Free Toxic (Better Than You) by Raquel Valldeperas

in front of me, hands in his pockets, tie hanging around his neck and sleeves rolled up. His dark eyes are watching me, assessing me, making me nervous.
                  “I’m, um,” I clear my throat, avert my eyes, “I’m gunna go clean up real quick.”
                  He stares at me for a few seconds before nodding his head. “Course.”
                  Keeping my eyes down, away from his knowing gaze, I make my way to the bathroom, grabbing onto the hallway wall for support. My legs are unsteady, my pulse is racing and it feels like I might just pass out. But I can’t because I know it’ll be worse when I wake up. So I take deep breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. In, out, in, out. I brace my hands against the sink. Wait for the inkiness in my vision to disappear. Then I scramble to get the medicine cabinet open, the bottle top off, the little blue pill under my tongue. The taste calms me. It steadies me. It heals me.
                  When I walk back into the living room, my headaches gone and I’m breathing normally. I’m relieved and floating so I don’t notice Miguel isn’t alone until he calls my name and I look up. Next to him on the couch is a man with white hair and crystal blue eyes that pierce me, see me, pull me apart. I stop and stare, standing between the kitchen behind me and the living room in front of me.
                  “Come and sit with us for a second, Lo.”
                  My legs won’t move. Somehow I know that I don’t want to sit down, that I don’t want to hear what white-hair has to say. There’s a knock on the door and Miguel sighs heavily before getting up to answer it. It’s the pizza. It gives me a minute to watch the white-haired man but it also gives him more time to see me. I feel exposed, vulnerable, transparent. No one says anything as Miguel sets the pizza down on the coffee table in front of their couch.             
                  “Lo?” he says, tilting his head to the recliner across from them.
                  My mouth is dry. I need water. I need sleep. I need to disappear.
                  “We can’t do this if she’s not willing, Miguel.” White haired man has spoken. His voice is deep and it vibrates through my chest, squeezes through the barrier of numbness.
                  I’m not willing, I want to say. Instead I stand and stare, watch as Miguel’s face falls with disappointment and worry. As white-hair stands and shakes his hand. Then the man is gone and Miguel turns to face me, the door behind him.
                  “You need help, Lo.”
                  I know. I’m broken.
                  “This problem isn’t going to just disappear or fix itself.”
                  I can fix this. I can disappear.
                  “Lo? Are you listening?”
                  I smile. I think. “Yes.”

14
    April 11, 2008
                  “What the hell happened, Miguel?”
                  “Danny. So nice of you to show up. I’ve only called you forty fucking times.”
                  “Don’t fucking start, bro. I’m not in the mood for your shit.”
                  “No? Too busy getting shitfaced to care that your girlfriend almost OD’d?”
                  “How the fuck is that my problem?”
                  “It’s your problem because she lives in our apartment! Because she’s your girlfriend! Because you provide her with the shit she takes! Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Do you think I don’t know how you get your money or that your girl is fucked up every single day?”
                  I wish I was still sleeping, that I couldn’t hear this. That place of darkness, emptiness, was so much better than this. There was no pain,