Dakota (ch 20)

And she didn't. Rebekah stayed. She took Janie's room. She took care of me. I was still bitter. I didn't want her here. But it was nice having someone take care of me. I needed that, whether I was willing to admit it or not. I kept writing. I wrote to escape my reality. I didn't wan to focus on Rebekah's presence. I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't even want to see her. I avoided interacting with her at all costs. As the days rolled by, I regained strength. I healed. Her leg was still in a cast and I was down to therapy alone. I didn't need the brace or the sling. Rebekah had taken me to store, to the doctor. I was grateful and resentful at the same time. She had been right. I didn't have anyone. I did need her. I needed her to help me. But there is a far stretch of uncharted pavement between need and want. I didn't want her. I wanted solitude. I still wanted answers. Holt hadn't come up with anything. He assured me that the case was in capable hands with Donny Kahle and himself. I remained skeptical. There weren't any results to make me confident in their abilities. Just good faith.

Holt cared though. Even with Rebekah around, he still checked on me. He wanted to solve the case. He wanted to tell me the killer wasn't going to see the sun for the rest of his life, but he just didn't have that opportunity.

Janie would be home soon. I hoped it had worked. I wanted her to be alright. But I knew the statistics. It was likely if not probably that she would be back to her old ways in a matter of days. I knew that struggle all too well. I made it. I made it for a long time. It didn't make much of a difference now though. The bottle and I had been affectionately reaquainted. Somehow I was OK with that. I knew my limits. I was being responsible. I tried to be.

I sent Rebekah into town to up a few groceries. She was never quick at anything. She liked to doddle. She wavered on the simplest of decisions. She would have trouble deciding whcih brake of peanut butter buy. She did everything at a snail's pace. This was her last assignment. When she got back, I had to tell her. I had to get her out of my house. Janie would be home before long. I knew the two of them couldn't survive in the same house. And I didn't want them to. I had to tell her. Now.

Blink.

I crawled into my writers' room and tossed back a warm glass of bourbon. The ball glided across the page. Ink met the paper. Dots, lines, and curves transformed into letters, words. I wrote it out, something I never did. I practiced what to say, what to do. I appoached it with a business mindset. She was being let go. I was taking things in a new direction. Her services were no longer needed. I hoped this was going to go smoothly. I was nervous. I didn't want a big confrontation. I just wanted her to go. I wanted what remained of my life, back. She's wasn't a part of that. I reached for my glass. I downed another drink. This wasn't alright. I couldn't do this. Janie was coming home in 3 days. She couldn't be around liquor. I needed to stop relying on it. I needed to clean myself up. I didn't want to be the reason for her to backslide. I wanted her to be better. But I loved my friends. Jack, Jose, Jim. I would miss them. They had been good to me. Mostly.

I glanced down at the page leering back at me. Was this the best I could do? Was this going to work. It had to. I didn't know what else to do. I had made up my mind. It was going to go quick. I was doing this again. I didn't expect to do this. He first time was awkward enough. Bu I knew I could do it. I had to. I lifted the tip of the pen. I scratched the side of my head. I heard keys at the door. Nerves overwhelmed me. I heard the door swing open. I heard footsteps tiptoeing across the creeky floorboards. I had to do it now. No turning back.