“Four months?!” I gasped, unable to hold back tears as I closed the door quietly behind me.
“Look, Lauren, I…I’m so sorry.” Luke said sincerely, extending his arms out for a hug.
I got Luke to give us to the end of the month – 12 days to get $7,000 together. Suddenly, our view of the New York City skyline didn’t seem so essential. Neither did the high ceilings, the hardwood floors…the marble island I just had to have.
It was only after I wrapped my arms around him, accepting the pity he gave so willingly, that I knew the truth about what had happened. You see all this time, I had been treating Will as though he were sick – asking if there was anything I could bring him, making sure I wasn’t slamming doors too loudly, ensuring he got enough fluids. What I failed to acknowledge was the fact that Will did this to himself…and not just to himself, but me as well.
The truth is that the crumpled up singles I deposited into our bank account after making lattes for 12 hours a day was going into Will’s pocket, onto the street, and into his vein. The cold, hard fact was that there was someone to blame – and he was in the room just down the hall.
I thanked Luke for the extension, made a promise he and I both knew I’d break, and made my way down the hallway to the guilty party. Sure, he was fucked up – but now, so was I.