Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
The moment I step out of the room, I regret it. I wish I could go back inside and remain ignorant. Go back to sleep. Pretend I didn’t hear anything. But that’s the thing about life: there’s no going back. If I could, I would’ve forced my husband to get more help. I wouldn’t have accepted his word when he promised he would never pop another pill. And when we lost our daughter, instead of locking myself in my room to grieve, I would’ve pulled him and our son into my arms and held them tight, refusing to let them go. I would’ve made sure Vincent was okay instead of focusing on myself, on my mourning.
But that’s not how it works. Every action has a consequence. And we can’t predict how any situation is going to play out. But what we can do… is learn from our mistakes. Which is what I’m about to do right now.
As I stare at the scene in front of me, I take it all in. Gage is sprawled out on the couch, his pants unzipped and his head back, eyes closed, as a woman kneels between his legs, bobbing her head up and down while making the loudest slurping sounds I’ve ever heard. My stomach tightens and roils, and I worry I’m going to throw up right here, all over the floor.
The other woman—yes, there are two—sits next to Gage with her dress bunched at her waist. Her thighs are spread wide, showing everything between her legs as she fingers herself, making noises of pleasure. With the hand that she’s not using, she drags her fingers through Gage’s curly locks and fists his hair, pulling his face toward hers. His eyes remain closed as their mouths connect, and they both find their release.
My heart… my battered and bleeding heart feels as though it’s stuck in my throat, blocking my airway as I continue to watch the scene unfold.
The woman who was just sucking Gage’s dick stands and reaches into Gage’s pocket, pulling out a small baggie. She spreads the powder on the table and then dips her head and does a line.
“Come on, baby,” she coos, “your turn.”
As Gage lifts his head, his hooded lids lazily flutter open, and our gazes clash. His eyes are lifeless and glassed over, and even though it seems like he’s looking at me, it’s almost as if he’s looking through me.
“Gage,” I breathe, tears filling my eyes as it hits me. As much as it breaks my heart to see him with other women, we’re not together. We never made any promises to each other. Gage made it clear that he couldn’t be that guy for me. He warned me, but I didn’t want to listen, too caught up in my own grief.
But I have to listen now because as much as I care about Gage, as much as I appreciate him taking me in and helping me through the worst time in my life… I can’t do this. I can barely save myself, let alone him, and I can’t put myself in this position again. Unlike my husband who lied to my face, Gage has been honest. He doesn’t hide the weed or the coke. He told me, flat-out told me, he couldn’t be that guy.
Gage is a drug addict, and I learned the hard way that I can’t compete with the drugs. I tried once, and I lost everything. So I can’t do that again. This means I only have one option: I have to leave, so I can save myself.
Breaking our eye contact, I go back to the bedroom and get dressed. Since I don’t have anything here but a few outfits and toiletries, I don’t take anything with me. But before I go, I spot a journal on the nightstand. Gage writes in it sometimes…
Grabbing a pen, I rip a sheet out and pen a short note to him.
Gage,
Thank you for being there for me when I had no one else. You took a broken stranger in and saved me from myself. I wish there was some way I could return the favor, but I don’t have anything to offer you. I hope one day you get the help you need. I know underneath the drugs and addiction, there’s a sweet, beautiful, caring man fighting demons that are winning. Don’t let them win, Gage. Fight harder and find happiness.
Xo, Sadie
It’s been over three months since I’ve been home. The day of the funeral, when we buried three lifeless bodies, I walked out the door and haven’t been back. As I stand on the front porch, staring at the door with the American flag wreath hanging from the Fourth of July, my heart races in my chest at the thought of walking through the door. I consider turning around and running away. I have my bank card, so I could stay in a hotel, but for how long?