Breaking Bridges

Contents Copyright © Kris Vanc 2023 All rights reserved TRIGGER WARNING OTHER WORKS BY THE AUTHOR Dedication 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 Epilogue Author's notes Acknowledgements Copyright © Kris Vanc 2023 All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictionally. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. Alpha reader: Saphira Beta readers: Kelly Proofreading - Bearly Vanilla Proofreading Cover: getcovers.com TRIGGER WARNING This book deals with topics like addiction. There is active drug use in this book. If you are fighting your own battles with addiction, and reading about it might trigger you, please don’t pick this book up. The book (and the author) does not promote drug use (but neither do I judge it). Recovery from addiction is a big part of this book. If you are in this situation, know that you are seen, heard and loved. And if you need help in any way with current or past drug use, please reach out to people who can help you. And if you’re not there (yet), and you’ve hit rock bottom, just know that I’ll gladly come sit there with you if you’ll have me. Hit me up for other recs if this book is not for you, I’ve got tons. You can contact me through [email protected] for any questions or those recs I just mentioned. OTHER WORKS BY THE AUTHOR The Charlington Chronicles Roots Tempest Dominium Tellings of the Time Hidden by Hours Mourning the Minutes Seconds to Silence Deserted Lilies Changing Chords Breaking Bridges Elided Endings Dedication And I don’t want the world to see me Because I don’t think that they’ll understand When everything’s meant to be broken I still want you to know who I am Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls It’s dark in the bathroom, the only source of light coming from the flashlight of my phone. It’s all right there. Band, needle, smack already drawn up, ready to be injected. It’s a tiny dose. I’m not stupid enough to go back to the quantity I used to use before I OD’d. My body isn’t used to it anymore. It would fuck me up and kill me. I’ve learned from other people’s mistakes. There’s a tiny voice inside of me that tells me not to do it. But there’s a very loud voice telling me to definitely do it, because it would feel good, and all my trouble would fade away, and I don’t actually care enough to really give a shit anyway. Evan’s face flashes before my eyes, and I imagine the look of disappointment on her face if I would give in to this. Hell, she’ll already be disappointed enough that I used other kinds of drugs since she left. She should be fucking proud of me that I haven’t caved and used this earlier. Then the faces of the guys – my brothers, my bandmates – flash in front of my eyes. They’re almost worth the hassle of not using anything, but deep down I’m convinced that they’ll be better off without me. Maybe some new upcoming talent could take my place, give the band some new kick. Or maybe I could just stop going back and forth and stick that needle in and forget all my worries. Pretty eyes with a purple hue flash before my own and an anger fills me, making my hands shake without me even knowing exactly why. I’m the boy who was too broken to keep a rehab nurse around. Tonight’s concert was great. The crowd was great, the guys were on point and me? I felt hollow and alone. In a stadium full of people I felt alone. Which is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard of. But it doesn’t make it any less true. My dad left me even before I was born, he didn’t want me. My mom left me when she found out I used drugs recreationally. I’m pretty sure most of the band left me when I picked drugs over them. Evan left me when… well, I’m still not sure why, but she left me anyway. There’s nothing and nobody there to fill the holes. There’s always been the music, there always will be the music. But the sound of it is hollow, and it tastes like ash and the bitter taste of chemical drugs after you’ve snorted and it slides down your throat. Fucking hell. Even I am over my own pity party. Forcing myself to go back to a numbing blank, I grab the band, tie it around my bicep with practiced familiarity, and make a fist. It only takes a couple of heartbeats before my veins start popping up. There are still tiny traces of needle marks on my arms, because the last time I used, more than nine months ago, I wasn’t being too careful when injecting, just wanting to get the job done. It left scabs that I then proceeded to scratch open. Looking back it was a wonder nobody noticed. But