Page 10 of Please Open Me
After a few swipes through the spongy cobwebs, I found my plastic ziplock bag and wasted no time pulling it out. With shaking hands, I tore it open. Two white pills tumbled onto the counter, and I crushed them with my thumb. Once I had a mess of white powder, I sucked the remainder off my skin. The dust was unbelievably bitter, but the slight warmth that swept through me was worth the unpleasant taste.
I stuffed the remaining pills back into my hidey-hole and snatched my wallet from my pocket. My fingers found the cool plastic of my driver’s license, and I dragged the edge across the counter to split the powder into two thin lines.
I pressed one nostril shut, lowered my head, and inhaled the first line with one greedy sniff. The dust shot straight to my brain, leaving fire in my sinuses. My eyes watered, and I fought the urge to cough. If I coughed, I’d waste half my shit.
I hit the second line just as hard, then stood up straight, choking on the chemical taste. My eyes burned as I cleared my throat. Waiting for relief, I tilted my head back and gritted my teeth.
A moment later, warmth settled deep in my bones. One by one, my muscles relaxed, leaving me able to breathe. A pleasant dizziness filled my head. I splashed water on the edge of the sink, wiped it with toilet paper, and flushed any evidence of what I’d just done.
I ran a finger along my nose, making sure there wasn’t any lingering powder before checking my phone. Mason had left twenty minutes ago to take the kids to daycare. I should have five minutes before she got home—ten if she stopped for coffee.
That meant I didn’t have a minute left to waste.
My feet moved faster than my mind as I darted toward the kitchen. Mason kept her medication in the small cabinet near the stove. She took her antidepressants in the morning and her birth control right before lunch. When she remembered, that is.
But, lovingly, Mason had more to remember than just her birth control. A supportive husband might've reminded her—maybe even handed her the pill with a bottle of water.
But I wasn’t supportive.
I was scared.
I knew she was out of my league—hadalwaysbeen out of my league. She was the sun, and I was a random chunk of detritus, lucky enough to be pulled into her orbit. And now that I’d relapsed? We were one bad day away from her finding out, packing her shit, and leaving—just like she'd done when her mom died.
I needed to keep her, and she couldn't leave if she was pregnant. So I did what I had to.
I hid her birth control. Turned off her alarms. Poked holes in every single condom that came into this house.
Admittedly, my last attempt at forced domestic bliss didn’t exactly work out. In my defense, though, things may have worked out if my baby mama, Ashley,hadn't been a massive fucking bitch. Mason was different. Mason wanted to be a mom. She alreadywasa mom. She loved it. She loved Rosie. She lovedmykids. And she loved me.
And she was my wife.
So if an accident were to happen? We’d shrug our shoulders, promise to be more careful next time, and figure it out.
We always did.
With that in mind, I snatched the plastic blister pack from the cabinet, popped out her Thursday pill, and tossed it in the sink. Just as I put the medication back, a key rattled in the door.
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I slammed the cabinet shut and bolted to the sink, viciously scrubbing my hands like they were covered in murder blood. Water splashed everywhere.
The front door opened, and a second later, someone’s keys clattered into the crystal bowl by the entryway.
“I’m home!” Mason called.
Fuck.
Try not to look guilty. Try not to look guilty. Try not to look guilty.
“Lucian? What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice was soft but curious.
I turned to see her standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, one eyebrow raised.
My mouth was dry as sand. Still, I swallowed.
“What’s it look like?” I muttered, turning off the water and holding up my dripping hands like a dumbass before running them down the front of my shirt.
She arched a brow higher and tilted her head.
She's suspicious. Find a way to misdirect.
