White Space Season 2

bitching.
    Cassidy crossed their oversized suite, stepped into the bathroom, smiled again at Jon as he turned his back, then closed the door behind her, sat on the toilet, crossed her legs at the ankles, and started rocking back and forth while staring at the giant porcelain tub. There was also a tub in the living room of the suite.
    Who needs two fucking bathtubs?
    Stop your bitching. Take a chill pill and enjoy the night, Cass, you deserve a happy night out, her Addict wooed.
    It had been forever since she’d had a romantic night out. Cassidy didn’t want to ruin it with her mood, and anxious craving for a pill. She was already off the wagon, what was another pill or two going to matter?
    I can always quit tomorrow, right?
    Right, quit tomorrow, Cass. Enjoy tonight, her Addict whispered.
    There was no arguing with her Addict this time. She grabbed the bottle buried in the bottom of her makeup bag, from deep in its hidden slit, then popped the cap from the top, and shook two pills into her sweaty palm.
    Cassidy slapped them past her lips, swallowed with her own spit, then slowly rocked harder back and forth while waiting for her anxiety to die.
    She sat there hating herself.
    If Cassidy gave a shit about herself, or anyone in her life, she wouldn’t use; wouldn’t manipulate, lie, steal, or decay every solid corner of her world until it was mush. Like every other addict she had ever known, Cassidy cared so little about herself that even while rocking on a gorgeous toilet in a beautiful bathroom, with a billionaire boyfriend on the other side of the door, the only thing she truly wanted was to close her eyes and sleep a long time, and wake to find everything better — a happy life where she didn’t need pills just to cope with the shit most people dealt with just fine. The shit that crippled her.
    She just wanted a normal life … like Sarah’s had been .
    All Jon wanted, as he told Cassidy each day, was for her to love herself. She swore she did, whenever he said it. Yet, if you truly loved yourself, you couldn’t beat yourself the way she did.
    Rocking on the toilet, and waiting for pills to numb her, though not yet under their spell, Cassidy decided her lies were too heavy to lift, and that she was no longer willing to drag the burden behind her.
    Enough with the lies.
    Cassidy was sick of lying to everyone, but most of all she was sick of lying to herself.
    It was in the self-deception where things grew gnarled past repair, where the rip tore so wide it couldn’t be stitched. A person who was willing to lie to herself, as Cassidy had been for far, far too long, would eventually find herself falling through the thin fissures between truth and dishonesty, unable to distinguish one from the other. Confusion led to a loss of respect, first for herself, then the world around her.
    After that, everything was empty.
    If Cassidy expected a normal life, she had to take control of the one she was given. It wasn’t going to come magically, or thanks to some pills.
    She stood from the toilet, then marched out of the bathroom and into the suite where Jon was now naked except for boxers, displaying a pin-up’s body his month of island indulgence did little to dim.
    Cassidy walked straight up to Jon, set her right hand up on his shoulder, and spun his body toward her.
    “I’m a junkie,” she said.
    “What?” Jon’s face lit with concern and confusion.
    “I’m a junkie,” Cassidy repeated, shoving the bottle into his hand. Then, before he could protest or give her a bullshit platitude, like maybe saying it wasn’t her fault, or that she had done her best, Cassidy continued.
    “I’ve never stopped using,” she said without stopping herself. “At least, not really. The first night Emma went missing a month ago, I took some pills then. Got them from Craig, and I was scared shitless when Brady pulled me in for questioning. I figured he knew, then I thought you knew and I, well, I thought you wouldn’t — couldn’t — ever see me the way it looks like you might be seeing me now, and I’m just ruining everything like I always do, and I don’t know what to say or do or feel, or anything, Jon,” she sucked air through her teeth as if fighting sobs.
    “I don’t want to say I have a problem, Jon, but I do. I really do. I’m an addict. A stupid, worthless, pile-of-shit junkie. Some days I’m OK, and I think I’ve got it licked. But then another day comes, and the pills are all I can think about. It’s