Nadine's Stuck.

FOURTEEN

Nadine's POV:

I am still so tired. I didn't get to sleep during homeroom. Even if I tried, I don't think I could have been relaxed enough to do so.

"Why did I get called to the office saying you wanted to switch roommates?" Cade sighs, pacing around the room.

I shrug. I'm on my bed holding Zara. I didn't know that they would tell Cade that I want to switch roommates. After what Xena told me, the mere thought of it had scared me. Is Cade going to hit me? Send me to the hospital?

He stops in front of me. "Nadine," he starts.

First name, I think.

"I wanna help you." His words are convincing, but my mind won't let me be tricked. "I really do."

My fingers trail Zara's stuffed body, petting her head, anxiously.

"I need to help you." He sits down next to me. "I need to be the one to help you. You're my responsibilty. Ever since you walked through that door, you became my person to help. Just let me help you, Rosewood. Tell me what's going on. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Rosewood, please."

"You did drugs? Rehab?" My mouth sputters out words that I didn't want to say, "Did you send Luca Penney to the hospital last year?"

Cade looks away. Sighs again. "Yeah. Did. I'm fine now. No more drugs. No more violence. I'm better."

"Relapses happen," I know enough about relapses. The cuts on my wrists are telling enough. In a way, my cuts aren't much different than his pills. They're both addictive. The itch keeps creeping back when you want it to go away so badly. I'd say the keen difference is that I wouldn't send someone to the hospital. I wouldn't lie about trying to help an anorxic looking girl. I wouldn't text my friends about a girl's body.

I want to believe that Cade truly is better. But I need to believe the facts, and the facts are that I cannot trust Cade at all and he isn't better.

I've seen drug addiction in my father. I saw what it did to him, what it caused me. I saw his relapses. This time, I'm getting out of it before I end up starring at another ceiling fan, wondering what I did wrong.

"Yeah," he agrees, "They do, and I've had my fair share of them, but I'm not going to have one anytime soon;" he looks up at the ceiling. "I don't know how to explain it, but that feeling of need...the urge, I guess, to do them...it's not really there anymore. It goes away after awhile."

I'm not sure what to say.

"I'm better," he ressures, maybe me or himself. I don't know who he's talking to anymore. "I got help and I'm better. Sometimes people just need help." He looks and goes back to talking to me, "You need help, Nadine. I'm going to help you."

I consider his words. Maybe I do need help, but I don't need it from Cade. I need it from a girl. Or from my blade. Or God because suicide has been weighing more frequently in my mind now that I don't live with my mom. I'm not religious, but I've heard that people who commit suicide are sinners. I think I've already commited sins, like when Riley did what he did to me. Sex before marriage is also a sin. I didn't stop him.

Regression must also be a sin, right? It's kind of fucked up. I'm not four. I shouldn't think like I'm four. Act like I'm four.

I'm just a giant sinner.

"Troubled." He says, when I don't reply. "They called you troubled. You're not troubled. I wasn't troubled. We're just kids. Kids who needed and need help."