Page 149 of Please Open Me
“I don’t want your help. I want—”
“I don’t fucking care. I cut my own hair; I can help you with yours.” I looped my arm through his.
That shut down the conversation. If Lucian wanted help, he’d get it. I’d rather die than give him another chance to hurt the mother of my child.
Chapter 36
Lucian
Sebastian Castillo, the boy genius who graduated high school at age nine.
Sebastian Castillo, the kid who didn’t stutter like a dumb ass during the cruel and unusual punishment known as popcorn reading.
Sebastian Castillo, the man who never once had to use drugs just to feel adequate in day-to-day life.
Why thefuckwas my little brother so much better than me? Why had healwaysbeen so much better than me?
The thought ricocheted in my skull like a bullet, slurring together what little remained of my brain as I white knuckle gripped the dining chairhecarried into the bathroom so I could sit down while he cut my hair.
“Quit moving your legs or I’m going to shave your head,” Sebastian mumbled around the cigarette hanging from his lips.
I bounced my knee harder out of spite. Sebastian sighed, tapped some ash out of the open window, and turned to root around the cabinet under his sink.
After a moment, he returned with an electric razor. I watched in the mirror as he examined it before flipping it on. A dull buzzing filled the room as he turned the shaver over.
“That should do,” he said, almost as if to himself, before stoking a cigarette out in the sink and coming towards me.
“No!” I yelped, putting my hands over my head.
“Quit crying, drama queen.” He turned the razor off and grabbed the scissors. “I just wanted you to stop bouncing your leg.”
“I wasn’t crying, I just—I worked hard to grow my hair out, and it sucks that I have to chop it off.”
“Mm.” Sebastian yanked a comb through my hair.
I winced as it caught in a knot, and he grabbed scissors and lobbed it off. A larger-than-expected chunk of matted curls fell into my lap.
I picked up the hair between two fingers and grimaced. The matted clump looked like something pulled from a shower drain, and it didn’t smell much better.
Thank God Mason wasn’t helping me. I’d already dug a hole for myself. It would have taken a dumbass to not realize that. But I had no ideahowto quit digging. It’s like my fucked up head wanted me to get to rock bottom, especially afterallof this.
Losing my kids for two weeks.
Potentially losing my marriage.
Being so dope sick I spent nights praying I would die because it would be easier that way.
I stillwantedto use. It got to the point that I’d spent hours scrolling through my contacts, seeing if I had my old dealers from when I lived in Portland saved.
Thank fuck I didn’t. But still, there wasn’t a moment my skin didn't crawl, begging for something to take away the ache in my joints and the shrill voice in the back of my head. The one that rightfully screamedYou’re not good enough.
“Why the fuck did you even relapse?” Sebastian asked, now trying to even out what remained of my hair.
I tried to shake my head, but Seb put an end to that shit by holding me in place.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled as more hair fell onto the towel draped over my shoulders. “I guess it was something to do with Sophia–”
“Nope, I don’t want to hear another name other than yours fall from your lips. No one held a gun to your head;youchose to relapse.”
