𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫? - 𝐓𝐌𝐑 𝐀𝐔, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨

039 - just like her mother.

And the note worked; Tyler actually got me the drugs. And it's only been a day since I requested them.

After taking a shower back at the camp, I find multiple containers sitting neatly by my suitcase. I count the containers, and there are ten.

Thank you.

I pick up a container and look inside. There are a total of fifteen pills. I know I should only take one or two pills at first, but instead I pour five into my hand and take them one at a time with no any water. They scratch my throat, but manage to go down. Somehow I immediately feel slightly better, but not good enough yet. I decide to take a nap, in hopes that I'll feel perfect when I wake.

**

My eyes open, and I don't know what the time is. All I know is that I don't feel good enough yet. I know I shouldn't, but I grab the container again. Everything piling up is getting too much to handle, and I know these will help. Instead of five, like earlier, I pour ten pills into my hand, and they glisten by the reflection of the moonlight. Since there are double the amount than before, I take the pills with water.

(A/N: I wrote this a while ago, and I'm just thinking to myself how much I rushed that. Literally nobody would take ten pills at once, that's psychotic.)

Once they're down, I open my eyes, and the world immediately shifts into a blur. My head feels light and funny, as if gravity is pulling me in a different direction. But it's also freeing, like everything weighing me down has been lifted. It's as though the whole world has drifted away, and with it, all the problems that used to suffocate me. It feels perfect.

Smiling to myself at this new feeling, I take my phone. I check my messages from Minho.

My boyfriend <3

9:57 pm

My boyfriend <3

Want me to come see you tonight?

I miss you

Not wanting him to see me in this state, I type a quick reply back, though guilt floods through me.

You

I'd love to see you tonight, but I'm feeling very tired

Sorry

My boyfriend <3

That's fine

Your needs are prioritised over seeing me

Good night xx

The feeling of guilt is horrible, but it quickly gets washed away as I remember the feeling I am clinging on to. It lets me believe everything is okay. It lets me live stress–free.

So I take more.

**

"Just one more," I whisper to myself, reaching for a new container again. In two days, I've gone through two containers, and it hasn't been enough. My whole world's been a blur, sounds muffled by my dizziness, but nothing changes the fact Teresa isn't here.

The emptiness gnaws inside me, and I can't deal with it any longer. I need more pills; each one I take lets me breathe for a certain amount of time. Then I need more. I'll always need more; it's never quite enough. I need to lift everything off my chest, and the drugs are good enough.

I pop the lid off the container, and seven pills drop on my palm, all of the tablets ready to be swallowed. I stare at the pills that let me feel better than ever before, and now I see why my mother had an addiction of her own.

With trembling hands, I swallow the pills down with some water, and it feels amazing. Once they're down, I can relax, but I don't know if it's enough. With a deep breath, I swallow three more.

When they're swallowed, I close my eyes and the dizziness washes over my body. I know that I'm losing myself, but I can't stop. It feels too good. The familiar rush surges through me, and I lean back, letting my thoughts go numb as the world fades away.

Hours pass by and I fall in and out of consciousness, the line between reality and my medicated haze becoming thinner by each passing second. I wish to scream, I wish to cry, I wish to stop. But I can't. I can't let anyone know how much I'm struggling. I can't let anyone know how far I've drowned. I can't let anyone know how I feel like everything I do is a path that leads to darkness and despair.

I can't let anyone know.

So I close my eyes and let myself drift away.

———————————————

I hated seeing my mum in this condition.

She spent most days downstairs, isolating as she drank. Whenever I tried to talk to her, she was always either high or drunk. I had to take care of myself.

I'd tried to take her pills and alcohol, but it was of no use; she always kept buying more. One time, she was so drunk she offered me some alcohol. I declined it, but it's stayed with me ever since.

I found myself perched on the edge of my bed, heart racing as the familiar sounds of chaos drifted through the thin walls of our small home. My mother's laughter, manic and high-pitched.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the noise to fade. "Just ignore it," I whispered to myself, but it was no use. The walls felt like they were closing in, and I could almost see the shadows creeping closer, taunting me with the reality I wished I could escape.

I hated shadows.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally got the courage to step out of my room. My heart thudded in my chest as I approached the living room, where the laughter had transformed into an uncomfortable mix of shouting and clinking glass. Peeking around the corner, I caught sight of my mother, her once vibrant smile now distorted by the effect of drugs. Her eyes were glazed over, distant, as if she were looking through the world rather than at it.

"Mum?" I called out hesitantly, but she didn't hear me; she was lost in her own world, a world filled with cocaine and heroin, where I had no place.

"What do you want?" She muttered, her voice hoarse and rough. The words hung in the air, jagged and sharp, sending a chill down my spine.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," I managed to say, trying to sound brave. "You said you'd come and play a game with me."

Her laughter erupted again, but this time it felt cruel. "A game? Whitley, I don't have time for games. Can't you see I'm busy?" She waved a dismissive hand, and my heart shattered at the rejection.

Again, she's busy.

That was when I realised how little I mattered to her now. The drugs had taken my mother away from me. Tears stung my eyes as I stepped back, retreating to the safety of my room.

Once inside, I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillows to muffle my sobs.

The hours dragged on, the sounds from the living room becoming a painful backdrop to my sorrow. Each shout, each laugh, was a reminder of what I had lost. I could hear the clink of bottles and the rustle of something being passed around, and a sense of dread settled in my stomach. I didn't know what the tablets looked like, but I understood their effects all too well.

Days turned into weeks, and the cycle continued. My mother would drift in and out of consciousness, sometimes for days at a time, leaving me to fend for myself. I learned to cook simple meals, to clean the house, and to pretend everything was fine, even when it felt like my world was crumbling.

I vowed that I would never let addiction take control of my life the way it had taken my mother. I would break free from the cycle, even if it meant facing the darkness alone.

———————————————

I have failed my promise.

I'm sorry.