I did my best

It was 3:17 AM and infomercials were on. You cried in your sleep and your face was bloody from the needles you poked into it a few hours ago.

You’d been locked in the bathroom for hours, telling me in a cheery, childlike voice “It’s ok, I’m getting bad stuff out!” I cursed God and cried with my back against the door and my head in my hands.

God wasn’t there, and neither were you. You were so high and I was so, so tired.

I bribed you to bed around 3:05 AM by promising to pat your back until you fell asleep.

The morning was bound to be a disaster. I knew you’d wake disoriented and afraid. I knew you’d beg me not to leave.

And I would leave anyway. We needed my job and I had already been late twice that week. And so I left.