Cat woke up to the dull pounding of her head, the kind of ache that crawled behind her eyes and made the sunlight pouring through the curtains feel like a personal attack. She groaned, turning over in bed and burying her face in the plush pillow. Her mouth was dry, her stomach a swirling pit of nausea.
Her memories of the night before were hazy, fragments coming in disjointed flashes—the loud music, the constant whirl of faces she barely recognised. Then, the sharp hit of something she'd sworn was just to get her through performances. Except now it wasn't just for that, was it? She tried to shake the thought away, but it lingered, heavy and suffocating.
She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing around the luxurious bedroom that felt too big and too empty. She hadn't even remembered coming back home. Did Austin bring her? Did she get a cab? Her head swirled with unanswered questions.
Her friends. She'd invited them, hadn't she? She vaguely remembered scanning the crowd for familiar faces, but nothing came to mind. Maybe they hadn't shown up. Maybe they'd had enough of her. Shame burned in her chest at the thought.
"You're a mess," she whispered to herself, the words barely making it past her dry, cracked lips. Pulling herself slow up out of bed she found her way to the en-suite, the world still loosely swirling around her. She found the mirror pulling her hands against the sink until her vision suddenly all settled into one.
Her pupils were wide and glassy, highlighting substances still lingering in her bloodstream. It hadn't even been a wild night—nothing fun about it. The highs felt muted now, like listening to music through blown-out speakers, talking to people she didn't know. All that remained were fragments: a party, faceless people, flashes of neon, and a powder-line.
She closed her eyes, trying to will away the image of herself—this version of Cat—but the darkness was no refuge. She hated it. She'd gotten away from this before and thought it was for good. But suddenly, here it was again. This isolated world she'd found herself in had dragged her back down into this darkness. Her mind filled with memories she tried to suppress: the hollow promises she made to herself, the calls she ignored from people who still cared, and the disappointed faces of them. A cold shiver slithered down her spine.
When she opened her eyes again, it wasn't just her reflection she saw. It was his.
Matteo. Her older brother. He'd stood in front of a mirror just like this one, countless times, staring at himself with the same hollow eyes. She could see his face so clearly now: the same sharp jawline, the same eyes that had once sparkled with promise but had dulled after too many hits, too many nights spent chasing oblivion. He'd always insisted he was in control— until he suddenly wasn't anymore.
Cat's stomach twisted.
You're just like him.
The thought struck like a fist to the gut. She had promised herself she wouldn't follow Matteo's path, her life was supposed to be different. But here she was, falling into the same pit, the same darkness that had swallowed her brother whole.
Maybe it's in our blood, she thought bitterly. A family curse. But she shook her head, angry at herself for even considering it. No. This wasn't destiny. It was choice—her choice.
Tears welled in her eyes. She was standing at the edge of that same precipice, and if she didn't turn back now, she'd fall.
Her fingers clenched the cold porcelain sink, knuckles going white. The face in the mirror seemed to stare back, waiting to see if she'd make the same decision Matteo had.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered.
Her voice cracked, but there was a flicker of resolve beneath it. A tiny ember, fragile and sputtering, but alive.
She didn't know how to stop—not really. The idea of facing the world sober felt like stepping into a blinding light after years in darkness. It terrified her. But the thought of continuing down this path terrified her more. She couldn't let her story go the way Matteo's had.
The sound of pans clattering in the kitchen floated upstairs, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. Austin. Of course. Maybe she could talk to him about this. He hated that she started again - reminded her again and again of how bad it was for her body- maybe it was time to listen to him.
After dragging herself down the stair, she smell of something vaguely herbal greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Austin stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan with the effortless confidence he carried everywhere. He was already dressed in workout gear, his broad frame moving with practiced ease.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said without looking up. His tone was light, but she could feel the edge beneath it.
"Morning," she mumbled, sitting down at the sleek kitchen island.
Austin turned, flashing her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Made you breakfast." He slid a plate in front of her—a mix of quinoa, kale, and poached eggs, garnished with something green and unidentifiable.
Cat stared at it, her stomach churning. "Thanks."
