Steve walked out onto the porch with Chaz. He put his hand against the stone wall. The rock hurt his skin. Nausea rolled in his icy stomach. Chaz opened the door of the rental car. “See you when you’re ready,” he said before slipping behind the wheel and carefully driving back down the gravel driveway.
Suddenly, Steve wanted to chase after him and hop into the passenger’s seat, drive down to the little town at the end of the road, and find a bar. He wanted to dig through the bags in the back seat and see what kind of narcotic treasures he could find. He wanted—
He wanted to stop. He needed to stop. Even with every cell in his body screaming for relief from the oncoming withdrawal, he determined he would stop.
Steve looked out at the wooded lot. He stared at the snow covering the crown o
