Strawberry Kisses

Chapter 18

tw// mentions of drug use

Spencer's POV:

I sit on the couch, staring off into space with my notebook still held painfully tight in my hands. My gaze lingers on the door where she stood.

I should've told her to stay, I should've explained everything. I shouldn't have let her go.

I wasn't planning on telling her about this part of my life, at least not this early into the relationship. It wasn't her fault she found my book, and I shouldn't have blamed her.

I open to a random page in the book and read it to myself through the blurry tears.

December 18, 2007,

I went to the pharmacy today to pick up more Advil for my migraines. I looked behind the counter and thought about how easy it would be to forge a signature and get a few bottles. I've been clean for a couple months now, and I don't want to start using again, but sometimes the urge is too strong. I know if I start again, I'll be slowly killing myself, but it's almost worth it to escape my own mind.

I find another page farther into the book and start reading that.

April 22, 2009,

I thought a lot about using this morning. My body ached from the last case we worked on and I was tired. Then I met someone. Her name is Y/n, and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. She ran into me today at the office, and my heart stopped. Making eye contact with her for the first time was like a high I've never experienced before. I gave her my number and took her out to lunch. I had so much fun, and I want to see her again. Things like these make me grateful that I got clean.

I open a new page and start to write.

June 3, 2009

My girlfriend found this book today. She asked me about it and I got defensive. I shut her out, I even sent her home. I should have sat her down and told her, she deserves to know. I didn't want to have to put this on her, at least not yet, but now it's too late. I'm just afraid. I don't believe she would leave me after learning about my addiction, but I wouldn't blame her. I'll always be an addict, and she deserves someone who can take care of her; who can be whole.

I shut my book and throw it across the room, something I would never do under normal circumstances. I scan the pile of books, looking for something to help calm me down but I come up dry. I find my sketchbook and consider drawing something, maybe a picture of Y/n, but I can't find the motivation to draw.

I walk into my bedroom and lay on the side of the bed Y/n slept on. The pillow, my sheets, my entire apartment smells like her. I curl up under the sheets but before I close my eyes, I reach into my nightstand and retrieve my stuffed bear.

Maybe I should name it, I think.

I pull the pink bear to my chest and tuck it under my chin. I breathe deeply, inhaling Y/n scent, which soothes me back to sleep.