This is it, then.
The nervous flutter in my belly transforms into wild flapping. I shift in my chair, trying to look them in the eye, but I can’t. I can’t look them in the eye when I say it. I look into Warren’s instead—into the familiar green—and if I squint, cross my eyes and make everything go fuzzy and indistinct, I can almost pretend it’s Reyn in front of me.
“The pills weren’t Reyn’s.” I say, “They were mine.”
The dining room is bathed in a tense silence while the confession sinks in.
My mother’s face works though a dozen expressions, the strongest being the cognitive dissonance that’s been holding her together for the last three years. That I’m still a child. That I’m hurt. That I need help.
My father is a little more connected with reality. “Can you repeat that?”
“The drugs were mine,” I say in the firmest voice I can muster. “I’d been hoarding them for a long time. Getting extra prescriptions when I went to the doctor, double doses from the specialists. I talked each one of them into giving me a little bit more so that I had enough to take for as long as I needed.”
“But,” my mother starts, touching her throat, “why would you need them? You’ve been past that level of pain for years now.” Her eyebrows knit. “Are you still in pain? Do I need to call—” My father’s hand rests on her knee.
I fix my eyes to the table, throat thick with shame. “I took them because I liked how it felt. Because it took me away, to a different place. I took them because I was,” I swallow thickly, “reliant on them. But not anymore,” I rush to say. “I stopped, I’m off them now.”
“Sweetheart,”
my dad carefully says, “if you feel like you need to cover for Reyn—”
“I don’t need to cover for him. I need to tell the truth.” To protect him. To fix this. If it can even be fixed. “Those were my drugs. Reyn found them in my room and took them away from me, but he did it for my safety. He was worried because I’d been upset—”
“Reynolds was in your room,” Mom clarifies, face paled. “Last night?”
And a bunch of other nights, too.
“Yes,” I slowly say, eyes flicking to Warren. “We’d had a fight earlier and he came over to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t,” I confess, avoiding their eyes. “I was having a… really bad night. He took care of me.”
“And he took the pills away from you,” Warren says, looking relieved. So relieved that he breathes a laugh. “I knew there was more to this. That damn kid.” Despite his words, I can see a spark of frustrated pride in his eyes, and I’d been so worried about Reyn that I hadn’t considered it before—the toll this would take on his dad. I know their relationship is awkward and strained, but that look isn’t the reaction of a cold, uncaring father.
I worry my lip between my teeth. “What’s going to happen?”
Warren rubs a hand over his face. “Nothing tonight.” My parents stand when he does, so I follow suit. “His arraignment’s tomorrow, so until then, he has to sit tight.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, nodding. I add in an energized burst, “I can send you the name of the lawyer! She’s really good, I think. Becca Adams?”
Warren freezes. “Adams? Christ, guess it’s time to borrow against the house.” He looks briefly embarrassed by this remark, but I’m quick to assure him.
“Don’t worry, this is, like… pro bono or whatever it’s called.” I explain, “Reyn and I go to school with some of her kids,” and I’m babbling and drawing this out, because I know the second this man is out the door, everything is going to crumble.
He looks pleasantly surprised at this. “Well, Reynolds and I appreciate you… calling in favors.” He seems to sense my anxiety, the way my eyes keep creeping to my parents. “Tell you what,” he adds, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t I get your number and I can text you when I have an update.”
Despite the coming storm, every cell in my body warms in a flood of relief. “Would you?” I watch as he punches in my number, giving me a grateful smile of his own before walking to the door.
I try to draw it out further, but it’s no use. Before I know it, Reyn’s dad is closing the door behind him and my parents are turning to me, waiting.
I’ve been running from this for a long time—too long. Even just yesterday, I would have done anything to avoid this. I can blame Emory and my parents all I want for being so isolated the last three years, but it wouldn’t be entirely honest. It’s been the secrets—the addiction—that truly pushed me into that dark, lonely place.
I lift my head when I look at them, refusing to go back there. “Let’s talk.”
Coming clean for Reyn’s sake was an easy decision to make.
Now, it’s time to come clean for my own.
38
Reyn