IN HIS SONG 'The Needle and the Damage Done,' Neil Young says, "Every junkie's like a setting sun." I never understood that lyric, because sunsets are beautiful and addiction is far from it. But I think I get it now. It's about a light that goes out. A light you can't control.

I can stop the people I love from doing drugs as much as I can stop the sun from sinking below the horizon.

After I drop Val off, I go home. I sit in my room and play my guitar, staring through the window at the dusting of stars that fleck the sky. It feels like this night will never end; despite everything that happened, it's only ten p.m.

Someone knocks at the door, but all I want to do is sing and wish and forget.

"I'm practicing," I say. "Please leave me alone."

Nolan pokes his head in, and while I love that boy more than life itself, I don't want to see him. "What happened?"

I don't reply, just keep plucking the strings of my guitar. I focus on the chords: D, C, D, A, A, C.

"Is Carson coming back?"

"No, bud. Carson went home."

"But he said he would be here."

Anything I say right now is going to come out frustrated and mean. I don't want to talk, so I keep playing. This isn't me, I think, but I can't do anything about it.

"Where is he?" Nolan asks. "Is he coming back to play? Is that why you're practicing? Maybe Carson wants to give me another lesson—"

"Don't you get it, Nolan?" I snap, shoving my guitar on my bed. "He's a liar. It's about time I start accepting that, and it's about time you do too. He's a liar, just like my dad. Just like yours."

I realize what I've done as soon as it comes out. I go to apologize, but it's too late—Nolan is gone, and he's been replaced by Mom standing in my doorway.

"What's going on, Jill?" She crosses her arms over her floral pajamas. "Did you just raise your voice at Nolan?"

I lower my head. "I didn't mean to."

Mom sighs and closes the door behind her, before she sits beside me on my bed. I hold in tears, ashamed and mortified I'd take my frustration out on Nolan. I've never yelled at him. I never thought I would.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Mom asks. "Don't tell me you're fine, I know you're not."

I pick up my stuffed teddy with the missing eye to give myself something to focus on. "Dad's shooting up again. And... he tried to shoot up Carson."

Mom covers her mouth. "Oh, no... did he—"

"I caught them first. But the needle was right about to go into his arm. It was this close." My hands shake the teddy. When Mom touches my shoulder, I relax. It's humiliating to recount what happened at Shae's house, but I tell her every moment of it. "I feel so stupid," I say, crying, "because I still want to help Carson. I want to get him off drugs and away from his abusive family because aside from tonight, I still think he's so amazing."

Mom's brows draw, and she exhales through her nose. "There are things I never told you about your father, you know."

I wipe my eyes with my bare wrist. "You always said it was better if I didn't know more about him. And after he left, I didn't even care about knowing him better."

"Yes, well. He came from a very abusive home. Even before he died and you were just a baby, I wouldn't let his father—your grandfather—anywhere near you. He was a horrible man who used to beat your father senseless almost every day, and your father's mother had left him years prior. He grew up alone in that environment, trying desperately to please a man who would only ever loathe him."

For the first time in a long time, I feel sadness for Dad. Or at least, for who he used to be. But why is Mom telling me this now?

"That story," Mom says, "was one of the reasons I gave your father so many chances. It was a tragic beginning for him, and I knew it haunted him every day. He had nightmares about it all the time, and that was part of why he used so much. So every time he broke my heart then begged me to take him back, I would tell myself he was a broken man and he needed help. But I wish someone had told me back then that there's a fine line between loving someone and letting them destroy you."

Mom brushes my hair behind my hear, and my chest retches. I picture the Carson I slept with, and then who he was at Shae's, and they're two different people.

"I love Carson, I really do," Mom says. "I see so much good in him, and I don't think he's a lost cause. But I need you to understand it isn't your job to help him get better. Even if he comes from a difficult home, or if you find yourself making any excuses for him in your head. It isn't your job, Jillie. He won't change unless he wants to. And you don't have to keep being his girlfriend if it hurts you."

I can't hold in my sob. "But what should I do, Mom? Should I keep trying?"

Her smile is gentle. "I can't answer that, sweetheart. I've wanted to help Carson since he started working here, but you're my kid, not him. I want what's best for you first."

"I don't know what to do. I don't want to give up on him. But I don't want to feel like this."

"You don't have to decide now. You're much smarter than I was at your age... I know you'll make the right choice."

