But I can’t help but smile, even if it feels jagged and nervous. I’m always smiling on this shit.
I splash water on my face, but it doesn’t do a damn thing. I look wired. Ifeelwired. The drive over is hell, my grip tight on the steering wheel, my knee bouncing uncontrollably. Every red light feels like it’s staring directly into my skull.
When I step into her studio, the scent of paint, lavender, and that soft vanilla I only ever associate withherhits me all at once. Emma’s on the couch, sunlight spilling over her brown-gold hair. Her sketchbook rests open on her knees, untouched.
She looks up when the door closes. She’s not smiling.
Ah, shit.
“Hey,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Come sit,” she says quietly.
My fists clench in my pockets, but I sit beside her anyway. My leg starts bouncing again immediately. I try to stop it. I fail fucking miserably.
She studies me—my pupils, my jaw, the twitch in my fingers. “Jude...we need to talk about last night.”
My whole body goes cold and hot at once. “Em—”
“I saw you,” she says quickly. “I saw everything. On thepatio.”
The lighter. The kit. The needle.
My stomach twists violently.
“You weren’t supposed—” My voice fractures, then hardens into something defensive. “You don’t get what any of it means. You don’t know how—”
“Don’t do that,” she says, so calm it knocks the air out of me. “Don’t push me away because you’re scared.”
Scared.
The word rattles something ugly in my chest.
“It’s not that simple,” I snap, heat flaring instantly. “You don’t know what withdrawal feels like. You don’t know what happens when you’re already that deep. You don’t fucking know—”
“No, I don’t,” she says, still soft. Stillmaddeninglysteady. “Help me understand. We can talk about it.”
The coke surges again, turning every thought sharp and hostile, like it wants blood. I stand abruptly, pacing. My skin feels too tight, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
“You’re acting like it’s just—just someswitch,” I spit. “Like I can wake up and decide,Oh, Emma doesn’t like it, guess I’ll stop.That’s not how this works. Come on, you’re smart. You know that.”
She frowns. “Jude, please sit.”
“I—fuck, Em, I can’t—just—” My voice cracks, everything inside me moving too fast, pressing inward.
“Sit,” she says again. Same tone. It holds no judgment or anger. It’s her professional voice. Like I’m apatient.
I breathe once. Twice. Then I ease back onto the couch.
Her hand finds mine, and this time, I don’t pull away. She studies me again, eyes too analytical for my liking right now. “You’re high,” she says gently. “Aren’t you?”
I close my eyes. “Obviously.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For not lying.”
And suddenly, I’m the one unraveling.
The buzz is still ripping through me, tightening every muscle, making my skin prickle with agitation. I rake a hand through my hair, tugging at it because everything inside me feels unstable,uncontained.