by Adriana Law
“I can’t go buy you drugs,” I tell him, laying a hand on his arm.
He flinches at my touch, his watery bloodshot eyes connecting with mine. I can see the magnitude of his pain in their depths. Sweat covers his forehead and his chest. His skin is clammy. He looks as sick as my grandmother looked in her final days, which terrifies me. Can someone die from withdraws?
“You can’t get me something or you won’t?” he spits.
“You’re right, I won’t. You can get through this. I know you can.”
“Easy for you to say while you’re sitting there just watching,” he laughs out. “You have no idea how it feels … how bad my body aches … how bad my body is rebelling against me. You have no fuckin’ idea!!”
“You wanted my help. This is how I’m going to help you by refusing to let you give in.”
The look on his face is pure horror when he realizes I don’t plan to let him bully me. His gaze meets mine for the longest moment in which he relays the message that this is entirely my fault. I’m the one keeping him from having what he wants. He makes a guttural sound his forehead smacking his knees in defeat. I place a gentle hand on his rounded back as his shoulders shake with sobs.
I swallow hard. He has no idea how much this is hurting me.
Day three- Chills and Aggression:
In the darkness there is a flame.
The flame dances as if a mighty breath blows upon it. It flickers out and then reappears, growing taller, drawing me to it.
“If you play with fire, you get burned,” a seductive voice sings. “You don’t need the light. Stay. Stay here with me in the darkness.”
I ignore the voice going closer, stretching out a hand and just as the voice warned the flame leaps to my sleeve. I jump back, screaming and slapping wildly at the flame that eats at my clothing. The one flame splits and turns into two … then three … four… until it devours me.
There is pain, intense pain. But like a snake shedding its worn-out skin I feel the old me melt away. I welcome it. I long for it.
Out of the midst of the fire, out of the pile of ashes I shoot straight up out of the darkness and into the bright light, soaring, twisting, spiraling testing my glorious wings, my curled talons sharp enough to pierces any size animal, my hooked beak strong enough to crush bones.
For a second I am free, weightless.
A single arrow slices through the blue sky with the sound of a jet ripping through the atmosphere. The tip spears the underside of my wings. A high-pitched screech erupts from my chest. Scarlet spreads swiftly amongst fiery feathers. My broken wing curls inward of no use.
I’m falling; spiraling, twisting, and plummeting out of control down toward earth… the ground rolls up …
I jerk awake, bolting straight up in the bed, crawling backwards toward the iron headboard my body slick with sweat. I blink, forcing remnants of the dream out as I take in my surroundings. Even though I’d fought to not fall asleep—afraid Sterling would take off—I must have dozed off.
My gaze snaps to Sterling. He is arms distance away, jerking with violent chills. His arms are hugging his bare chest, his teeth shattering. It’s at least seventy degrees, but he acts as if he is freezing.
“You okay?” I ask, going to him and pulling a blanket up over him. I give his shoulder a gentle shake.
No answer, only teeth knocking.
I scoot closer, leaning over his shoulder to see if he is asleep. His long lashes are dark against pale skin.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
No response, so I do the only thing I know to do, I warm him with the heat of my own body. Molding his back I wrap my arms around his chest. His skin is cool against mine. It’s the first time I’ve ventured over from my side of the bed. It’s the first time I’ve fully allowed myself to want this; him and me like this.
I feel every shiver and every tremble and his heartbeat under the palm of my hand.
“You need to try to eat something,” I tell him slowly approaching the bed carrying a tray.
Sterling is lying flat on his back in the bed with his head propped up on a stack of pillows, unshaven, noticeable paler. His mood has gone from whinny and desperate to pissed off.
“I don’t need fuckin’ soup!” he sputters, protesting in an outraged tone. His hand comes up under the tray clipping a corner of it. The tray flips in the air, hurtling over the side of the bed. Hot broth splatters, the scalding liquid burning the top of my feet and ankles. My steps falter briefly, my spine stiffening and my chin coming up. The wood tray clatters to a stop on the hardwood floor.
“Was that necessary?” I snap. “You know it might make you feel better if you eat!”
“I don’t need more fuckin’ food to puke up.” Sterling’s expression turns dark, distant. “What I need is … forget it! You can’t possibly understand what I need! It’s something no one can understand unless they’ve been through it,” his voice is cold.
“You keep saying that. Explain it to me! I want to understand,” I insist, narrowing my eyes at him. I bend and turn the tray on its right side, carefully picking the broken pieces of the bowl out of the puddle of soup, collecting them on the tray.
Sterling throws back the covers, leaps from the bed and stalks toward where I’m crouched cleaning up his mess. A strong hand circles my upper arm, the grip almost painful as he hauls me to my feet, jerking me up against him. I can’t resist even if I want to. Stormy gray bears down on me. A vein in his throat jumps.
It’s first time in days I’ve seen him this alert and strong. I recognize it for what it is; an overload of adrenaline giving him a sudden burst of undeniable energy. He leads me by the arm to the closet, his hold gentle yet determined. He is overpowering, dominating. Sterling flings open the door to the walk in closet and shoves me into the small space, blocking the door with the bulk of his body.
