"That's a dangerous mix. It's easy to OD."
His nod is weary, like he's been aware of this information for long enough for it to become a thorn in his side. "My parents got really serious. She went to rehab. For a while, she was clean. Then, one day, she wasn't. She graduated to heroin because it was easier to get."
"That happens a lot." It's common. Really common, actually.
"They made due on their threats to stop paying her tuition. She dropped out of school. Lived with some loser boyfriend. Then that went up in flames, and Mom and Dad offered to pay for rehab. She went, did okay for a few months, slipped. It's gone on like that forever. It's gonna stay like this. She doesn't want to get better."
"How do you know?"
"Evidence speaks for itself."
"It isn't like that. Addiction rewires your brain. It's not about willpower."
"Iris—"
"Sorry, I—"
"I'm sure you know a lot more than I do." His voice gets soft. "But I don't need a shrink's help right now."
"You need your friend?"
"Yeah." His eyes meet mine. They're vulnerable. Hurting. "She's gonna die with a needle in her arm and there's nothing I can do."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks." He pulls me closer.
I can feel every ounce of his warmth. His trust. His need.
He's giving me everything.
And I want everything.
I want to tell him, to explain, but I can't.
Not now. Not here.
"You must think I'm an asshole, wanting to cut her out of my life," he says.
"No." I shake my head. "I understand." God, how I understand. "You can't help someone who won't help themselves."
He brushes a stray hair behind my ear.
The wind blows it in front of my eyes.
His laugh is more happy than sad. "I know there's nothing I can do." He pulls me closer. "But it fucking sucks watching her destroy herself."
"Do you really think
you can cut her off?"
"I don't know. I haven't yet."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm used to it."
Tears well up in my eyes. He's hurting so much, and it's exactly the kind of pain I inflicted on everyone in my life.