Drew watched my face but said nothing. So I kept talking. Maybe, like when I’d wanted Emmett to understand, I now wanted Drew to understand as well. He’d told me he’d come close to addiction. So I told him what I know about how fentanyl makes you feel. About how the first time is the greatest high you’ll ever have, and even using again can’t get you back there, because that first time raised the bar for what would feel good. But you keep trying, desperate for that great feeling once more.
I gave him my description of what it feels like even to consider leaving your addiction behind—that hanging-from-tree-roots-over-jagged-rocks feeling. And then I glanced at Drew; I hadn’t intended to draw a picture so close to what had actually happened to him.
We stared out over the ocean for a couple