"You'll feel better after you eat," he said, leaning on the counter and taking a sip from his protein shake. "Your body's a temple, remember?" He grinned, but there was a weight behind his words, a constant mantra he lived by as an athlete.
Cat picked at the food, her appetite nonexistent. Austin's gaze flicked to her plate, and his smile tightened.
"You barely touched dinner last night," he said casually, though the pointedness of the remark was unmistakable. "You've got to take care of yourself, babe. I like you the way you are, but... you know. It's important to stay in shape."
Cat swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a bite even though the taste turned her stomach. "I know," she murmured.
He reached out, brushing a hand along her arm. "Good girl."
There was a pause in the air for a moment as Cat pushed around the food more, deciding whether she should say the next thing or not. "I need to stop, Austin. The drugs, I need to stop."
A flicker of something she couldn't name passed over his face—was it relief? Satisfaction?
"Good," he said, the word sharp and final. "I've been telling you that you needed to quit this shit." He crossed his arms. "You're lucky I'm here to help you."
She nodded, her stomach twisting. His words felt more like a reprimand than support, but she swallowed her discomfort. She did need help, didn't she?
"We'll get you on a strict schedule," Austin continued. "No more late nights. No more drinking. You're going to start working out with me every morning. Keep your mind healthy." His eyes narrowed. "I'll make sure you stay on track."
Cat's throat tightened. The way he said it, like she was another project to fix, another broken thing to control, made her feel smaller. But she was too raw, too exhausted to argue.
"Okay," she whispered.
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You'll thank me for this later."
She tried to smile back, but all she felt was a deep, hollow ache.
As Austin talked about routines and discipline, Cat's mind wandered back to the mirror—to Matteo's hollow eyes staring back at her. She had promised herself she'd take control of her life, but this didn't feel like control. This felt like surrender.
One step at a time, she reminded herself. She just had to keep moving. Somehow.
Cat stared at her phone for a long time after breakfast, the unfinished plate of food pushed aside. Her fingers hovered over the screen, a gnawing pit of guilt twisting in her stomach. She opened her messages, scrolling to Jade's name. It took a deep breath and several attempts before she finally typed out a message.
Cat: hey. did you come last night? i don't remember much, but if you were there… i'm sorry.
She sent it before she could overthink it, tossing her phone onto the couch and pacing the room. The seconds dragged into minutes, and then the phone buzzed.
Jade's reply was blunt, as always.
Jade: We came, but we left pretty quickly.
Cat's chest tightened as she read the words. Her thumbs moved rapidly as she typed her response.
Cat: i'm sorry. i really wanted to see you.
The reply came faster than she expected.
Jade: I know, but I can't, Cat. I can't watch you like that. I care about you, but until you decide you need help, I just… I can't be around it.
Cat's eyes welled with tears. She reread the message, her heart sinking deeper with every word. She knew Jade was right, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to say. Finally, she settled on a simple response.
Cat: i get it. i'm going to stop. i promise
Jade didn't reply after that, and Cat sat back on the couch, the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. She didn't even hear Austin come back in until he was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice even but tinged with curiosity.
Cat wiped her eyes quickly, shaking her head. "It's nothing."
Austin frowned, moving closer. "Doesn't look like nothing."
She sighed, holding up her phone. "It's Jade. She said she can't… be around me right now."
Austin raised an eyebrow reading the messages, before sitting down beside her. "Is that really such a bad thing?"
"What?" Cat blinked, caught off guard.
"I'm just saying," Austin continued, leaning back against the cushions. "They're your high school friends. You're in a completely different world now. They don't get it. They probably never will."
"They're still my friends," Cat said softly, her voice trembling.
"Sure," Austin said, shrugging. "But are they really helping you? You're stressed out all the time, and every time you talk about them, it's like they're judging you. Maybe it's for the best to let that go. Focus on what you've got now."
Cat stared at him, her chest tightening. "They're not judging me. They just… they want what's best for me."
"Look," he said, his voice softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not saying you have to cut them off completely. Just… don't stress over people who don't understand the life you're living now. You've got me. You've got this amazing career. And working on staying clean. Focus on that."
Cat nodded slowly, though her heart felt heavier than ever. She wanted to believe he was right, but the ache in her chest told her otherwise.