i feel like i'm drowning

by mindelan

Summary:

A hard night spent in the throes of cocaine withdrawal forces Letty into the realization that Javier isn't going anywhere.

Notes:

content warnings for everything in the tags, but like i said, it's nothing worse/not darker than what's shown in the show

“Where did you put the cocaine?” 

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Javier glances up from the newspaper, raising a brow over his glasses. “Why?” 

“I didn’t know that I needed a reason,” Letty mutters sourly, sitting down on the bed and yanking her heels off, hurling them across the room. “God, my feet fucking ache.” 

He sets the paper down, watching the progress of the shoes and not speaking again until they thump against the wall. “Weren’t those expensive?” he asks dryly. 

“You know I stole them,” she replies with a roll of her eyes, waving a hand in the air. That had been an easy theft, too. Take the shoes out of the box, slide them into her bag, put the box back, then leave without anyone noticing they were gone. “Now. Where’s the cocaine?” 

“It’s not here,” he says, leaning back in his armchair. Concern worries at his features, tugging his mouth down in a frown. 

“Where is it, then?” Her fingers tap a manic pattern in her thigh, leg bouncing. There’s so much energy building up in her body that she finds it difficult to stay still. She’s never been one for exercise, but she thinks that she could run a marathon now. 

Javier notices –– because of course he does. If there’s one person who knows everything about her (and probably even more than she knows about herself), it’s him. Sometimes it’s endearing, how much he sees and cares, but most of the times, it’s fucking annoying. “Are you okay?” 

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“I’m fine.” Clearly. “What, are you a doctor now?” 

A long suffering sigh that he only seems to reserve for her comes out of his mouth. “Letty. . .” 

“What?” 

“If something is wrong, I want you to feel like you can tell me –– ” he starts, but she cuts him off before he can say anymore. 

“There isn’t anything wrong, so I have nothing to say!” she snaps, nails digging into her palms. Her skin is littered with bloody half-crescent moons, but the sharp pricks of pain take her mind off of the cravings settling deep in her gut. “Stop pushing me, Javier!” 

She hates the look in his eyes, the worry that’s made a home there ever since she’d nearly overdosed and killed two men (and almost herself). She knows that she’s falling again, that she’s going to hit rock bottom if she keeps this self-destruction up, but she doesn’t know how to stop. It’s the one thing she’s good at, other than stealing or lying. 

“That’s a nice dress,” Brett or Patrick or whatever his name was tells her. Her head jerks to the side only to see him lounging father up on the bed, ankles crossed and leaning up against the headboard. “My wife has one just like it. Huh. I wonder if she’s going to wear it to my funeral.” 

“Shut up,” she mutters harshly, turning her attention away from him, focusing on the floor, the walls –– anything other than the dead man laying in her bed.  

taptaptaptaptaptap

“Do I still get a funeral if they can’t find my body? You made sure of that.” 

“I thought I told you to stop talking!” 

“Letty? You there?”

She blinks up, jolting back into reality. Patrick is no longer in the room; instead, it’s just Javier. 

Her clothes feel itchy and uncomfortable and she doesn’t want them on her body anymore. There’s a zipper at the back of the dress she stole, on that she’d shoved into her bag at an expensive boutique she hadn’t intended to buy anything from. She claws at it, nails ripping into her skin because she needs it off, needs it away from her skin, needs it gone needs it gone needs it –– 

“Let me help,” Javier says. She glances up, vision slightly blurry, to see him suddenly at her side, swatting her hands away from the dress gently. “Letty –– Letty, stop! You’re hurting yourself.” 

“I don’t need your help,” she whispers, but her shoulders sag, and she allows him to move her hair out of the way and unzip her dress. She leans forward, letting him pulling the offending material off of her upper half. It pools around her hips, but she doesn’t stand to remove it. 

He sits at her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His thumb traces patterns across her ribs, notching in the spaces between them. Her hands shake in her lap, and she shoves them between her thighs to try to stop it. “You need to eat more,” he murmurs, tightening his grip around her. “How about In-N-Out tonight, hmm?” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“But you are always hungry!” he says incredulously. “That one time, you ate a whole burger and then wanted another meal an hour later!” 

“So?” Letty asks disinterestedly, picking at her nails. She needs to get another manicure; this one is chipped and broken, leaving only small spots of red in the middle. “That was weeks ago. Right now, I’m not hungry.” 

“Letty.” 

“Stop saying my name like that, Jav! I told you –– I’m fine!” she says again, shoving his arm away from her and standing him. Her dress falls to her feet, leaving her in just a bra and underwear, but he looks at her with nothing but sympathy. Any other man would be jumping up at the chance to see her like this, but he. . .

She runs a hand through her sweaty, lank hair and presses her palm to her forehead to ward off a headache. “I need a cigarette.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she responds, and it’s clear on his face that he hadn’t been expecting her to agree with him. “I need cocaine. You going to tell me where it is?” 

That makes him stand up, makes something other than pity flash in his eyes. “I am not telling you where the cocaine is, Letty.” 

“Why not? Because I’m some fucked up junkie who doesn’t have any self-control?” 

