A Siren's Call

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the ceiling. I could feel my mother's furious stare piercing through me, but I didn

The way her face tightened in embarrassment was

, just so the priest knew the truth. She couldn't pass me off as her

k," I continued, sc

udgment and discomfort. If we had some kind of telepathy, I'd be hearing he

iest a smile before walking out the back door toward the cabin. My mission was compl

den daughter, the perfect angel of the family, raised with love and righteousness. I was her shadow, hidden and hushed. But not that day.

s fine w

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made a big bowl of mac and cheese, overeating until I was uncomfortably full. Food was my comfort

Freddie

o have someone you can reach out to and say, "Come over, I need you." Freddie was that for me. Ours wasn't the romant

side smoking, and I'd be in the tub,

wasn'

the tears coming without warning, heavy and aching. The pain was louder than the

drink. Some

h life. Crowds filled the sidewalks, laughing and shouting under flickerin

ld the bartender, who barel

my throat. I looked around. No familiar faces. A part of me wanted to ask the bartender if he'd seen Freddie,

nks did

they sharpe

stars falling, and my hands trembled on the wheel. I was afraid-not of the d

e ones I'd buried. The ones I

nd. She was from Ohio, naive but wild. She introduced me to everything dark-alcohol, weed, p

oney. She had a habit, and I had t

came my lifeline, or so I thought. We bonded over drugs, over destr

zanne, the one who pulled me in, had moved on. Sh

my rock

e helped clean me up. He made me feel human again. In less than a year, I was sober. I e

ly lef

ot the chance to cry. And afte

given the chance-I might fall back in. The pain now was worse than back then. St

't nee

, I wan

hated myself for it. Hated the craving. Hated

shops and shuttered diners. I knew what was down that ro

hat I was thi

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