Chapter 35 - Oliver

T he euphoria takes over swiftly, and I allow myself to fall back on the bed with a grin on my face. God, I missed this. Did I genuinely think I could have been happy here? Addicts don't deserve to start over. Addicts don't deserve to move on. Addicts don't deserve to get absolved from killing people.

It's been half an hour since I've taken the pills. My body feels like it's floating on a cloud, and my mind is no longer a painful place to be in. I feel whole again. My fingers tingle, and I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from wanting to rip them off my hands. Lying on my side, I close my eyes and let myself dive deep into a sleepless dream.

I can tell Hunter has been pacing around the room since I closed my eyes. I hear a bit of shuffling, and as soon as the covers rustle next to me and the bed dips, I know time has worn him out. I open my eyes to see him lying on his side—we are close enough to share a breath—and he's staring directly at me, his lips pursed.

I bet he's thinking about my eyes. He always used to tell me they looked all wrong when I wasn't sober. That my eyes looked cloudy and bloodshot. That the blue in them just disappeared. It brings a pang of sadness to my chest to not look like the Ollie he always loved—or I thought he did back then, anyway.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asks, his eyes worried even though he's the one who pushed me to do this. However, let's be serious; I would've done it anyway.

"I'm perfect," I reply with a grin, and he closes his eyes tightly.

"Fuck," he says softly. "I fucked up so bad."

I laugh. "Maybe when I'm not high anymore, I'll finally have the guts to hate you." And because I'm a masochist who can't even enjoy the high right now due to his proximity, I say, "It wasn't my fault, you know."

As if he knows exactly what I'm going to bring up, his face hardens and he swats my hand away when I try to touch him. "I don't want to talk about her."

"I know you think I killed her…but you have it all wrong. She was in the car because of me. But it started raining, and she was speeding. I asked her to slow down—I told her a bunch of times, that much I remember. She wasn't listening, Hunt," I choke out, tears springing to my eyes from the fresh wave of pain that wraps around my heart. No pills in the world could make this better. "And then the car was spinning and?—"

"Stop," Hunter breathes, scrunching his eyes. "Stop talking."

"No." I grab his face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks in what I'm sure is a painful grip, and he looks at me. His eyes are so green today, a deep forest green. And they're dilated, taunting me.

"I didn't kill her," I say hoarsely, my voice cracking. "Even if it feels like I did."

His hand comes up to wipe tears I didn't even realize were falling, and I relish in his touch. "You're the reason she was in that car."

"I know ," I sob, my shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry."

His lower lip trembles and he catches it between his teeth to stop the movement, further breaking my heart. He doesn't want to shatter in front of me since he doesn't want me to put his pieces back together. He wants to keep hating me until the end of our days.

"Why were you high?" he asks me, his voice so low it's hard to hear.

"I was always high."

"No." Hunt searches his eyes, finding nothing but pain. "You were more intoxicated than usual."

"I took several pills," I reply, remembering how out of it I was. I had no notion of time, and my limbs felt so heavy I couldn't even open the car door. "I usually only ever took two at a time."

"Why?" His brows furrow in confusion. "Why would you take that many?"

"It made it easier."

The puzzled look on his face is comical. How the fuck does he not see it? I truly don't understand why he's so fucking blind. "What was easier?"

"Being around you," I reply. "Being around you yet not being able to have you was torture. A slow death. To have you this close…" I cup his face again and lean in, brushing my lips against his in an almost kiss. "But not being able to taste you—to keep you. I'd rather die than go through it again. Which is why you need to get the fuck out." I motion towards the door. "Let me do this shit alone."

"No," Hunter says firmly. "I'm staying."

"You scared I'll die?" I smirk. "I'm fine, Hunter."

I shut my eyes and try to enjoy the high, taking his silence as defeat. He knows I'm more than okay right now, floating on a cloud. And if he'd just shut the fuck up, I could enjoy how I'm feeling right now. Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I hear him say?—

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so fucking sorry." A moment of silence, and then he whispers, "I should've been the one in that car with you."

"Maybe you're right."

That's the last thing I hear myself say before I pass out.

When I woke up, Hunter was still by my side. I came to the realization he was going to stick around until my high wore off.

And I don't know how to feel about it.

It had been a long time since I had Oxy.

I had been clean for four months.

I'm bent over the toilet, dry heaving the lack of food in my stomach. It's officially been twenty-four hours since the high wore off, and now I realize I'm experiencing withdrawals all over again. Fever, chills, the whole nine yards. I'm fucking miserable—another reminder as to why I didn't want to use again, being that I know I'm going to have to quit at some point.

