For the Love of Alex by J.E. Hopkins Page B

She broke the kiss and rested her head on his chest. The steady beat of it lulling her to sleep. Before she faded, she heard Alex’s gentle, soft voice say, “I’m sorry, Leah.”
    II
    The next few weeks went by so fast that Leah could hardly remember what day it was or even what month. She was running on fumes, churning out article after article to Marcus’ delight. Her boss may have pleased with her enthusiasm for her work, but Alex was another story. At times he seemed to resent the hours she spent at work and away from him. She hated the time apart as well, but her passion for writing was stronger than ever and she thirsted for the opportunity to challenge her mind and create something new, something memorable.
    So often she tried to explain her love of words to Alex. In many ways, he did understand. He used to love art as much as she loved to write. She hoped one day when she wrote a children’s book, he would illustrate it and bring her characters to life. This would be something special they could create together. Another gift to bond them closer, yet that dream seemed so remote now. Alex hadn’t painted or drawn anything in years. His love of art took a backseat to his need for heroin. The few beautiful paintings he completed he sold for drugs. Eventually he sold all his equipment as well. Nothing mattered to him but his white powdered friend.
    Leah sighed as she slammed her breakfast dishes in the sink, shattering a mug. She was trying so hard to escape the memories of the havoc of Alex’s addiction, but it still haunted her. She wanted to move on, but part of her was waiting, even expecting, Alex’s inescapable friend to lull him back into a world of drugs and ruin their lives once more.
    She wanted to believe he could beat this, but this nagging part of her kept waiting for him to fail. She hated herself for feeling this way. For doubting him when he needed her faith in him, but fourteen days could not be enough. He should have stayed the whole time.
     She watched him closely for weeks, looking for any sign of a relapse, but so far he was either maintaining his sobriety or hiding his failure well. She hoped for the former, but feared for the latter.
    “Stop it, Leah,” she cursed herself, angry with her doubts. If Alex knew of her lack of faith in him he would definitely return to using drugs, and she would have no one to blame but herself for not supporting him when he needed it. She tried so hard to mask her feelings and be supportive of him knowing the truth of her doubts would devastate him. They devastated her.
    She started to sway as another bout of nausea struck her. Two days in a row she woke up feeling like she should stay in bed forever. Her head pounded and her heart ached just as much. Guilt. That was her illness, she knew, and if she wasn’t careful, she would end up with a nasty ulcer. She was keeping all these negative emotions inside and they were eating away at her like a toxin in her system. She needed to talk to someone. Someone with whom she could share her doubts and unburden herself from this guilt weighing her down. The problem was that the one person she wanted to confide in would be the one person she absolutely could not tell this to, for Alex would never understand.
    Times like this she wished she had worked harder to make friends and to maintain relationships, but with Alex’s disease, it was easier to push people away then to let them see the truth of his addiction. This was a battle they fought alone. No outsiders to witness the decay of their lives. Another consequence of drug addiction. It was a lonely, isolating sickness and not just for the one who was the addict, but for the ones who loved the addict.
    The only real friendship Leah had managed to maintain was her bond with Claire. Claire was the one person she could trust besides Alex.
    She hadn’t talked to her much lately. The last time was the day after Alex had returned from rehab. Claire had not been an easy