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bishop riddle

No. Yes. I don't fucking know. All I can focus on is the wave of annoyance that's washing over me. I'd been working up the courage, and finally decided to make the move and get Aspen alone so we could at least try to come to some sort of conclusion regarding our friendship or whatever the hell it is, because I know that after Friday night, she's been the only thing that proved to be enough of a distraction from everything fucked up in my mind.

I'm not sure what to do about it, or if she feels the same, but there are still some things I'm struggling to remember, and maybe, just maybe, spending some more time with her would help with the recollection. Doesn't make much sense, I know, but as Dr. Jones pointed out during our one and only session so far, spending time with the people I used to might help bringing up memories. It's a long shot, but I'm willing to give it a try.

There's also this other thing. . . I don't know why, but for some reason, whenever I think of how wasted Aspen had been when I found her in the bathroom on Friday, there's this nagging feeling that comes straight with it, immediately reminding me of Courtney and the rape, and how there's a possibility Tim could've done it. I know I'm being fucking stupid. He's been one of my best friends for years, for God's sake. But he used to spend a lot of time with Courtney, and sometimes, it feels like whatever I want or have seems to only spur him on toward wanting it too. It sure as hell seems like that with Aspen, and the flash of memory I had during the weekend, of our past conversations about how it's all about the chase, how virgins are upping the score the most, and how well he knows which tricks to use to get where he wants are only twisting my stomach further.

That's why I can't keep the mix of sarcasm and harshness from my voice when I answer. "Really? That's funny, 'cause I'm pretty sure you were the one in hiding the entire Friday night at your party."

Tim is not a bad guy. I know as much. I've even been telling people as much, because it's the truth. But right now, I don't know where I'm standing, which I know is the courtesy of what Jade told me about Courtney. I hadn't seen him all night on Friday, in his own damn house, and then I found Aspen on the very same floor where his room is completely trashed. Suspecting that he had something to do with it, or that something worse might have happened, equals for totally getting ahead of myself, but how can I not?

The grin fades from his face and he sighs, running a hand through his dark blond hair, "So you are in a pissy mood."

I'm aware of Aspen still standing beside me, and that's the only reason why I don't tell him 'fuck you', despite how annoyed his statement makes me. "I'm not in a pissy mood. I'm just wondering where you were, since you were the one to call me over and then didn't even bother to show up."

"You're acting as if you haven't done the same to me countless times before," Tim snaps right back at me, clearly not giving a shit about the fact that we're in the school hallway, or that we're not alone.

He's wrong though, if he thinks I'm mad at him for not making an appearance, because even though I could be, what I'm really mad at is the possibility of him having to do something with how fucked up Aspen was. I mean, after everything, doesn't he know better?

"You're getting really annoying with this whole 'eye for eye, tooth for tooth' stance of yours, you know that?" Yeah, I did a lot of stupid mistakes, and apparently I didn't always have his back when he needed it, but it's not like he had mine at all times, either. I don't know what he's watching with this but he better not start stirring some leveling out shit involving Aspen. Which, speaking of, is watching the ping-pong interaction between us with wide eyes, flinching a little when I slam the door of my locker shut. Not that that's what I'm focusing on right now, because I know my focus needs to be on Tim.

He still hasn't replied by the time I turn to him, leveling him with my gaze. "Anyway, I need to talk to you about something, so when you get over this stupid sulking, you know where to find me."

Midway through the sentence the muscle in his jaw ticks, but he still doesn't say anything.

Before walking away, I flick my gaze to Aspen, only briefly, silently wishing that Tim hadn't interrupted us. But he had, and as much as I hate to admit I need his help when he could also be the guy that had something to do with how things ended up with Courtney, I know that he might also know why Rose is constantly getting into cat fights with those girls, maybe even their names or something. It's a long shot, again, but I'm so desperate to fill in all the missing gaps the accident left that I'm willing to give it a try.

"So, Collin, where do you think the anger that you're feeling most of the time is coming from? Would you say it's more anger directed toward your father, or anger directed toward yourself?"

