THE SPACE BETWEEN

Chapter 27

Trigger Warning(s):  Explicit Language and Morbid Sexual Scenarios

**Caution** The full moon cometh again, and during its approach my imagination tends to blaze quite boldly. The end of this chapter is an example of how bizarre my creative flow is at times. (Maybe I should change genres.) Anyway, it's twisted, so be prepared. 

(Shannon's POV)

The hot humid air felt suffocating as I walked to my car. More than the overwhelming heat was the feeling of panic that was choking me. My mind flashed back to the first time Missi had left—the same fury in her voice and hurt on her face then. That wasn't how I expected things to go. I was the cause of the torment she was feeling and that cut me deep. My first inclination was to get fucked up—go numb—and forget, but that was no longer an option if I was serious about her coming back.

If she left and disappeared again, I'd be devastated. My regrettable behavior that time was also linked to being selfish and inebriated. That made me wonder if subconsciously I was using again as a way of distancing myself from her. One thing I did know, I had to break my free fall into the never-ending spiral, or the past would repeat itself. 

I turned onto Highway 1 with barely a glance in either direction. Flying down the highway I suddenly lost control in the middle of one of the long windy curves. I'd misjudged the snakelike road by taking it too fast.

'Who are you running from?' I shrieked from the shock of how close I'd come to careening off the road.

I already knew the answer though. I was trying to outrun my alter ego, the one who takes over when I can't control on my drug use. He's never been a pretty image, but neither was the real me waging war on the demons who led me to drugs in the first place.

I had to want to quit for nobody but myself. Sadly, at this point I couldn't deny that keeping Missi from leaving was the main draw. But I knew given a choice between saving a relationship or taking one more hit, snort or pill timing might make it a difficult decision. For an addict, a decision like that could be cloudy at best and swayed by a multitude of factors.

My mind kept racing even though I'd slowed my speed. I had to come up with an actual plan to rectify things with Missi.

I called a friend who'd battled his way back from the edge like I had. He was still maintaining sobriety and sounded upbeat. Asking for help wasn't my strong suit, but eventually I got up the nerve to ask him for a favor.

He agreed to meet me at my place to help gather up all my secret stashes. I needed his support to help me be a responsible guy and not falter when it came down to carrying out the daunting task.

(Missi's POV)

I was furious when Shannon left. The gall of him thinking that putting a bandage on our problems would make them disappear. He hadn't even put any emotion into his lame apology. I would be damned if I was going to believe one more man's hollow intentions. I'd accepted artificial apologies most of my life and placed misguided faith in them like a lamb being led to slaughter. I'd already exceeded any normal quota and experience always proved that it rarely took the remorseful party less more than 24 hours to discredit their proclamation and me to realize life had returned to the same shit on a different day. And yet—like a dumbass—I'd stayed with them and wished for brighter days ahead.

'Make things right'...what kind of stupid comment was that? Was I supposed to develop convenient memory loss in order to make that possible? If I didn't love this man deeply—if he hadn't treated me better than anyone before him—I would simply walk away. We were married now though, which made serious consideration of that option more difficult. I knew leaving him might be the death of me, but I had survived doing so the last time. Maybe I just wasn't in enough pain to make a move yet.