And quitting? The only thing that would make it worth it, is having Hunter. He's my antidote, the one thing that fights off the venom and puts me back together. The only one who can get rid of the poison inside of me and not make me crave it. For as much as I crave the pills…I crave him more.

I throw up again, hugging the toilet as my stomach contracts painfully.

Goddamn it.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my nostrils flare as I take a deep, slow breath. I feel Hunter's looming presence. Is it not enough that he did this to me? Is he here to gloat or make fun of me? Because I can't deal with it right now. Not when I'm?—

Bile rises to the back of my throat, and I puke again, breathing hard as tears escape my eyes. Slow, cautious footsteps get closer, and I pull away from the toilet as the nausea subsides again. I don't even acknowledge him. Instead, I hug the toilet and rest my head on my arm. I need to rest before doing this all over again, and I consider lying on the tiled floor.

"Ollie," Hunter breathes, and my spine straightens. Why is he calling me that? "Are you okay?"

"This is what happens when you give drugs to someone who has been clean for months." I laugh hoarsely at the irony of it all, fighting more nausea. "I thought you knew."

"It's—"

"If you'll excuse me," I manage to cut him off. "I'd rather be alone. You've done enough. Can you get the hell out?"

" Please ," he begs, though I don't know what for.

"Get. The. Fuck. Out." I'm throwing up again before I can even finish my sentence.

A warm hand touches my back, and he begins to rub circles over my bare skin while I dry heave. I try to focus on the feel of his rough fingertips—a hockey player's hands.

I flush the toilet again, and Hunter is suddenly at the sink, soaking a rag. He hands it to me, and I wipe my mouth and face, avoiding eye contact. He kneels behind me and envelops me in his heat. His front is to my back, his face in the crook of my neck. He breathes me in. I smile despite myself as a deep sadness takes over me before I get a chance to enjoy his closeness.

"Is this what you wanted? To watch me fail?" I ask him, a defeated sigh following my words.

He shakes his head, his lips brushing against my skin and making it tingle. "No," he croaks out, and you'd think he's the nauseous one by the tone of his voice. "This is not what I wanted."

"You need to leave," I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please stop hurting me to make yourself feel better."

Hunter bites my neck, making it sting, and I cry out. "You know I hate when you tell me what to do, Ollie. Just let me take care of you. Please? Then, as soon as you're better, I'll leave you alone. We can act like it never happened. We can go back to whatever the fuck we were doing before now…"

"You're giving me whiplash," I reply. "I just—" I breathe in slowly as I will myself not to throw up again. "I need you to stop coming after me…unless you're going to stay. I need you to come to terms with the fact that you're gay—on your fucking own—before you hurt me more."

His sharp inhale is the only indication that he heard me, and he lets it out against my neck and then kisses it. "I know." So he is capable of acknowledging when he's fucked up, but he can't admit to being gay. Great . "Just today. Give me today."

I smile, but it's forced. "You have a game in two hours."

"I know." How the hell is he going to make this happen? "I'll go, and when I return, I'll take care of you."

"How?"

"Don't worry about it."

My stomach drops, and I hug the toilet again and throw up.

" Fuck ," he mutters under his breath, then gets up and leaves.

A few minutes later, he's back with an electrolyte drink and some saltine crackers and sets them on the floor beside me. He takes the rag and washes it, wringing the water out, and hands it back to me.

Hunter sits next to me, stares at me for what feels like forever, and doesn't say one fucking word.

I know he has to go soon, so I turn my head and look at him. Really look at him. I see deep purple bags under his dull and bloodshot green eyes, and his brows are furrowed as he looks at me. He's still beautiful. But right now, he seems just as sick as me.

"You should go now," I tell him. I don't want him to see me in this state. I don't want him to know how my body still craves the drugs. "You're gonna be late to warm-ups."

"Okay." He nods, smiling tightly. "Try not to throw up anymore?"

I laugh, though it holds no humor. "Sure." Hunter pushes up from the ground and begins to walk away, but just before he can step out of the bathroom, I clear my throat. "Hey, Hunt?"

"Yeah?" he asks, his shoulders stiffening.

"Can you lock me in? Please?" I glimpse down at the toilet, not wanting to see the way his body deflates before my eyes. "I don't trust myself right now."

"Whatever you want."

I nod, then turn my face and rest it on my arm as he closes the door behind me.

I want to start over.

I want to get clean.

Again .