7
Since my night with Oliver, I’ve been ignoring April’s calls and letting her texts go unanswered. On the bright side, since my almost-night with Patrick, I’ve made sure to f**k all the men I meet before saying goodbye. It’s not long before whatever shreds of self-esteem I’d amassed from my brief stint of sobriety are eviscerated. The days and nights accumulate. At first, I manage to make it through my shifts sober before going out and getting shitfaced, but that doesn’t last. After a trip to the intersection of Fifth Street and Carpenter to see Markus and fortify my supplies, I’m doing coke in the Free Café bathroom and smoking w**d in my car whenever I can get away for a fifteen-minute break.
I tell myself this time won’t be like all the others. I’m still showing up to work—almost on