Dr. Jones asks, prompting me to move my gaze back toward her from the weird colorful sunflower painting that's hanging on one of walls in my father's living room. Yeah, that's where I'm still living.

I haven't been home except that one time last weekend, and after the way Rose lashed out on me, it's no surprise she's been avoiding me in school as well. She doesn't want anything to do with me, and apparently neither does Mom. She has called, twice, but why bother if she doesn't want me back home living with her? That's why, despite it being stupid, I declined her calls both times.

"I'm angry at both of my parents, actually," I tell Dr. Jones, letting myself voice the words for the first time. Maybe Dr. Jones expected that kind of answer, but either way, I go on. "I don't know if you know, since my parents are fucking pro at keeping secrets, but they're both cheating assholes. So yeah, who wouldn't be angry when they can't even admit to their actions?"

Just as she's been doing since the beginning of our session, Dr. Jones scribbles most likely every single word I just told her into the notepad propped on her knee. Then, she peers at me from above the rim of her glasses. "Hmm. Admitting to our actions. Isn't that something what most of us struggles with every so often?"

I'd be stupid to miss what she's hinting at. And maybe, once upon a time, it might have as well applied. Not now, though. "I don't have a problem admitting to the fact that I did drugs."

"I never implied you had. But there's a difference between admitting to doing something and fully realizing the extent of the addiction, Collin." 

Immediately, I feel defensive. "I'm not addicted to drugs." How can she even imply that? Since when does doing something occasionally count in as an addiction? "I have seen addicts. And that's nowhere near where I am."

Dr. Jones leaves forward in the sofa chair a bit. "Addiction doesn't have just one face. It's not about how you look or feel, it's about whether you can live without desperately needing the escape."

Her last words resonate deeply, and for a moment, I consider spilling everything regarding Courtney out, because keeping it in is proving to be more difficult than I'd have ever thought. Perhaps, she senses the change in me, because I see her dark brown eyes soften a little, but then I realize she's looking at me with pity. Pity, because she thinks that she hit the nail right on the head, and that what she's saying describes me right down to the core. She's wrong. "I'm not escaping from anything." Okay, maybe, that's a lie. But the second part is totally true. "I'm the one in control, Dr. Jones. That's the difference between the addicts and me."

The pills I have taken from Bishop nearly a week ago? Still in the pocket of my jacket. An addict? I can fucking guarantee you he would've already swallowed them the first chance he got. So this is exactly where Dr. Jones is wrong.

"Collin," Dr. Jones starts. "I know it can be hard to admit things, even to ourselves sometimes, but it's never too late to ask for he--"

The shrill ring of the timer she set earlier cuts her off, and honestly, I couldn't be more glad for that. I know what she was about to say. But it only goes to prove that she's completely oblivious to where I'm currently at. Doesn't she see that I don't need the kind of help she's talking about? I don't need to go to rehab. I don't need to be opening up to her so she can analyze and examine me further. I'm not an addict, and I can fix my problems on my own, just like I always had before. What she's here for is to help me get some more of a recollection of my past memories, but apparently, she's all about poking her nose everywhere else.

Impatiently, I watch her fumble with her phone, setting the timer off before turning her attention back to me. "What I was saying is--"

This time, I'm the one to cut it short. "I think our time is up, doctor." And it's not that I want to be rude to her. It's just that I don't really think anything that she's doing is helping my case. I know we have only had two hour-long sessions so far, and I should be more patient than that, but so far, nothing has happened and it feels as if the only thing I was doing was running out of time. It's been three weeks since my accident, and as the doctors had pointed out during my last check-up, what doesn't come back in a few weeks' worth, probably never will. It scares the shit out of me because I don't want to be this way, with all these blank spaces in my mind.

Dr. Jones presses her lips together, standing up, and I expect her to say something in return, hell, maybe even a scolding in return, because I'd no doubt deserve that, but she doesn't get to do that, thanks to the sound of the bell ringing.

"I'm heading out of the city for a few days next week, and I'm not sure whether I'll be back till Wednesday, so I'll schedule our next session out with your father."

