Heal Me

8

I didn't know what I expected when I walked into the wedding, but it sure as hell wasn't this.
Amy and Daniel looked perfect. Like they'd just stepped out of a magazine. The place buzzed with energy—a warmth I hadn't felt in ages. It was the kind of vibe that belonged to people who had their lives figured out, not the mess I was stuck in.
And then I saw Ellie.
Just seeing her made the world blur. I noticed the way she looked at me—disgust mixed with a hint of compassion. It felt like a punch to the gut. I hated that look. I hated that she could still care, even a little, while simultaneously rejecting me. I tried to muster the right words, and tell her how I still felt after all these years, but the whiskey twisted my thoughts. When her face shifted, and the disgust was clear in her eyes, but I saw the flicker of something else, too—a lingering softness that made it even harder to breathe. It felt like she was pitying me, and I hated it. I couldn't shake feeling like I was a complete failure. She deserved so much better than what I had to offer, yet I still yearned for her approval, and her forgiveness. I wanted to scream at myself for making her feel that way. Why couldn't I be the man she needed?
I sat on the hood of my car, the cold metal biting through my clothes, and replayed our conversation over and over. If I hadn't been drunk, I might have been able to tell her how much she still meant to me. I took a swig from my flask. I promised Daniel I'd stay sober and stay away from Ellie, but how could I when she was right there? The way she looked at me when we were talking haunted me. It was like a mirror reflecting everything I despised about myself. I leaned back against the windshield staring at the stars scattered across the night sky. Each one felt like a reminder of my failures, each one shining brightly.
I heard footsteps approaching, and I knew it was Daniel without even looking.
"Trevor," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet of the parking lot, sharp and direct. "What the hell, man?"
I turned to face him, silence hanging heavily between us. His expression was a mix of anger and disappointment. "What the hell was that back there?"
I didn't even have an answer. I wasn't supposed to talk to Ellie, let alone let her see me like this. I took a swig from my flask, feeling the burn slide down my throat. "I didn't know what to do when I saw her," I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
I raised the flask in a weak gesture. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened. She was there, and I was shocked."
He exhaled slowly, the anger softening just a bit. "You can't just show up drunk and expect her to forgive you for everything you've done. It's not fair to her."
I hesitated, my hand tightening around the flask. "I didn't want this," I replied, defensiveness creeping in, even though I knew I had no right to feel that way.
"I get that you're a mess, but you need to fix this, Trevor. For you. For everyone," Daniel snapped, and it hit me hard.
For a moment, I felt the walls around my mind start to crack. Maybe I wasn't too far gone. Maybe I could still change things. But then my thoughts drifted back to Ellie—the way I'd pushed her away and ruined everything we had.
"I didn't want her to see me like this," I muttered, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the shame. "I don't know what to do! It's like she's just... gone. And I'm still here."
"You think you're the only one hurting?" Daniel's voice was low, almost gentle. "Ellie doesn't need your bullshit on top of everything else she's dealing with."
I bit my lip and looked down at the ground, his words hitting home. He was right, but the reality of it felt crushing.
"Maybe it's too late," I said quietly, lacking the energy to argue back.
Daniel's jaw tightened, and I braced myself for him to yell at me. But he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and stared at me, his expression shifting to something softer. "It's never too late."
His words hung between us, heavy and charged. I felt suffocated, not just by the weight of my choices but by the realization that he was right. I was going to lose everything if I didn't stop running. The alcohol, the distractions—it was just a mask for the fear of facing who I'd become.
"Alright," I said quietly, my voice shaky. "I'll figure it out."
Daniel gave me a stern look, but I could see the concern behind it. "I hope you do."