Javier sighs, running a hand through his perfect hair. He takes a step forward. “You know I don’t think that about you.” 

She doesn’t know, not for sure. He’s said it, plenty of times, over and over again to reassure her –– and as much as she wants to believe him, she can’t. It’s so much easier just to ignore what he’s saying and pretend he doesn’t care about her than believe what he does. 

Then it’s one less person that she hurts the next time she fucks up. 

“Yeah, well, I think that about me,” she says bitterly, turning her chin away and heading toward the bathroom. “So why shouldn’t you?” 

“Don’t, Letty,” he argues, reaching out to snag her arm. “Don’t push me away. Not again.” 

But that’s what she’s good at. 

Letty blinks, then yanks her arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses, throwing her hair over her shoulder as if she’s unaffected by the whole thing. 

He holds his hands up, taking a step back. Something flashes over his face, something that looks an awful lot like hurt. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

She ignores him, heading into the bathroom and picking through the clothes that are scattered on the ground. Once she pulls on a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt, she ties up her hair into a half-hearted, messy bun. One glance in the mirror lets her see just how shitty she looks, but it’s not like she’s going to a five-star restaurant or anything –– all she’s doing is going to buy some cocaine. 

Her feet still ache from her night spent in the forest, littered with small cuts and bruises. It had taken two showers to get the entirety of the dirt off of her skin and it’ll take even longer for the scratches to heal, but the mental wounds will last far longer than the physical ones. 

She wants to forget she ever let herself go like that. She’s a mother now, with responsibilities. Even if she’s not the one taking care of Jacob, she’d promised him she would be better, and she will. She just needs a little more of the drug to get back on her feet, then she’s not touching it ever again. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Why do you care?” she asks pointedly, not looking at him and instead choosing to look at her options for shoes. She wrinkles her nose; what’s the point of wearing anything if her feet hurt and she’s only going to have to go next door to get drugs?

“Because I’m not going to let you destroy yourself again,” he says, voice open and honest. She glances up, looking at him through her peripherals. “Stay here with me. We can get In-N-Out, watch a movie.” 

He reaches out, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. One slides up, tucking a curl behind her ear. He’s gentle, oh so gentle, as if she’s fragile, close to breaking. (Maybe she is.)

“Please, Letty.” 

A beat of silence comes over them before she’s shaking her head, turning away.  “I’ll see you later, Javier.” 

As she reaches the door, hand on the doorknob, he calls out one last time, “What would Jacob think if he saw you now? You are supposed to be better than this.” 

“Well,” she laughs as she leaves, cold and self-deprecating. “I’m not.” 

 

When Letty returns an hour later, she’s sober. Instead of a bag of cocaine in her hand, she’s carrying a brightly-colored, logo t-shirt and has a new pair of sunglasses perched on the top of her head. 

Javier’s sitting in the same armchair, but it’s clear he’s not relaxing. His posture is stiff, tense, and he jumps up when she enters the room. “You’re back,” he says, wonder in his voice. She wonders if he thought she’d leave her, after everything. 

(She wouldn’t blame him if he had.) 

“Got you a gift,” she tells him, tossing the shirt in his direction. It hits him in the chest, and he only barely manages to catch it before it falls to the ground. “It’s in your size.” 

“Thanks,” he says dryly, holding it up to himself. It’s tacky and ugly, with a small rip in one of the sleeves. It had been cheap –– the CVS across the street had been selling it for less than five dollars –– but she’d stolen it anyway, added her own personal touch to the present. 

“You still wanna watch a movie?” 

He smiles, bright and beautiful. She reaches up before she knows what she’s doing, cupping his cheek, running her thumb over the scruff that’s begun to grown there. “I’d like that,” he says. “I’d like that a lot.” 

But she’s a liar. Always has been, always will be — no matter how hard people try to change her.

What she doesn’t tell him is how the crackheads staying in the room next to them weren’t as big of junkies as she’d thought. Turns out, they wouldn’t give her any coke unless she could pay them, and, as she had no money, that hadn’t been something she could do.

But she’s already plotting for the future. If she can’t find Teo’s drugs before Javier sells them, then she’s going to break into their motel room when they’re gone and search it head-to-toe. It’s risky, especially considering the guns she’d seen just lying around, but it’s worth it.

She needs it.

For now, she tries to ignore the craving inside of her and leans further into Javier’s embrace, as if a bad movie and the strength of his hold will magically fix what’s wrong with her.

 

The clock emits an eerie light, casting the dark room in a red color. 3:56 a.m. She’s so tired, so fucking tired, but she’s been laying here for hours without reprieve. 

Javier’s sound asleep next to her, unaware of her troubles. She’s tried to use his steady breathing as a meter for her own, but hasn’t had any luck. It would be unfair to wake him, but she wants to. After all, it’s his fault she’s feeling like this; if he’d only given her what she’d wanted hours earlier (and still wants, if she’s being honest), then she wouldn’t feeling like this. 

Irritated at both herself and him, she slides out of bed in only a tank-top and underwear, searching for something to ease her mind. The only alcohol they have in the room is wine, which isn’t ideal, but she’ll take whatever she can fucking get at this time of night. 

