Throwing myself on my bed, I want to scream.
It doesn't matter what I do, what I prove, they'll never trust me again. They'll always see me as a drug addict, the shadow that falls over everything else in my life.
Through the blur of tears I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep away, I pull out my phone and text Aiden.
I need you. Please.
Can you come?
His reply is almost immediate.
Bedtime, babe.
I gape at the screen. He doesn't even ask why? Doesn't want to know why I'm asking him to come over late? He's just . . . leaving me alone?
I'm about to text him what I think of that when my bedroom door flies open and Mom's standing there, shrill and flailing. For a second I see her as someone else would. There's something wrong—really wrong—in her world. I wish I knew what it was. I wish I could fix it so we didn't have to do this anymore.
