THE SPACE BETWEEN

Chapter 25

Trigger Warning(s):  Language and sexual references.

(Missi's POV)

Jared dropped me off at a 24-hour car rental company in West Hollywood. The service person who waited on me was overly enthusiastic until I managed to convince him that the Lamborghinis were a little over the top for me. I chose an older model Mercedes SUV and even though the place was deserted I still had to wait until they prepped it.

The waiting room was deserted at that time of night, so I had my choice of seating. I picked the old Ames era straight-backed chair instead of the plushness of the comfy looking leather couches. I was afraid if my body relaxed that my emotions would spill out onto the rich Italian tile flooring and leave a puddle of tears. I needed to keep my resolve until I was somewhere I could let go in private.

Most of my brain was busily scrolling through Vrbo for beach rental listings that were relatively close by. Another part was injecting mental images of the day's events like some fucked-up array of flash cards. Shannon's display over the internet wasn't the only stellar moment I'd unwittingly committed to memory. I had another rude awakening when I went upstairs to grab an overnight bag.

As I watched Shannon hover over the dresser a gut-level hatred flared up inside me. My hostility wasn't directed at him, it was the substance he was meticulously primping for consumption. That's when the tears stopped, and autopilot kicked in.

Despite everything I really didn't hate him, but I did have definite issues with his behavior. My mind started searching through years of wisdom I'd collected. Maybe if I made this this seem clinical I could keep my emotions at bay. My heart was breaking for him. He had a disease that was difficult to control and up to this point he had kept it corralled. My guess was that losing the baby was the trigger, despite him trying to call me out about my supposed lack of love for him.

I wanted to attack the drugs. Ridiculously enough I wanted to try and annihilate something that neither lives nor breathes. They're simply couriers. The real culprit is the disease itself. I'd done a lot of blaming in the past until I understood that addiction itself was the justifiably deserving object of hatred. Until then my anger and blame had vacillated between the drug, easy accessibility to the drug, countries where the drugs originated, people who dealt the drugs, and on and on. In my misery years ago I could justify hating anything or anyone. But sadly, more times than not, it was the addict I detested. Anyone familiar with the modus operandi of drug and alcohol abuse knows that you could destroy every prohibited substance within a five-mile area, but if a user needs a fix very little—if anything—stood in their way. In essence they'd walk a lot farther than a mile for a Camel.

Substance abuse wasn't a popular topic years back and before the internet any snippet of information I came across was golden. Kirstie Alley once voiced her opinion of drug use that stuck with me, and I'd treasured it like it was an exclusive piece of insider knowledge. Her view was something to the effect that she'd never known anyone who used drugs consistently that wasn't trying to mask an underlying problem.

My quick trip into the archives of my mind came to an end when Shannon came up for air. He pinched his nostrils and his state of euphoria was clearly visible when he opened his eyes. The drugs were keeping him swaddled so reality couldn't find him nor he it. I couldn't cradle him the same way the drugs could—or love him enough to win the battle to turn him around. He'd chosen which way he wanted to turn and seemed quite content seeking solace in the arms of old mistresses that came in the form of pills, powders and liquids. Despite the absence of attractive physical features—their mind-altering effect was the key to their magical allure. 

When he noticed me standing in the doorway his anger towards me was predictable. He'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he had to pull out the smoke and mirrors to divert the attention away from him. I could almost predict the upcoming stabs he'd take at me in an effort to throw me off balance.