And as bitter as the truth sits on my tongue in this very moment, I have to admit I let it happen. I could’ve just quit. I could have stayed away and got fucking sober. Hell, I could’ve gone back to rehab. The option was—is—there, but I don’t fucking want it. I want this. I crave the drugs. The high, the numbness. I need it all, and I want Rhett to be the one to give it to me. I’m the master of my own destruction.