“Letty?” 

Javier’s voice, slurred slightly with sleep, interrupts her thoughts. She swears softly, spine straightening. “Go back to sleep.” 

“What are you doing up?” Through the dim lighting from the clock, she watches as he sits up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist, running his hand through tousled hair. 

“Can’t sleep,” she snaps. “What, is that illegal now?” 

He frowns, rubbing away the tension in his forehead –– tension that she’s likely put there. God, can’t she do anything but destroy? His life would be so much better without her, she should just –– 

No. She won’t let herself think like that. She’s fine. 

“Come back to bed,” he says, and for some reason, she obeys him, climbing next to him. In one swift moment, he has her flipped on her back gently. He hovers over her, but doesn’t pin her, knowing how much she dislikes being trapped –– a fact she’d never told him, but one he’d observed on his own.

“I have a few ideas that might help,” he whispers, bracing himself on his elbows, nosing at her hair, pressing kisses to the skin of her throat. She turns her head, baring herself to him in an act of submission and letting her eyes flutter closed.

But there’s no fire burning low in her gut like there usually is, no hint of arousal or passion. She just feels –– feels numb. Dead. 

She lets Javier kiss her all the same, biting his lip like she usually does in moments like these. However, when his hands slide up her shirt and she feels nothing, she pushes him off of her and rolls to her side. 

“Letty?” he asks, fear in his voice. She can’t see his face, but she can imagine wide eyes and shaking hands. He hasn’t hurt her –– he’s not Sean, he won’t hurt her –– but he doesn’t know that. “Are you –– “ he swallows. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No,” she mutters, closing her eyes and shoving her face into the pillow, making her speech muffled. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Can I touch you?” 

“If you want.” 

He places a hand on her shoulder, rolls her over. He stays on his side, propped up so he can look down at her. His next words are pointed, looking for a clear explanation. “Are you all right?” 

Letty shrugs, face scrunching up in an attempt to prevent tears from spilling over. Why does she feel like this, so weak and vulnerable? “Don’t know.” 

“Hey, hey,” Javier murmurs, placing a hand on cheek and thumbing away her sadness. “You’re okay. That’s okay.” 

“It’s not –– “ 

“Yes, it is.” 

“I didn’t feel anything,” she says, panic rising up in her voice. All of the sudden, she feels choked, unable to draw deep breaths. “It’s not you, it’s me. It’s me, there’s something wrong with me, Javi. I didn’t feel –– I don’t know what’s wrong, but I didn’t feel anything and it’s not your fault, but I –– I –– “ 

“Shh,” he soothes, reaching to gather her into his arms. She curls into him, face pressed against his chest as she cries. “Breathe, Letty. You’re safe. I’ve got you, I’m here. I just need you to breathe for me, okay?” 

Javier breathes in and out, steady and metered, a measure for her to copy. Beneath her head she can feel each inhale and exhale, and tries to shift her breathing from short yips to breaths deep from her lungs. It takes her a few minutes, but he’s there the whole time, rubbing circles against her back and letting him clutch at her. 

She doesn’t deserve his kindness. Never has, never will. 

Never one to let herself be seen like this for too long, she pulls away from him and wipes her eyes with the back of her wrists, sitting up to better catch her breath. “I’m sorry I –– “ a shaky breath, “Sorry I ruined your shirt.” She imagines it’s covered in snot and tears, just like she is; it’s hardly an attractive look. 

“Don’t be,” he replies. “You got me a new one.” 

“Yeah,” she laughs quietly. Her head pounds, and she feels dizzy all of the sudden, black spots dancing before her eyes. With a heavy exhale, she lays down again, closing her eyes to reorientate herself. “I stole it. From the CVS across the street.” 

“I know.” At her look, he clarifies. “You didn’t have any money.” 

There’s rustling at her side, and when Javier lays back down, he’s bare-chested. He coaxes her back into his embrace, and she lets him, resting her head on his shoulder and running her fingers over his chest. 

“You do not have to sleep,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. “But you should try. You look bad, Letty.” 

She huffs out a breath, not angry with his comment. It’s true, it’s absolutely true. The dark, purple bags underneath her eyes and the raggedness of her general demeanor only prove his words correct. “Withdrawal will do that to you.” 

His arms tighten around her. “You aren’t alone.”

His words spark something deep in her chest, making her shift uncomfortably. She’s gone through detoxes before, for alcohol or heroin or cocaine or any other sort of drug, but she’s always been alone. Even in a rehabilitation center, with dozens of doctors and nurses and other patients, she’d been alone.

Now she’s not. Huh. It feels weird.

“I don’t think I could do this alone,” she admits softly, tracing patterns in his skin with her nails. “Not this time.” 

“Good. You don’t have to. I told you: I am here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

While she doesn’t sleep that night, it puts her at ease to hear that, lifting a weight off of her shoulders. He’s got her. 

He’s got her.

Notes:

this is purely self-indulgent aklijglakrhg i honestly have no idea if anyone is going to read this. i just recently finished good behavior and it's honestly my favorite tv-show. GOD i just love them so much