All of this was too much to deal with, and I needed an escape. I stumbled into my car, and drove to the nearest bar. The neon lights blurred into a hazy glow as I pushed through the door, the familiar sounds of clinking glasses and laughter hitting me like a wave. I needed to drown out the reality of my life, if only for a few hours. I ordered a whiskey—neat—sipping it slowly at first, but I was soon downing shot after shot. Memories of Ellie flooded back, accompanied by the pang of regret. I watched couples laugh and dance, and the weight of jealousy crushed me. I was stuck in this cycle of self-destruction, and yet I couldn't stop myself.
Hours passed in a blur, and as the bar began to empty out, I knew I needed something stronger. I paid my tab, and staggered out into the night air, feeling the chill cut through my drunken haze. I drove home, each turn feeling like a risk, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fleeting high that awaited me.
Back in my apartment, the silence was deafening. I fumbled around, seeking the little stash I had left. My hands shook as I dug through drawers, the frustration rising within me. I tore through every corner of my small space, tossing aside clothes and empty bottles in a frantic search for my last baggie of heroin.
When I finally found it, the world fell away, and all that mattered was the relief it promised. I prepared the shot, the ritual almost comforting in its familiarity. As the needle pierced my skin, I felt the rush, a temporary escape from the mess I'd created, but it didn't last long. The high faded quickly, leaving me hollow and desperate for more.
With nothing left, I felt panic surge. I began tearing apart my apartment, ripping open boxes and tossing aside furniture in a frenzy. That's when I stumbled upon the photo. It was wedged between some old papers, and as I pulled it out, time seemed to stop. There we were—Ellie and me—smiling.
The sight of it shattered me. I sank to the floor, clutching the photo like a lifeline. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the remnants of alcohol and heroin in my system. How had I let it come to this? How had I allowed my love for her to fade into this darkness?
I stared at the photo, the laughter in our eyes feeling like a cruel joke. It was a snapshot of a life I once cherished, and the ache of longing twisted in my chest. "What happened to us?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking under the weight of my sorrow. Memories swirled around me—moments filled with laughter, dreams shared under starlit skies, and a love that felt unbreakable. Now, all I had left was this fractured reflection of what could have been.
With a surge of determination, I pulled out my phone and searched for a rehab facility. There was one in Canada that had good reviews—a place that promised to help people like me. I sat on the edge of my bed, the room still and heavy around me. My hands shook as I dialed the number for the rehab center. Each ring felt like a countdown, a reminder of how far I had fallen. When someone finally picked up, I barely recognized my own voice.
"I need help," I managed to say, my throat tight.
"Of course. What's your name?" The voice on the other end was calm, steady.
"Trevor." I swallowed hard, trying to hold it together.
"Take your time, Trevor. Can you tell me what's going on?"
I felt the tears prick at my eyes, the weight of my choices crashing down on me. "I'm addicted to heroin."
"It sounds like you're in a really tough place right now," the counselor said softly. "It's okay to feel overwhelmed. What are you hoping to achieve by reaching out?"
"I just want to be free of this," I sobbed, my voice breaking. "I'm so tired of feeling this way. Tired of hurting and hiding. I don't want to be this person anymore."
"Change is possible, Trevor. But it starts with a decision. Are you ready to make that choice?"
"Yes," I cried, the emotion spilling out of me. "I don't want to keep living like this. I can't keep doing this to myself."
"Alright. We can help you. We'll arrange for you to come to our facility in Canada. Can you do that?"
"Tonight," I whispered, a sense of urgency coursing through me. "I want to go tonight."
When I ended the call I felt a rush of relief mixed with fear. I was finally ready to face my demons, to confront the mess I'd made of my life. I packed a small bag, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. On the plane, I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling. I needed Daniel to know what I was doing. I quickly typed a message: *"Don't be worried about me going radio silent. I'm going to rehab. I love you, brother."* I hit send, feeling a mix of heartache and determination. I knew this was a necessary step, but it hurt to think of how I was letting him down.
Stepping outside into the cool night air after the plane landed, I took a deep breath. I was terrified, and broken, but I knew this was my chance to reclaim my life. I was finally ready to fight—for myself, for my future.