If losing Aubrey had almost destroyed me, then losing my drugs damn near ripped me apart. Not having that part of my life anymore had taken away the person I had spent years becoming. Without the drugs, without the club, who the fuck was I?

Who was Maxx Demelo, now that he had nothing to offer anyone?

“Everyone, take a seat.” Stacey, the drug addictions specialist, waved everyone to their places. I made a point not to make eye contact with those around me. Though I couldn’t help but stare at the chick on the other side of the room who looked as though she wanted to crawl out of her skin. She picked at her fingernails until they bled.

She looked like how I felt. Just about ready to lose my mind.

“Hey, man.” A hand touched my shoulder, and I acted instinctively. I shoved the hand away and snarled.

“Whoa! I was just saying hey. You all right?” Dominic looked at me apprehensively. I rolled my eyes but attempted a casual smile. He might smell bad, but I didn’t want to make him piss himself.

It was pretty obvious Dominic wanted to be my friend. I attracted needy dudes as much as the women.

A few months ago, I would have loved his brand of schoolboy ignorance. The clueless student living off Mommy and Daddy’s money and possessing zero common sense. I would have been able to sell him a quarter for the price of an ounce, and he wouldn’t have questioned me.

I used to eat guys like Dominic for breakfast.

I knew he was here because his parents thought his weed habit was a problem. It was almost laughable. He really had no idea the lengths some of us would go to for our addiction. How easy it was to lose everything for the high.

“You need to learn the concept of personal boundaries before you lose a hand,” I warned, though I tried to laugh to lessen the sting of my words.

He grinned and I smiled uneasily in return.

“Right. Personal boundaries. I get it,” Dominic chortled. “Did you do the homework? I wrote like five pages in my journal last night after you went to bed. Did you know you talk in your sleep? It’s pretty freaking funny. You talk a lot about a girl named Aubrey. Who is she? Is she your girlfriend? Whoever she is, you say her name a lot. You should tell me about her. She’s obviously important to you. At least you don’t snore. My roommate at school says I snore. Do I snore? It’s cool, you can tell me.”

My face started to burn red. What the hell? Any attempted goodwill toward my nosy roommate vanished. The sound of her name on his lips made me feel almost homicidal.

“Are you getting lunch after this? I think they’re serving fajitas. I freaking love Mexican food. You can tell me about Aubrey if you want. That’s what friends do. They talk about stuff.”

I could only stare at him with a mixture of irritation and confusion. I wondered if he had more mental problems than a supposed addiction to marijuana.

“Dominic,” I said quietly.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning forward, his face eager.

“Shut up and stay the hell out of my business. I get that you’re a talker. But I’m not. I’m not here to make friends. I just want to get through my time and go home. Got it?”

“Uh . . . okay . . . but I’m here if you want to talk and stuff . . . we’re roommates and we shouldn’t keep secrets—”

“Dominic, seriously, back the fuck off already.” I rubbed the spot in the center of my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “And stop listening to me while I sleep. It’s fucking creepy.”

Dominic didn’t say anything else.

Stacey started passing out worksheets. I took one and handed the pile to the person on my left. I looked down and had to suppress a groan.

The ABCs of Addiction. Understanding Your Triggers.

I looked at the rest of the people around me and was instantly sorry that I had. No one looked happy to be there. Even my considerable charm was lost on this group.

Aside from the manic nail picker and Dominic-I-refuse-to-bathe, there was an older woman who clearly thought heroin chic was a legit thing. Then there was the old biker dude who was missing most of his teeth and the scrawny tweeker who twitched uncontrollably every few minutes. I looked at my fellow screwups and felt like throwing up.

They were each damaged in their own particular way. They were all here for different reasons. What really sucked was while I sneered down my nose at their wretchedness, I also saw myself in every one of them.

Suddenly it hit me that maybe that’s why I hated them so much. Because deep down, they reminded me of myself. Of what I almost became. Of what I might still become.

My heart thudded in my chest. My lungs constricted painfully, and I was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe.

My eyes darted around the room, my gaze resting first on the meth-head-nail-picker. She must have sensed me looking at her. She raised her dead eyes and met mine.

I stood up so abruptly that my chair clattered to the floor. I backed up, my legs hitting the overturned chair, and I stumbled, almost falling.

“Maxx? Are you all right?” Stacey, the addictions specialist, asked. The patented counselor expression of concern was plastered on her face like a mask. Did she really give a shit that I was on the verge of freaking out?

Somehow I doubted it. This was just a job. What did she care if a bunch of smacked-out addicts got their lives together or not? If we came back over and over again, that just kept her in business.

I felt hollow knowing that the only people who had ever truly given a crap about me were the ones I had betrayed the most. The ones who had walked away.

I suddenly didn’t want to be alone with only my demons for company.

If only I had a few pills, then I’d feel so much better.

My addiction’s irresistible voice purred soothingly in my mind.

Just a pill or two. That’s all I really need. It would be so easy to leave and find what I want . . .

No!

I didn’t need pills! I wouldn’t leave! I thought again about lying in the hospital bed. Sick and alone. I thought about Landon, who refused to talk to me, and Aubrey, who had left me.

I didn’t want pills! I wouldn’t let myself want them. But I also couldn’t sit there surrounded by a roomful of people who represented the absolute worst of myself. I looked around the group, feeling the bile rise in my throat.

I practically ran from the room, my feet smacking against the linoleum as I fled. Thankfully, no one followed me. Once I was back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed. I was sweating, and the tightness in my chest was only just starting to subside.

Fucking hell. I’m pretty sure I just had a panic attack.

I needed to pull myself together. The desire to pack my things was almost overwhelming. Because that would be the easy thing to do. Run away from the hard stuff. Drown myself in the world I used to know. To lose myself in old habits. I wanted to so damn badly. But I knew that leaving would only prove to the people I cared about that I wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

And I wanted to take it seriously. I needed to.

Because at the end of the day I was doing all of this for one reason only. I was doing this for Aubrey. And for Landon. For a future I wanted to have with both of them. And one that I couldn’t have if I couldn’t stick this out and show them that I meant business. That when I hurt them, I was sorry.

So I’d stay. I’d try. I’d force myself to wake up in the morning and not think about how much I wanted to leave.

But I made a promise to myself. That after this was over, I would get out of here and I would get Aubrey back. I would show her that she didn’t need to run away from me. That I could take care of her. And take care of myself.

I felt a renewed conviction, and that felt good.

And as my heartbeat slowed and my breathing returned to normal, I began to think of other things besides all the ways I had messed up.