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I sat and waited for her to continue.
“He'd done it before,” she finally said. “He basically sold to other users he knew in order to make money to get his own. It was this stupid circle that he couldn't get out of.”
“So it was when he was using?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “And that's why I was reluctant to ask him about it this time because I was positive he wasn't using. And it's hard sometimes with someone in recovery. You want to give them your trust, but it becomes this...thing. If you ask them if they're using, they get angry because you don't trust them. But if you don't ask, you drive yourself nuts wondering.”
“Makes sense.”
“But I finally decided I had to ask him,” she said. “Not if he was using. But if he was dealing.”
“And what did he say?”
“He denied it at first,” she said. “But then when I pressed him, he finally admitted he was. He assured me he wasn't using and that all he was doing was just selling a little because he needed the money and it was the easiest way to get it.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I was pissed,” she said, frowning. “I didn't want him anywhere near that world again because I felt like it would just pull him back in.”
“You told him that?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding. “I told him I didn't care how much money he needed, I didn't want him doing it. It was stupid. So he told me he'd stop.”
I shifted on the couch. “But I take it from your tone he didn't.”
She shook her head. “I don't think so. He told me he wasn't, but he still had money. It made no sense. So I kept asking and he kept telling me I was crazy. But he wasn't outright denying it so that's how I knew.”
“But you're sure he wasn't using again?” I asked.
“Positive,” she said. “There were no signs. But it just became this huge thing between us. I'd ask him, he'd tell me he wasn't selling, then he'd get mad at me. We did that dance for a couple of months. Then I asked him one night again. He'd ordered all this Thai food and it cost like fifty bucks and I just couldn't believe he had the money and there was nowhere else he could've gotten it. And he really blew up at me that time. Just went off on how I was never going to trust him and all of this crap.” She paused. “That was two weeks ago, and I hadn't talked to him since then.”
“I'm sorry,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding, tears in her eyes. “Me, too.”
I felt for her. I knew what it was like to not get to say goodbye. There was no closure, just a regular circuit of nightmares, of what-ifs. It wasn't fun to live with.
“I should go,” I said, standing up. “Thank you for talking to me.”
Erin wiped at her eyes and stood. “You're welcome.”
She followed me to the door. “You really found him?”
I opened it and turned around to face her. “I did.”
“And...and it looked like he did it?” she asked, her face screwed up with pain and sadness. “Like he killed himself?”
“That's what it looked like and it sounds like that's what the police determined,” I told her.
Erin leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest. “Patrick had a shit ton of issues. But that money I said I would've bet on him not using?”
I nodded.
“I'd bet the same money that he wouldn't have killed himself,” she said. She blew out a breath. “But I guess everyone says that, right?”
I shrugged. “It's always a shock.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “Just the same, though. I think I'll stay out of the casinos.” She paused, wiping at her eyes. “Don't wanna lose the little I have left.”