My heart races.
My mouth goes dry.
Still is strength is intimidating.
I have about a minute to wonder what he is planning to do to me. Is he going to slam the door and lock me inside to punish me? He stretches, the tattoo on his bicep flexing, his hand disappearing up on the shelf. Is he looking for a gun?
Feeling around on the shelf for what he is looking for he cuts me a sideways glance, a growl coming from his throat. “Shit. You actually think I’d hurt you don’t you?” He frowns, bringing his hand down, his fingers curled around the body of the eagle. He thrusts it at me. “Take your fuckin’ bird and get out!” he says through clenched teeth.
He is giving me the bird?
I tilt my head up at him, confused.
“I don’t want to leave,” I admit.
“Did I ask you what you want? I’m serious. Get the hell out!” He shoulders his way past me, storming into the bedroom, barreling around to face me. “You’re only making this a-hell-of-a-lot worse. Your damn voice inside me head constantly. It’s irritating. You’re irritating.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid I might understand.” I blink. “I might understand you and that scares the crap out of you.”
“Why?” he snaps.
“Why what?”
“Why the hell would you need to understand how it feels?” sarcasm oozes off of him. “Are you planning on getting you a nasty habit of your own to kick?”
“That’s not funny.”
“You’re right. It’s not funny.”
He takes a step closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath on a cheek. See the stubble along his jaw. The down sweep of his long dark lashes as his gaze lowers briefly to my lips and then slowly rises, skimming every feature of my face before it meets my gaze head-on. My flesh tinkles with the awareness of his erection pressed against my lower stomach.
“Damn you for having a kissable mouth,” he growls, a finger brushing my bottom lip.
I inhale and hold it. “I want to understand you,” I breathe.
“No you don’t. You just think you do.”
“I’m
here,” I murmur as if that’s proof.
There are several intense moments: our mouths so close but not yet touching. My stomach clenches with anticipation. I remember the feel of his tongue sliding over mine, the wild taste of his scorching kisses in the hot air balloon.
Damn you for having a kissable mouth.
He sighs, stepping back. He turns and walks out of the walk-in, over to one of the floor length windows and props a shoulder against the window casing, staring out. I ditch the eagle, putting it back on his shelf and follow him. His voice is deep, tortured sounding. “I can’t stop shaking. It’s the worst feeling in the world not being able to control your own body. Inside, my blood hurts. It is actually painful being pumped through my veins. Nothing will stop the pain. It won’t stop until my body gets what it craves.” His voice cracks, “I need a hit! I can’t fuckin’ take this much longer.”
“Yes you can,” I insist coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Muscles tense under my palm.
“Is this ugly enough for you … Am I ugly enough?” He turns into me.
Now I’m the one tensing. His words settle like a stone in the pit of my stomach. “Honestly,” I pause staring up at him, choosing the right words. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. So beautiful you steal my breath sometimes.”
“Don’t …” he shakes his head, his eyes connecting with mine. “This is not beautiful. This is fucked up. It’s pathetic. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was wrong. You deserve better than this.”
“So do you,” I murmur.
He chuckles and I can feel the vibration clear to my toes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask staring up at him.
“When you look at me like that I almost believe you.”
My heart rate takes off at the thought of Sterling kissing me again. I inhale deeply his scent. I close my eyes for a moment remembering the feel of his tongue, his taste. My lips actually tingle with anticipation. My nipples pebble against the fabric of my shirt. My roughly spoken name stirs the hair at my temple. I open my eyes to see him pulling away.
Day four-Fatigue and open wounds:
A memory from my childhood is cream of chicken soup over toast. My grandma would make it for me whenever I was sick.
I shift standing by the bar, taking some of the weight off my bad leg, slathering a piece of toast with butter and laying it on a plate with two others. I spoon the soup over the pieces and sprinkle pepper on top. I swear Sterling has dropped fifteen pounds over the past four days. If he doesn’t eat something soon I’m afraid of what might happen.
“Foods ready,” I shout, sliding the plate to where he usually sits at the bar. I refuse to let the soup end up on the floor like before, so he’s going to have to come in here to eat it.
“I’m not hungry,” is returned from the bathroom. “You eat it.”
“You’re either going to eat or I’m going to be forced to call 911 when you collapse from malnutrition.” I’m halfway joking, halfway serious. He needs to eat and he’s not going to do it unless I force him.
There’s a loud bang, and the sound of stuff crashing down on the tile. Walking around the bar I call out, “Sterling?” It’s not until I step into the bathroom door that I see him lying there on his stomach by the toilet.
“Oh no, Sterling,” I rush to his side lifting the shelf he tumbled over with him back into its place against the wall. Everything that was once on the shelf is scattered on the floor. I sink to my knees next to Sterling, one of my knees smearing through blood on the tile. Oh God. I hate blood. I shake his shoulder begging for a response. I don’t get one.
I grab onto a shoulder and roll him over. Sterling flops onto his back. Blood gushes from the wide gash along his cheek. His bottom lip is cracked open. His face is pale. My hands tremble hovering over him.
What should I do?
