breathe

chapter 6 | charlotte

chapter 6

charlotte

Why did I keep doing this to myself? I hated the feeling of my stomach roiling and heaving. Vomiting absolutely sucked. But in those brief moments of intoxicated oblivion, I was freed from the heavy burden of guilt and pain.

I took a deep, shaky breath. "Okay, I'm ready," I told Laurel and Ben, standing unsteadily from the toilet seat. Ben wrapped a supportive arm around my waist, and Laurel followed us slowly down the stairs. The familiar sense of deja vu washed over me – once again, they had helped clean up my foolish self-induced mess.

I mumbled grateful thanks as we reached the bottom step. Laurel softly pulled me into a hug; "I'll come over tomorrow. We can watch whatever movie might distract you." A worried crease marred her blonde brow, though she tried for a reassuring smile.

"Thank you, Lo," I said weakly.

Ben gave Laurel's arm a gentle squeeze. "I've got her from here. Try to get some rest, yeah?" Laurel's tense frame relaxed slightly at his words. With a final nod to both of us, she departed to find Ash.

Ben guided me steadily out the door and toward my car. Streetlights painted the night in hues of amber, obscuring but not quite banishing the lingering shame in my thoughts. I leaned heavily on his steadfast support, both physical and emotional, grateful not to face the demons alone.

As we stepped out into the chilly night, Ben wordlessly removed his coat and draped it tenderly around my shoulders.

"Thanks," I murmured, pulling it close for warmth and comfort. We walked in silence to the car; my thoughts were a storm of guilt and self-recrimination. I shouldn't have snapped at him for attending the party instead of babysitting me. It was selfish to expect Ben to put his life on pause for my turmoil.

Lost deep in the tangled mess that was my thoughts, I barely noticed Ben helping me into the passenger seat until the door shut with a quiet click. I braced instinctively for the surge of panic, the realization that I was trapped inside a moving vehicle. But it never came. My emotions remained numb, veiled by the alcohol's lingering haze.

As Ben started the engine and pulled away, I gazed out the window into the blurred city lights, wondering – was this my new normal? Would I never be able to sit calmly in a car without some means of escape from my fears? Or was recovery possibly, if I allowed others' compassion to guide me from this place of darkness?

"What are you thinking about?" Ben asked gently, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Nothing," I mumbled automatically, shaking my head. I wasn't ready to share my fears yet. Hadn't I done enough sharing over the week?

Thankfully, he didn't press further. Soft music filled the comfortable silence as we drove. I gazed out the window, watching the trees blur while hugging my arms for warmth.

After a few quiet miles, I broke the stillness. "I'm sorry," barely more than a whisper. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ben glance over with a look of concern and care. I couldn't meet his eyes yet.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured me softly. His steady, reassuring presence eased some of the tension from my shoulders. But the questions and doubts still lingered as we continued through the night.

The quiet miles stretched as I turned Ben's reassurances over in my mind. After some time, I spoke again just above a whisper. "I'm still sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry when you wanted to see your friends. That wasn't fair of me to expect you to put your life on hold just for me, especially when I'm such a mess."