Before I Let You Go(63)
But it wasn’t what she wanted then, and it’s obviously not what she wants now.
So I dry my face, straighten my spine and walk back into Daisy’s room. Luke is right about something, at least. I need to focus my energies on the baby for now, and for once, leave Annie to take care of herself.
26
ANNIE
Luke,
You asked me today when I became an addict, and the question surprised me, because you should know better than to ask. With all of your vast experience and the degrees on the wall of your office, surely you understand that you don’t become an addict on a date or in a moment. It’s a process that happens degree by imperceptible degree—the frog in the proverbial pot of boiling water. It’s not a case of beer that makes you drunk, but the thousand easy sips that it represents. Addiction is, in that way, just like love—in the early moments, you don’t see the potential for it to bring you pain—it’s just something you slide into between laughs and smiles and moments of bliss. It’s something that feels like a shield, until you realize it’s actually a warhead, and it’s pointed right at you.
I told myself I was just having fun, and sometimes, I really was. I told myself I was being a normal young adult, spreading my wings—learning how to manage myself—even if I was increasingly learning the hard way when enough was enough. I was anxious the first time I went out to a party and woke up to find I’d drunk so much that I couldn’t remember how the night ended or how I got home. This became a regular occurrence during the beginning of my second year at college. I left the dorm over summer break and moved in with some of the other English majors, and it immediately became part of the routine for us all to go out partying every weekend.
Perhaps there was a single point in my life when I could have stopped the chaos—a fork in the road when I made a choice, and the result is the mess that’s happened since. That moment floated past me on a Sunday morning in a park near my apartment. Todd and I had been together for about six months. We had been at a party the night before, and when I woke up, he was in my room—but I couldn’t remember us getting back there. He suggested we go for a walk, which was irritating because I was feeling so hungover. Eventually, he lured me from the dark confines of my room with the promise of coffee, and I walked begrudgingly beside him to the diner, our hands entwined, my head throbbing.
Todd bought me the coffee and then we sat on a park bench.
“We need to talk,” he said, and I offered him a confused smile.
“So, talk.”
He stared at me, and my smile seemed to concern him. I watched the way his face contorted, as he was struggling to find the right words. Then he ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated exhalation and said uneasily, “This isn’t good news, Annie. I need to tell you something, and it’s really difficult for me to say.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Maybe we need to think about taking some time out. Just for a little while.”
The quiet words hit with the force of a freight train. I leaned away—but continued to stare at him—feeling panicked and bewildered.
“What—but why? Things are going so well. Aren’t they?”
Todd looked away.
“Things were going well, but they aren’t now.”
“What’s changed?”
“You have, Annie!” Todd exclaimed suddenly, and I heard the frustration in his voice as anger. I cast my eyes down. “You’re just out of control the last few months—you really embarrassed me last night. And last weekend. And the one before it. How much of that shit did you think I’d put up with? I had to carry you to your room again last night. People were staring at me like I was some kind of predator.”
“You didn’t have to carry me home,” I said flatly.
“Oh, I should have left you at the party then, should I? You were unconscious and you’d been flirting with half the guys on campus before you passed out. God knows what would have happened to you.”
“I can handle myself, Todd.”
“If that was true, you wouldn’t be getting blackout drunk every weekend. I can’t keep babysitting you. You just need to sort your shit out—go dry for a few weeks.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Todd? My father?”
I heard the words but I didn’t decide to say them. They involuntarily burst from my mouth and in seconds I was on my feet—adrenaline pumping through me. I threw the coffee onto the ground between us, and the steaming-hot liquid splashed all over me. Later, I’d find the drops scalded the bare skin of my calves—but I didn’t feel it at the time. I didn’t feel anything but shame and anger.
“Annie, come on—I’m not saying we have to break up, I just need you to think about—” Todd rose, too, and he glanced around the park nervously as he reached for my hand, but I slapped it away and I cut him off.
“Fuck off, Todd.”
“Whoa—” He was confused—bewildered by my overreaction, I suppose. I couldn’t look at him anymore, so I turned and started walking away. I could hear him calling after me, but I didn’t stop. I wanted to go back, but I was mortified. I wanted to turn back to him and apologize and admit that I was struggling and admit that I couldn’t deal with the crowds at the parties and ask him to help me figure it all out. I wanted to open up to him—to give him a little more of myself—because although he’d known my body, he still knew nothing of my soul or my past.