He's trapped me in his sights.
Waiting to consume me.
He wants to awaken the darkness inside me.
Possess it and own me.
Damon West is bad news.
He might appear charming on the outside.
But that's only a mask he wears to hide the true predator inside...
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Life is crumbling around me, and it's about to break into a million pieces.
"No more alcohol, Jess."
Uncle Nate's words slice through me, and my mind goes into a complete and utter panic.
No, no, no. I need it. I need alcohol. I need the haze.
"You don't understand," I start before he cuts me off.
"I understand, believe me. You're destroying yourself because you blame your mom's accident on yourself. You need to stop this. It wasn't your fault; it was an accident."
"I can't stop," I whisper.
"You have to stop, or I'll send you to Fairview, a rehab facility."
"You can't do that."
"I can and will; you are my responsibility now. Your mom wouldn't want this."
His words sink into me like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the sea. I know she wouldn't, I do. But she's not here. The reason she's dead is because of me.
Murderer.
"I'll stop, I promise; please, Uncle Nate, don't send me there."
"You need to mean that, Jess. There will be no more alcohol in this house."
"I mean it, please." I'm not sure I mean those words, but I'll say just about anything to avoid ending up in rehab.
"You've got one shot. I mean it."
"Okay. I'm so sorry, Uncle."
"I love you, Jessica, so please stop this. I know I haven't been the most present figure in your life, but I'm working on making that change. I've never done this whole parenting thing before so forgive me. Your mom made this look so easy." He gives a sad smile.
His words are laying bricks in my stomach one by one. I've let him down, and I've let Mom down.
I can't do this without the haze; I can't.
Uncle Nate gives me another sad smile as his phone rings and tells me he has to take it.
With my head down, I make my way to my room. My demons are singing songs in my head, songs of destruction and despair. I can't do this. I'm a terrible person because I won't.
I'll hit the bottom.
I'll drown.
I turn my thoughts into prayers for some kind of hope, but it's useless. I'm praying to a god who has never shown up for me. A god I cursed out for taking my mom. A god I don't believe in.
My skin starts itching all over, and my palms became sweaty. The more I think about not drinking, the more the need courses through me.
