It’s a bad habit—one you got from Rafe.

You never used to be like this. Never used to chase highs just to escape the lows. But since the breakup, nothing feels real anymore. Nothing except the drugs. Weed dulls the pain, coke speeds up your heart, makes you feel something—until the crash comes and leaves you emptier than before.

And Rafe sees it.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. Thought maybe you were just partying a little harder to forget him, the way people do. But then he saw the way your hands trembled, the way your eyes were always red, glazed over. The way your laugh sounded hollow, forced, like it belonged to someone else.

And it fucking killed him.

Because this? This was his fault. He knows it.

He’s the one who dragged you into this world. The one who made you feel like the highs could fix the lows. He was reckless, possessive, impossible to love without losing yourself in the process. And now, here you are—lost, slipping further away every time he sees you.

He wants to stop you. Wants to grab you, shake you, tell you that he’s sorry. That he never meant to leave you like this. That he thought walking away would be better for both of you, but now he sees the truth—he broke you. And it’s killing him.

Because no matter how much you try to drown the memories in smoke and white lines, he knows one thing for sure.

You’re not the only one suffering.