Free In the Nick of Time by Tiana Laveen Page A

cheat. Her body lost many battles, and tried to lose the war, too. The same damn body that made her a millionaire was the same physique that now had her scrambling for checks and balances. The same figure men and women coveted was now looked upon with confusion and disgust.
    At various times, it held hardly any weight and purged the bit she could hold onto with a slippery grasp. It charged up a tab that she didn’t order and made her a slave to a debt she couldn’t pay. But it managed to keep one thing and one thing only—her addiction. Oh yes, it was true to that , married at the pointy, bony hip. It drove her forward, made her do and say crazy things to stay afloat, some of which made her sick to relive
    The lies… all those fucking lies…
    Reminiscences, bits of memories, floated to the forefront of her mind.
    What was she all about? Who was she?
    A spy. I’m a spy…
    She’d always been a curious child, and later in life, her subtle prying and data gathering skills proved useful in feeding her drug habit. From mundane tales of shopping adventures to more serious criminal admissions—she’d heard it all. In the process, she’d learned a lesson about the world, life, and her own self, too.
    Trust no one. Or at least, vet the hell out of everybody that crosses your path.
    There were two things in life you could never place a shred of reliance on, under any circumstances—a drug abuser’s word and a desperate man’s plea…for they were often one and the same. Not only that, she knew other things that would make Frieda and everyone else consider her a serious security breech if they could read her sordid mind. When bored, her brain did strange things, and she dove head first into all that was forbidden, scoffed at, and prohibited.
    Curiosity killed the cat. There was yet another reason, one more that served as an excuse but was also wrapped in validity—she refused to not know what was going on around her at all times… She’d never be in that ‘clueless’ position again; it had happened once too often, and cost her both financial and emotional damage. No one would think the super model would play these games; she looked so innocent, and she surely couldn’t be that smart, now could she? She’d keep to herself, not tell a damn soul…
    Taryn had memorized the staff schedules from front to back, for there was a time when she’d planned an escape. Her mind worked like a steel trap or infinite library. Almost anything she read and saw, she memorized. It was her job to know. The very first time she ended up in treatment, it was court mandated. She had no damn choice in the horrid matter and spent her weary mornings, dreadful afternoons, and long, tedious nights devising crafty plans that included scaling buildings with knotted sheets and getting bus tickets to faraway places. After growing wiser and stronger, she stopped fighting the addiction, embraced it, thanked it for its fucked up stint—and told it the time had come for it to go. They could not live in harmony, and it proved no friend; it was her foe.
    She could no longer protect her dependence, coddle it and allow it to harm her, for it was killing her, little pill by little pill. She tried so hard to do her own thing, be independent, all the way since childhood. Yet, she’d allowed the drugs to boss her around, tell her what to do. No one was the boss of her, and once that became truly crystal meth clear, she’d devised a new plan. The damn addiction wasn’t paying any rent, but taking up all of the space within her and offering nothing in return.
    It didn’t love her back the way she’d once loved it. Her addiction had stolen her dignity, made her fall from grace, physically sicker, weaker, and less reliable—all the things she detested. Life tried to snuff her out, and by some merciful grace of God, she was still standing, speaking clearly and coherently, running about like a giddy child, walking straight and talking the witty shit she liked