Mom kisses the side of my head and leaves. This isn't a choice I want to have to make, and I'm cursing myself for letting this go so far. This night has woken me up from what feels like a long dream. I know now what I knew before Carson, but had buried under layers of sand. The sediment piled up. I could no longer see him as anything but sweet, generous, and loving—but the truth is, Carson Blue is the one thing I promised myself I'd never fall for. He's an addict. And it's because of him I now understand why Mom gave Dad chance after chance; because that glimmer of hope is almost enough to outshine the darkness.

Somehow, that knowledge doesn't make me care about him less. I don't know what to do about Carson—but there is one tie I know I need to cut off. For real this time.

I grab my car keys and go.

***

When I get to the motel room, the door is open a crack. Light from inside leaks into the night.

"Dad?" I call out. No response. Slowly, I push on the door, and what I'm met with is a memory.

"Wasn't that movie great, sweetie?" Mom says as we walk up to the trailer.

"Yeah, it was awesome! Really sad though."

Mom opens the door to the trailer. Dad is asleep on the floor, and there's green stuff all over his flannel shirt.

The image I see now is the same.

Dad on his back, sputtering up chunks of green like some sort of sewage fountain.

In my mind, Mom rolls Dad onto his side and says, "This is really important, Jillie. If you ever see someone like this, you need to roll them on their side, or else they could die. And they'll be robbed of the chance to ever get better, okay? You always roll them on their side."

Jimi Hendrix died of asphyxiation. Jim Morrison, heroin-induced heart attack. Legends. My dad has always wanted to be a legend.

I won't let him.

My heart races as I throw him on his side. More hurl leaks from his mouth, and I fumble for my phone, but it slips from my hand and lands next to his lake of vomit.

"Damn it," I curse. I try to grab my phone but it slips away, and Dad keeps puking. He tries to roll onto his back. "Daddy, you have to stay on your side," I say, forcing him still. My eyes are on fire.

I hate him for what he did to me, to Mom, to Carson. But he can't die. Not like this.

When I finally manage to grab my phone, I dial 911. I hyperventilate into the phone, but the operator speaks calmly. She asks me to check his pulse, so I jab two fingers into his neck. A light flutter touches me, small, but existent.

"Good, you're doing great," the operator says. "Keep him on his side until the ambulance gets there. Stay on the phone with me. Keep him breathing."

Crying and covered in vomit, I leave the phone on speaker on the floor and focus on Dad.

"You bastard," I croak out. "If you die like this, I swear I'll never forgive you."

Dad sputters and coughs up more puke, but he's breathing.

There's so much about this life I don't understand. No one is born with a needle in their arm; I've seen Dad's baby pictures. The man I'm looking at, lying in a pool of his own puke, is not a monster. He's just sick.

"There's a fine line between loving someone and letting them destroy you."

Defeat weighs on my shoulders. As I look at him, I see who he used to be.

My dad who took me to the park.

My dad who taught me to play guitar.

My dad who let his creepy friends touch me, who left me, who tried to put heroin in my boyfriend's veins.

The pain in my heart is searing, because I'll always love him, no matter what he does. But I know what I have to do. This will be the last time I ever stand before him as his daughter. I want him to live, but after this he's dead to me. He has to be.

Paramedics flood into the room, and I step back and tell them I only just arrived and don't know how much he took. They lift him onto a gurney and wheel him outside, and everything around him moves in slow motion. Despite what happened, I'm happy to see his eyes open a crack.

"Jillie?" he wheezes out.

"It's okay," I say, following as they wheel him toward the ambulance. "You'll be okay."

Dad's eyes lull into his head, and he slips away again. The paramedics lift him into the back of the ambulance, but I stay in the parking lot. Red and yellow lights flash all around me.

He can't hear me anymore. But for myself, more than anyone, I whisper, "I forgive you, Daddy."

***

I don't go to school the next day.

When I drag myself out of bed, the apartment is silent and empty. Shards of mid-morning light litter the hardwood through the lace pattern of the curtains, and dust particles float in the streams like wisps of smoke. The sounds of the diner rumble through the floor. I'm completely alone. I make my way downstairs.

The new girl, Janet—a perky lady in her forties—zips by with a tray to serve the only table of customers. I picture Carson in her place with a bus bin. Mom rearranges a pile of laminated menus so they all face the right direction, and the smell of coffee roasts in the air, mingling with cheesy egg from the customers' fresh omelets.

The door dings. And as if the damn universe is playing with me, Carson Blue storms in wearing the same clothes he was in last night.

