Before She Disappeared (Frankie Elkin, #1)

by Lisa Gardner

In high school, I’d never been one to hang with groups or join teams. My father told me I was a free spirit, but really I was awkward and self-conscious. Until I had a couple of beers. Then the world was my oyster.

I remember feeling like my hometown was too small and my skin too tight and I wanted to simultaneously burst upon the world and lock myself inside my room.

Memories sear. I have so many of them now. They’re not precious moments, but burning-hot coals I keep picking up and turning over in my mind. They hurt. I study them harder. They burn deeper. I come back for more.

Paul accused me of remaining an addict even after I stopped drinking. I don’t think he understood that’s exactly how it works. I am my demons, and my demons are me.

So many think we must share the same beliefs to get along. In my experience, sharing the same fear is a far more effective strategy.

Funny, how any addict can spot a dealer. We are crazy-good judges of character. Just don’t ask us about ourselves.

I eye the wall of booze with longing. Feel your feels, as the saying goes. Except so many feelings are hard to take.

Sometimes my blood flows too close to my skin. I can feel my own nerve endings spark and snap, the pressure building in my chest.

Dance drink dance. Or maybe it had been drink dance drink. Oblivion. That’s what I sought, what I still seek. One precious moment when I’m no longer trapped inside my own head. Knowing things I don’t want to know. Remembering things I don’t want to remember. Worrying about things I can’t change.

Morning disorients me. I wake up with a feeling of dread and a pit in my stomach.

“I don’t understand you at all, Elkin.” “Because I’m simple when you want me to be complicated. And I’m complicated when you want me to be simple.” I shrug. I’ve lived with myself for a long time now.

I’m well aware of my strengths, and I’m well aware of my weaknesses. And I’ve designed a lifestyle that fits both accordingly.