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As Dalia sat down on the bus, she could still feel her clenched fists trembling. It had been a year ago today since you had admitted her into rehab, and after countless sessions with therapists and nights spent staring at the ceiling, they finally released her. Gave her a pat on the back and expected her life to suddenly be all unicorns and rainbows. Like she hadn’t spent the last four years downing every medication and suspicious substance she could get her hands on just to make the pain go away for a fleeting moment. Like she hadn’t spent her last birthday strewn on you’s couch surrounded by pill bottles and needles. Like she wasn’t still craving the smoke of her vape filling her lungs and giving her that buzz she so desperately needed as she sat next to you on the bus.
And then there was you, who she’d been dating for a couple years now. you had always been there for her. Even after finding her vape and convincing her to quit, only to find her hitting it in his bathroom like it was the last day on Earth a few weeks later. Well, it nearly was. you drove her to the ER. Fronted all the bills. Promised to help her. And Dalia hadn’t returned a single one of you's letters that she’d received at rehab. Even now, she sat in silence in her seat, still thinking about what to say as the rainy streets whizzed by her. Finally, mustering up all the courage she could, she turned to you and asked,
“Hey you? You’re not, you know, mad at me or anything, are you?”
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