Stay calm. Find out how deep the cut is.
My gaze rises, quickly traveling the bathroom ending on the hand towel lying up on the counter top. I push up to my feet and stretch for it, dropping immediately back down next to him. I press the towel to the cut, applying pressure. I’ve heard somewhere you’re not supposed to let someone go to sleep for an hour after they hit their head, luckily it appears Sterling hit cheek first. After the towel is saturated I take it to the sink, rinse it out and repeat the action until the bleeding slows down. Pulling the towel away I inspect the cut up close. It looks worse than it is. “Sterling? Hey. Wake up,” I try again.
He mumbles something incoherent and I exhale a long breath in relief as his eyelashes flutter.
“What happened?” his words are weak as he tries to sit up.
“Don’t move yet,” I order pushing his shoulder toward the floor.
His hand lifts to the cut and he winces as a finger touches it.
“Last thing I remember was taking a piss,” he says.
I nod at the sharp corner of the cabinet, “I’m pretty sure you took a face dive into that. I thought I was going to have to call 911 for real.” My tone changes, fear being replaced with anger, “don’t ever do that again! You scared the shit out of me!”
He chuckles seeming to have trouble focusing as he stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, I didn’t enjoy it too much either.” He attempts to get up again only to collapse back down. “The fuckin’ room is still spinning.”
“That’s because you’re starving yourself. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get you up by myself.” I’m already at a disadvantage with the leg.
“Just let me lie here for a second,” he tells me closing his eyes.
I went into the bedroom and brought back his cell phone and a blanket, sitting down and lifting Sterling’s head into my lap, never expecting ‘a second to end up being five hours. Five hours that seems like an eternity.
I refuse to call my mother and father not wanting to hear I told you so. I could call Saw but honestly, right now I want to talk to someone who is not a Bentley. Looking down at Sterling’s limp body in my arms the weight of everything hits me like a ton of bricks. I glance around at the white walls surrounding both of us on the floor; this is all so big, bigger than me, so why do I feel like I am suffocating? It’s that moment when I realize how alone I am. Sterling has been here all along, but not really here.
It’s time to put on your big girl panties tori.
Resolute in my decision I punch in the number. The phone feels cold against my cheek, colder than normal.
“Hello--” Keria picks up immediately.
“Hey, it’s Tori … I umm, I’m sorry this was a bad idea,” I stumble over my words, reaching for the small red phone on the screen.
What was I thinking?
“OMG, why haven’t you called me? I have been so worried. Is this your new number?” now Keria is the one stumbling, while my finger hovers over the magic red button.
“No, well kind of, it’s Sterling’s. What do you mean why haven’t I called?”
Was I the only one who thought we hated each other?
I hear disbelieving whines on the other end of the phone. “Tor, I’m not going to lie, that day … you know when you walked in on Jonah and I, it was bad—”
“Really bad,” I say quickly, I know where this is going. I can feel the relief enter my chest.
“Yea, like EPIC bad.” I hear muffled laughter in Keria’s voice, and something else … she’s relieved too.
Silence--How did I let this get so bad?
“I don’t hate you, you know. Actually, after you left, I hated myself Tor. I have realized a lot in the past few weeks. I’m so glad you called, I was terrified we were going to end things the way we did …Are you still there?”
“Yea, I’m here, there’s just so much to say. I’ve missed you,” tears well in the corners of my eyes. I needed this. I needed her.
“Well we could start with, why the hell you’re in Los Angeles? Your mom told me what happened, you should have called me.”
I know
&nbs
p; “I was scared, it seemed like everything was caving in around me. I guess that’s why Los Angeles. I thought I’d be able to breath better” I exhale the cooped up air in my lungs, boy who was I kidding.
“Well I understand…you had a lot hit you at once with the me and Jonah thing and Colton…”Keria trails off at her own mention of his name. The one name strong enough to create a barrier between best friends, I try it out silently sounding out each letter, Colton.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I let it escape from my lips, crap.
There is a lack of words allowing only the sound of Keria’s stifled sobs.
“Who told you, I wanted to tell you tor, I really wanted to. I am so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“Keria…none of that was your fault, you were a victim. Guys like Colton may try and convince you that you’re the problem, because they don’t want to face the facts that their screwed up.” I feel warmth pulsating through my veins as my anger towards Colton flares.
“Yea but I flirted with him and egged it on right in front of you, Oh god I was so awful. It was my fault, if I would have just been a good friend to you none of this would have happened,” she chokes out.
“He came to Los Angela’s Keria … to find me. If you were the problem, tell me why he did the same thing to me?”
“Oh my God, What happened” she sounds shocked, I don’t know why.
“He pushed me around a little, I’m sure it could have been a lot worse but Sterling came in.” I glance down in my lap at my protector, now unable to even fight himself, its heart breaking.
“I’m glad Sterling came in, Colton is strong, the bruise’s he put on me are just now going away. I can’t imagine what he could have done with more time,” Keria says, her voice sounding heavy and distant.
Sterling shifts in my lap, a groan coming from his lips. What if Colton had more time with me?
I hear Keria clear her throat, snapping me back to reality.
