Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Eve?” He brought my attention back to him.
I ran my fingers through my hair and stared out the window at the nearly naked trees. A few dried-up leaves clung to branches. I empathized with them. I was still hanging on, too, but just barely.
Twenty days, and nobody came to visit me. Granted, I told them not to.
“What brought me here …” I whispered. My parents drove, but I had to check myself into the clinic.
I told myself it was for my mom because I was scared she’d take her life. And that wasn’t untrue, but I used it as an excuse for being there. I pretended I didn’t need to be there for me—that I didn’t have a problem.
Then I thought of Josh.
And I heard his screams.
I saw the look in Kyle’s eyes when he realized I’d been drinking.
My lip began to shake, and tears filled my eyes. “I showed up at Kyle’s house with a Gatorade bottle of vodka. And I took a hot pizza out of the oven and dropped it on his son.” I covered my mouth and shook in silent sobs.
He handed me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes and pressed it to my nose. “H-he was b-burned s-so badly.” I sniffled repeatedly, fighting for composure to go on. “And Kyle’s arm was still in a sling. So he had to carry Josh to the truck and drive him to the hospital because I couldn’t.”
“And that’s why you’re here?” he asked.
The fact that he posed it as a question instead of a statement made me think I had yet to give him the correct response. It was frustrating. If he knew the answer, why didn’t he tell me?
My mind only focused on my broken heart.
Twenty days and no one came to visit me.
How could Kyle have carried me in his condition and rescued me but not visited me at the hospital or the rehab center?
“Eve, if this is too much for you today, we don’t have to go the whole—”
“I’m here because I almost died.” I lifted my gaze to his, no longer attempting to keep up with the tears. “That’s what brought me here.”
Self-reflection hurt. I looked to everyone else to explain my behavior.
“I’m not addicted to alcohol, but I abuse it. And it’s hurting me and others. It robs me of my life, my happiness. I did this. It was my choice.”
He relaxed, removing his glasses and offering me a sad smile as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes,” he whispered.
More tears escaped as I sat with my thoughts.
Drinking didn’t make me feel like an adult. Sobriety did.
The day before Thanksgiving, I had my first visitors. When I reached the common area, my girls were waiting for me.
Sarah, Gabby, and Erin stood from the old brown sofa, smiles on their beautiful faces.
I walked toward them and stopped with six feet between us while I looked at the ceiling. “I’m not going to cry. Don’t you dare make me cry,” I said.
But my words made all three of them laugh … and then cry.
Sarah hugged me first. “You’ve got this. Eight more days.”
I couldn’t speak past my emotions, so I just nodded, not wanting to let her go.
She released me and pressed her hands to my cheeks. “I love you.”
I nodded.
Gabby hugged me next. “At least you’re not pregnant.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Has he said anything to you about me?” I asked.
Gabby stepped back, knowing exactly who I meant by “he.” Her smile faded as she shook her head.
I smiled to hide my pain, and I shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“I knew you weren’t on a mission trip,” Erin said, wrapping me in her arms.
“Of course you did.”
She released me and frowned. “I should have known. I knew you drank sometimes, but not—”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault but my own.” I looked around. “Where are Mom and Dad?”
Gabby nodded at Sarah.
“I told them you needed nothing but happiness and good vibes. Let’s be honest; they are pretty much the opposite of that,” Sarah said, sliding her blond hair over her shoulder.
“True.” I chuckled. “Let’s go outside.” I untied my sweater from my waist and pulled it over my head.
We sat at a picnic table, and it was a little breezy, but the sun was out, and the temperature was close to sixty.
“Will you get served Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Gabby asked.
“Gabbs!” Sarah elbowed her. “We agreed we wouldn’t make her feel bad.”
“What? I’m just making small talk.”
I laughed. “It’s fine. I’m sure they’ll serve dry turkey, soggy stuffing, and flaked mashed potatoes. But I’m okay. I had a breakthrough in therapy on Monday, and for the first time since I got here, I feel like I need this time away from home. I discovered I have more healing to do than I thought when I arrived.”