Again, I'm sure she anticipates a different response from me, but I'm only able to give her a meek nod as I push to my feet and follow her through the hall to the door to let her out and see who is ringing the doorbell. I highly doubt it's my father since he's working late tonight, but who knows with him? I wouldn't put forgetting his keys or something else at home and having to return back for it past him.

Clutching the knob between my fingers, I crack the door open without hesitation. My parents always advised me to peek through the peep hole first when I was younger, but back then, I also cared whether something happened to me or not.

The person that's standing on the porch, nervously stepping from one foot to the other, though? Is as far from a threat as possible. Oh wait, I take that back. Especially since I still haven't figured out anything new about what went down with Courtney, and his mother is the one leading her trial case.

"Hey," Timothy gives me a nod as he looks up from the ground, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. I greet him back, and step aside to let Dr. Jones pass. Noticing her, he greets her with polite, "Hello," and I try to remember the last time when I experienced him being polite to someone, since as far as I can remember, Timothy never really cared about formalities and such.

"I'll see you, Collin," Dr. Jones says before ascending the porch steps and I clarify with, "Yeah. Bye." because really, what else am I supposed to say?

I watch her walk to her car across the cobblestone pavement, suddenly feeling a strange emptiness in my stomach upon being alone with Timothy. I know that I wanted to talk to him, I told him as much, but I'm not sure I'm ready for all the answers.

If he's willing to give them, that is.

"Uh, can I come in?" Tim asks, prompting me to flick my eyes back to him.

"Yeah, sure." I step in, and he follows me inside.

I'm not sure where to have this conversation. My room? The living room? The kitchen? For a brief moment, I debate it, but then set on the kitchen, leading the way once again.

"So, you're living back here now?"

I can't see his face because he's behind me, which is convenient because I sure as hell wouldn't want him to see the way my face pinches together when I have to admit the words I'd rather keep to myself. "Mom doesn't want me back home, and neither does Rose, so. . . I can't really afford to be picky."

We reach the kitchen, and I hear Tim come to a stop, which I confirm by a side-way glance, but I don't stop there. Instead, I head for the fridge, opening it. "You want a beer?"

There's a beat of silence, and once I turn my head around to him, I see the hesitant expression written on his face. "What?" I ask, "You can't even have a beer now when I'm in the same room?"

"No, it's not that."

"It's your choice. I'm not forcing you. But you don't have to be putting on this goody-two-shoes act around me, Tim. If you want a beer, have it. Not a big deal."

Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair, "I just . . . I don't know if it's a good idea. I didn't come here to kick back on the couch and play video games or whatever."

I know he might not mean them to, but his words sound like they're delivered with a precise purpose. That being to stir up the anger in me once again. "You know what? Fuck it." I slam the door of the fridge closed, then take a step toward the table and pull one of the chairs out. "It was a normal question, but apparently, you think I'm alcoholic now, too, so let's just save us both time and talk about something that you deem an appropriate topic for your junkie friend."

Guilt flickers in his eyes, "Collin --"

"What? You think that anyway, so we might as well address it correctly." Truthfully, this is not how I anticipated our first real conversation to go, but I can't stop myself now. I thought that even though I had nearly lost everyone else, I still had Tim, no matter what kind of suspicions I might have about him. By the looks of it, the last few of my friends I had left were abandoning me as well.

"God," Tim runs a hand through his hair again, "why do you have to be like this? I came here because you wanted to talk to me about something, and then you turn this whole thing over and try to make me feel guilty because I care enough to not want you to slip back down again?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," I respond. If anything, it feels the exact opposite from my point of view. I know that he cares, it's just that the way he's going about it isn't exactly sitting right with me. I mean, if he really cared as much as he claims to, would he take nearly an entire week to seek me out? "And you definitely took your time."

A frustrated sigh escapes his mouth as he steps closer to the round table, pulls out the other chair, and sits down on it. We sit across from each other for a while, in silence, both looking at the table, until Tim mutters, "Sometimes, you're being so damn difficult."

I shrug, not moving my gaze an inch. "It's just the way I am."

Tim laughs lightly, prompting me to look up at him just in time to see his shaking head, "No. It's the way you choose to be."

