Addicted To You .L.S.

Thirty Seven.

Seven Months Ago
(Sixteen Years Old)

All week, I look forward to Harry's call. I'm only allowed to have two non-parental calls a week. It sucks, but  following Aunt Marry's rules. So when Gem's number appears on my phone instead of Harry's, I feel a flash of disappointment.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound cheerful. "Aren't you busy with school?"
"I needed a break. And I wanted to see how you are; it's been a while."
Months in fact. "Things are good," I say as I pick at the quilt spread across the bed. It has hand-tied squares, and I like to twirl the strands of silky floss between my fingers.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, you know, therapy, admitting my mistakes, my failings, basically examining all the bad parts of me. It's been a ball."
"Sounds like it. What's the plan? Is it... Are you handling it?"
"It hurts," I say. "All the time."

I can hear her intake of breath over the phone, ragged and too quick, and I wonder if I've been to honestly with her. If she still blames herself for all of this.
Of course she does. Gem wouldn't know what to do if loving me wasn't wrapped up in some form of guilt. Her and Harry have that in common.

"I've been worried about you," she whispers.
"I know." I lie back on my bed, sink into the safety of my pillow as I cradle the phone against my check. "I'll be okay."
"Harry misses you."
"I miss him." Can she hear it? The truth in those three little words.
"Do you know when you'll be home?"
"Probably not for another few months. It's hard, adjusting to no pain meds. I don't want to..." I stop.
"What?" Gem asks.
"I just—I can't. Not right now." I know she doesn't get what I'm talking about. How much it hurts. How hard it's been. How I've been forced to look at the worst parts of myself. The ugliness on the surface is nothing compared to what's inside me.  I'm not the same. I've gone hollow, scooped my insides out. The constant fear it's too late, that I'll mess up, slip back down into that hole, no way out, gnaws at me. I understand now how weak I am.
"I'll get better. I'm getting these cortisone shots in my back that help, and believe it or not, I'm doing yoga, and I actually like it."
"Yoga?" She asks. Somethings eases inside me, hearing the laughter in her voice. "I'd think that'd be a little slow for you."
"Things change, I guess."
"Guess so."

Another pause. I stare up at my ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars Marry stuck up there.

"Is Harry there?" I ask. "He was supposed to call."
"I know," Gem says. "He asked me to call and tell you he'll talk to you on Tuesday. He's all distracted. Mum and I are officially meeting this new girlfriend of hers."
A cold shock spears through me. I sit up straight, so fast that my back flares painfully in protest. "Girlfriend?" I try to ask calmly.
"Didn't he tell you? Of course not, Harry and his secrets." Gem's words are full of fondness. "She's that blonde on who follows her around like a puppy. Kylie."
"Kylie Miller," I croak. I think I'm going to be sick. I almost drop the phone, but for myself to keep listening.

He never said anything. This entire time, all these months, I'd been thinking... Oh god. This is Jess all over again. But it's so much worse this time.

"Yeah that's it. Is she a good person? Or am I going to have to scare her off?"
"Um.." What do I say? She's a whore. The biggest bitch in the world. A chronic cheater... any whole lie to get her away from him.
"Lou?"
"She's... she's okay, I guess," I stutter. "Kind of a jock? She's always had a crush on him. I guess he's finally decided to give her a chance."
Marry knocks on my open door, peering in. She taps her watch, and I nod to let her know I'm finishing up. "I have to go," I blurt out. My eyes burn. Any second I'll start crying, and I'm desperate to go before she catches on. "Gem... does he seem happy?"
"Yeah," she says, unaware what that one word does to me.
"Good, that's—good. Anyway, I should go. Thanks for calling."
"I'll call again," she says. "And I'll see you when you get home."
"Of course."

I never want to go home now. I want to stay here forever. Hide from what's waiting. I'm so angry and hurt, the memory of his touch still fresh on my skin after all this time. I don't even know what to do. I put my phone away and sit on my bed.
I want to use.
The thought slips through me, tantalising, kissing across my body. It beckons me. Just one more time. It'd feel so good, it'd make you forget, it'd make it better. And I want to so badly.
Three months. One week. One day.
I can't.
I won't.
But, oh, do I want to.