"Jill, I'm so sorry."

I don't think about the words, they just come. "Get out."

Janet and the customers glance at us.

"Jill, please," Carson says. "Please let me explain."

I breathe in sharply and tremble with both anger and hurt. How dare he show up like this? I don't want to cause a scene, so I storm outside. Carson follows. We face each other on the sidewalk. His skin is pale, and his eyes are puffy and pleading. The boy I know is back, but I won't forget who he was last night.

He steps closer to me, and his hands shake. "I—I was looking for you at school. Then Val said you were home sick, and—god, I'm so sorry."

"You humiliated me, Carson. I told myself I'd never let anyone make me feel that small again, and you made me feel that way. And to run off with my dad, after everything I told you he put me through—you completely betrayed me!"

"I'm so sorry." When Carson traps me in his arms and cries, his warmth turns me to stone. "Please, give me another chance. I've loved you my whole life."

I say nothing, and then his lips are on mine. I kiss him back, partially out of instinct, partially because I love him too. My knees go weak. All of my feelings for him flood in. I love kissing him. I love his hands, his smell, everything about him. Images of him sleeping on my couch and curled up in his bed make my stomach lurch, because I want nothing more than for him to be okay. I succumb to these feelings, allow them to drown me.

But only for a moment. I push him away.

"Don't do that, Carson."

"Sorry." Sniffling, he pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it. It's white with black cursive writing, and it looks like it was spat out of our school's printers because I recognize the pattern of streaky ink. I hesitantly take it, and a scoff escapes my lips.

"A prom ticket? Seriously? I don't want this." I crumple it slightly, but resist the urge to ball it. "Tell me what happened last night. Why did you act like that?"

"I don't know, Jill. I was out of my head. It was like I had two voices inside me. One was yelling at me to stay with you, but the other wanted me to say anything to get you away from me so I could get high in peace. And—I guess the second one won. I woke up this morning and I was horrified. Please, you have to believe that wasn't me."

I try to imagine what that would be like. In a way, I feel similar right now, because I have two voices inside me too. One tells me to kiss Carson and forgive him, and the other wants me to shove this stupid prom ticket up his ass.

"I know that wasn't you," I say, "but at the same time, it totally was. You definitely weren't the guy I care about. But you were still you, not some other person. And you chose to talk to me like that in front of everyone."

"Fuck." He wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his red hoodie. A few people pass us on the sidewalk, and I shrink away from their curious glances. "You're right," he says. "I guess I can't explain it. But I really am so sorry. I can't believe I almost did heroin. That's a new low. My uncle died from that shit. I've never shot up. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Yeah, well..." I swallow. "My dad OD'd last night."

"What? Is he—"

"He's alive, but I'm never talking to him again." I wrap my arms over my chest and bite my trembling lip. "That could've been you too."

"I know." Tears drip down his lightly freckled cheeks. "That scares the shit out of me, Jill. I never thought I'd get that low. I wanted to get high so badly, and when he offered, I just lost myself."

I don't reply. When he tries to hug me again, I back away. "Please don't touch me."

"Sorry."

Silence befalls us, and I do everything I can to stop myself from crying as cars whip by and people pass. We shouldn't be doing this in public, but I don't want to invite him into my home, even though he works later anyway.

"I know it's dumb." Carson gestures toward the ticket. "School dances are stupid, and I doubt they needed to charge sixty bucks for that thing. But—I always liked seeing you in dresses. You're gorgeous no matter what you wear, don't get me wrong. But I've been wanting to see you in your prom dress since we started high school."

"Stop," I say, because this bullshit is tugging at my heart. It isn't fair. He can't treat me like that then come at me with this.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to take you," he goes on. "Just—please, let me take you."

"It isn't for another whole month."

"I know. And I'll prove to you I can change before then, I promise."

All his words tantalize me. I can't forgive him yet—I won't. But I'd be lying if I said I don't want to spend prom night with him. Even with the way he made me feel, I still want to be with him, and that's the most confusing part.

I tuck the paper in my back pocket and say, "I'll go to prom with you, Carson. But I don't know what we are until then. You really hurt me last night. I'm not just going to get over it."

"I get it. Just give me a chance to change."

His eyes are as honest as the sun above our heads, and I hate myself for wanting to believe in him. That's the thing about sunsets: they always come back around. But I don't know if I can ever let Carson Blue be the light in my sky again.

So I say, "Your shift starts at five," and go back inside.