Where She Went – Breaking Down
Warning: Contains explicit language.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'If I Stay', 'Where She Went' or any of the characters.
…
I couldn't handle it any longer. By that point, I didn't care if Mia saw what a train wreck I'd become. The vortex was coming closer, threatening to suck me into it and never release me.
"I need a pill", I said abruptly, reaching for the bottle in my pocket. My groping, trembling fingers brushed air, and my heart began beating even faster. "Where are they?" I panicked, digging deeper into the pocket. "Jesus! Fuck!"
I was losing it now, and I knew it. Mia's eyes had gone wide at the first mention of pills; now she looked positively alarmed. I finally located the bottle, buried deep in my left hand pocket – the wrong pocket. I unscrewed the lid, tipped the bottle upside down over my palm. Nothing. Nothing came out, no sanity-saving pill fell to my rescue, and I remembered my earlier realisation about Aldous giving me the last one in the car, speeding away from that disastrous interview.
"Fuck!" I shouted once more, hurling the bottle at the wall. It bounced off harmlessly and fell to the ground, completely intact. Unlike me.
"Adam." Mia reached out a tentative hand, placing it on my shoulder and turning me to look at her. She's trying to stay calm, but I can see the fear in her eyes. "Adam, what pills? Are you sick?"
I laughed. I actually laughed, my face twisting bitterly as I looked down at the woman I'd loved, the source of my pain.
"Am I sick?" My voice sounded strange, different – dangerous, even. "I'll tell you what I'm sick of, Mia. I'm sick of not being able to sleep. I'm sick of always being on the move. I'm sick of the band hating me, of me hating me. I'm sick of the shaking, and the pills which don't do a fucking thing. I'm sick of the interviews and reporters and concerts, I'm sick of the shit people say about me in the media. I'm sick of waking up in the morning and telling myself it's just another 24 hours I have to live through, then going through the same thing all over again the next day, and the next, and the next."
Mia takes a step back, her eyes wide, questioning… fearful.
"Adam", she says softly.
I step towards her, glaring down at the person who could have made my world perfect and instead blew it to smithereens.
"No, Mia, you don't get to talk. When you left, you practically handed me a gun and then left me to blow my brains out!"
"Adam, I –"
"No, Mia, you did this! It's your fault."
"I never meant to –"
"But you know what?" I interrupt, ignoring the tears sparkling in her eyes. "The worst part about it is that it's my fault, too. Because I told you I could let you go. If you stayed. And you did, Mia." I'm crying now, for the second time in 3 years, which is also the second time in 2 days, but I don't care. "You stayed. You lived."
And I died.
There's no need to say it. When Mia and I were together, there were times I thought she could read my thoughts. And now I'm certain she knows what I'm thinking.
"Adam…" She doesn't know what to say. I've never opened up like this before, not even to Bryn. Part of me blames the lack of anxiety medication, and the other part blames Mia for always getting the truth out of me, even when I didn't want her to.
"Oh God, Adam. What have I done to you?"