Maybe he's right. Although being this way doesn't really feel like a choice to me.

And maybe this is not the most appropriate time for the opening into the conversation that I wanted to have with him, but I'm tired of waiting around for the right time. Getting the answers about Courtney can wait a bit longer. Knowing what's going on between Tim and Aspen might wait as well. But I'll be damned if I don't find out what the hell is going on with my sister.

"Tim?" I ask him, holding my breath.

A slight crease appears in the center of his forehead. "Yeah?"

As easy as the words sounded in my head earlier, they sure as hell feel like scraping my mouth coming out. "There's -- The thing I wanted to talk to you about, well one of the things --" God, I'm so pathetic with words. "Okay," I exhale the pent up breath, flexing and un-flexing my hands on the table. "Is Rose running around with the wrong crowd again? The people she used to hang out with? She's -- She was fucking beaten to a pulp the last time I saw her, and, I can't help but worry that she's gotten into something worse with those girls she keeps getting in fights with. I don't want her to end up jail just because she's trying to prove something to herself."

In all honesty, the topic hits too close to the home. I'd been arrested several times in the past, but I never really had to worry about spending time in a jail cell because of my father the police chief. Most of my mistakes had been covered for by other people, and if I was some non-privileged kid, I would really, really hate myself for it. Part of me does hate myself for it.

But Rose is a different story. Leal Adamms is not her father. And he has treated Rose as plague for years now, so I'm more than sure he wouldn't pull a single fucking string in getting her out of a trouble she caused.

"I need you to tell me those girls' names, Tim. So I can, I don't know, talk to them, or just . . . do something about it. Who even beats up a girl like that? Rose isn't saint in this either, but shouldn't there be some repercussions for them?"

Tim purses his lips, refocusing his eyes back on the table for a beat before looking up at me. "Have you thought that maybe it's not . . . maybe it's not the way it looks? What if cat fights are not the reason why Rose is so bruised up from time to time?"

I feel like I'm not getting what he's saying. I get the words, but the meaning behind them is not fully sinking in. I must be seriously turning dense. "Okay, I get that you want to make this better, but she isn't innocent. You had been there a couple times when she got into it with some random girl at a party."

But that's not all there is. I can't exactly pinpoint it but there's this weird, nagging sensation somewhere inside me. It's like a wall, similar, but I can't get fucking past it. Fuck my stupid brain for losing hold of the important stuff. I try to focus, hoping that maybe, if I focus hard enough, I will crack through the wall.

My attempt is cut short though. "I know," Tim says. "And I don't want to imply anything, but maybe you should try looking at it from a different side?"

Now his words really don't make any sense to me. I want to understand. God, do I want to. But my head is spinning with confusion. "What different side?"

He watches me for a beat, as if deciding whether to drop the bomb or not, causing my stomach to churn. What the fuck is going on?

"Jeez. I feel like such a prick for saying this," he scrubs a hand over his face, whooshing out an exhale, "And again, it doesn't have to mean anything, but I've noticed that Rose's been . . . that way ever since she started hanging out with Bishop Riddle. I'm not making any accusations, but --"

Tim keeps talking. I guess. But I'm not listening to him anymore.

Because the second he said the fucking name, the goddamn wall lifted, and everything clicked right into its place.
•

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AND COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER PLEASE! :)

so, what kind of conclusion do you guys think Collin came to after Timothy's implication? what do you think about the discussion Collin had with Dr. Jones? do you think that the first step toward battling an addiction is admitting that you are addicted to something? Timothy's and Collin's relationship seems to be a bit strained at the beginning but it seems like maybe they're slowly fixing things? let me know what you think!

(also i'm SO SO SO excited for the upcoming chapters!!! there's so much drama ahead of us. not just drama obviously though. *wink wink*)

alsooo i found this on tumblr (credz to the artist) and i just HAD to add it here because it literally reminds me SO much of Aspen and Rose (granted, Rose's skin would be a few shades darker and she has a nose ring as well and Aspen's hair is a lighter shade of blond (now short and with dark blue ends)but other than that, it's totally them)):

all the love,
Nessa.💕