“I didn’t want you to see that shit,” I mutter. “Not ever.”
Emma swallows. “But I did. And I’m not ignorant of what you’re doing.”
That lands annoyingly painful.
She squeezes my hand—just enough to keep me from standing again. “Jude,” she says softly, “I’m not judging you. I’m not angry.” Her breath trembles. “I’m scared.”
The word slices clean through whatever the coke tried to turn me into. My jaw tightens. My chest aches. “Em…” My voice splinters. “I’m—I’m managing it.”
She shakes her head gently. “You’re not. I saw you. I saw Micah.” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I saw how easy it was. How normal it looked for you.”
I flinch. “I know what I’m doing,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
“I know,” she says quietly. Like she’s soothing a feral animal.
I love her. I’m not a mean person.
So why am I being like this?
I stand again, pacing across the studio. My fingers flex at my sides like they need to grab something, or hit something, just to bleed the electricity out of me.
“Jude,” she calls gently.
I stop.
Sunlight spills across the paint-splattered floor. Brushes in jars. Half-finished canvases. The little couch where she curls up with her clients. Everything about this space is calm.
And I am the opposite of calm.
A malfunctioning nerve ending in a room full of peace.
She looks at me with so much understanding that it makesme nearly fall to my knees. “Come back,” she whispers.
I swallow hard and sit again because my body obeys her in ways I can’t explain. My pulse is still racing, but the anger isburning out. My leg still bounces, but my hand finds hers again, needing the grounding.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I just—” My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes soften. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve worked with people with addictions before.”
I look away, jaw clenched. Shame crawls under my skin.
She shifts closer, her knee brushing mine. “I didn’t run seven years ago, Jude. You did.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll get you out of this...somehow.”
I exhale shakily, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Alright,” I breathe.
A heavy and intimate silence settles between us. Once, we knew each other by heart. Now we sit side by side like strangers, bound only by the echo of what we used to be. She grew up. I broke into pieces.
Her expression softens, but it’s edged with that stubborn determination she’s always had. “I want you to come see your parents,” she whispers.
My stomach knots. “Emma…” My whole body goes rigid. “I haven’t—” The words break off. “It’s been three years.”
“I know.” Her voice is gentle. “And they miss you, Jude. So much.”
A sharp ache blooms in my chest. “I don’t know if I can face them like this.”
“You don’t have to beready,” she says. “Just willing.”
I shake my head, fingers twisting together. The thought terrifies me. The disappointment. The hurt. The way my mom used to look at me like I held her world...before I dropped it.