasn't telling her that. "Friends freaked," I said, keeping it short. "Figured shrink time was on the menu."
"And you? You worried?" Her eyes were sharp like she could see right through me.
I scoffed. "Worried? I'm practically an expert by now."
Her face went somewhat annoyed, but she took a deep breath. "Winter, listen. It's okay to admit you're struggling. Drugs are like a sickness, not something bad you did."
Sickness? I almost laughed. "Sickness? It's just having a good time, something you wouldn't get."
"Maybe not," she said, too calm for my liking. "But something is hurting you under all that anger. Something you're trying to forget."
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. I wanted to run, to disappear anywhere but here. She acts like she knows every aspect of my life, but she knows nothing.
"Look," I said, my voice tight, "Thanks for trying to help, Doc. But all this talking feels... useless. I'm not here to get better, okay? I'm just here 'cause my parents—"
"And you?" she cut in, her voice gentle but strong. "Is there, maybe, a part of you that wants to get better? For yourself?"
The question hung in the air, a challenge. Did I? A tiny voice, scared and quiet, whispered yes. But that meant facing the stuff that made me start, the empty hole in my life I'd been trying to ignore for years.
"I dont." I mumbled the words barely a whisper.
She didn't push me. Instead, she leaned back. "It's okay, Winter. I understand its hard to let go of something. This is a safe place. When you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen."
