Carrying the bottle in my hand, I stagger over to my car. I open up the door and turn to sit down, completely missing the seat and ending up on my ass on the ground. I take another sip of vodka and then another, drinking until the bottle is completely empty. Tossing it aside, I lean back, digging in my pockets to pull out my cell phone. I stare at the screen for a moment, squinting as I try to find the number I am looking for. It takes about five minutes, but I finally find it and press call.
“Hello?” a voice comes through my phone. I don’t say anything as I start sobbing. “Travis? Is that you? Are you okay?”
“I fucked up, Remy. I’m so sorry. I fucked up.”
“Where are you?”
“Beyers Lake.”
“Don’t move,” he sighs. “I’m coming to get you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gracie
My phone rings loudly, startling me out of my sleep. I glance at the clock. One thirty in the morning? Who on earth would be calling me right now? I grab my phone off of my nightstand and glance at the display.
Travis.
"Travis?" I ask after hitting the accept button.
"It's Remy actually. I'm so sorry to call you at such a late hour."
"No, it's okay. Is everything all right?"
"No, not exactly," He pauses and my heart stops. "I hate to ask this of you but is there any way you can come over to Travis's?"
"What's going on, Rem?"
"Travis is…well…he's drunk."
"He's what?" I gasp.
I hop out of bed, nearly dropping the phone. I slip my feet into a pair of black flip flops and pull on my gray zip up hoodie. I don't bother changing out of my pajamas or putting on a bra. Grabbing my keys, I bolt out the door, barely remembering to lock it before jumping into my Camry. "How did that happen?"
"I'm not quite sure. I'm still trying to get the story out of him. He's really upset and I am hoping you might be able to calm him down."
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in about twenty," I tell him.
We disconnect and I drive as fast as I legally can to get to Travis. I don't understand what happened. Travis isn't exactly a bubbly, outgoing person, but he made it very clear where he stood with his sobriety. No drugs. No alcohol. Plus…it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the last time I saw him. He seemed a little bummed when we left each other but not enough that he would go out and get drunk. This seems so out of the blue that it makes me wonder if this is the first time this has happened.
Remy is sitting on Travis's front stoop when I pull into the driveway. I barely put the car into park before leaping out and running towards the house.
"What is going on Remy?" I ask.
"Here's all I know. He ran into an old friend today who invited him to hang out tonight. He called me crying, saying he fucked up and now all he keeps saying is Veronica did this."
"Who is Veronica?" I ask.
Remy pauses and I know the answer before he says it. "His ex-girlfriend."
We hear something shatter from inside the house and Remy runs in, with me right behind him. Travis is standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Glass and water are puddled all around him on the floor. Bright red blood is dripping from a cut on the palm of his hand.
"Jesus, Travis." I hurry past him into the kitchen. Grabbing a bunch of paper towels, I run half under water, folding the rest under my arm. I walk over to Travis slowly. He backs away from me. Holding one arm out, he points to me and screams. "Why is she here? Get her out! Get her the fuck out of here!"
"I'm not going anywhere Travis," I say quietly.
"Get the fuck out," he seethes. He looks positively furious and there is a small part of me that is afraid of him right now. "I don't want you here."
"Maybe I shouldn't have called you," Remy says apologetically.
"I am not leaving," I say over my shoulder without taking my eyes off of Travis.
My face softens as I try to think of a way to deal with Travis and his belligerent attitude. "I am going to walk over to you so that I can clean your hand. After that, if you want me to walk away from you, I will, but I am not leaving the house, do you understand?" I ask calmly.
Travis nods. As I walk closer, his legs seem to buckle. He leans his back against the wall and slides down it until he is sitting on the floor. I sit down next to him. Travis hangs his head as I reach out to take his hand. As I begin working on his hand, Remy grabs a mop and a broom and starts cleaning up the mess on the floor.
"I didn't want you to see me like this," Travis mutters. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door frame.
"Well, it's too late for that," I mumble. "What happened with the glass?"
"I was angry and I squeezed it ‘til it broke." He shrugs as if it was no big deal. "Was cheap ass glass. Didn't take much effort to break it."
After Remy is done cleaning and I finish nursing Travis's hand, we each grab him under his arm and help him to his feet.
"My ass is wet."
"Well…that's what happens when you sit in water," Remy says sarcastically.
We walk Travis back to his room, which isn’t easy to do with him stumbling all over creation. He pulls out of our hands as soon as we walk through the doorway. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the ground. He pulls his pants off without undoing the button or the zipper and steps out of them as he crosses the room, towards his bed. He flops down onto his mattress on his stomach, dressed in only his blue plaid boxers. His feet are hanging over the edge of the bed.
Confident that Travis is going to sleep, Remy turns towards me. “Are you going to stay here with him tonight?”
“I can. I have to be at work at the diner at five,” I say.
“You know Aidan would give you the night off if you want,” Remy tells me.
I shake my head. Taking time off right now is not an option. I haven’t worked there long enough to accrue any sick days or vacation time. I need every hour I can get just to make my bills. “I can’t. I need the money.”
“I don’t have too much going on at the garage tomorrow. I can leave by three thirty so you can get to work. That way he won’t be here by himself.”
I nod, turning my gaze back to Travis. He hasn’t moved from the middle of the bed.
“Do you want me to stay too?” Remy asks.
“No, I’m just going to go to bed as well. I can call you if I need to,” I say.
I know the last thing Travis is going to want is a crowd of people hovering over top of him. I’m not sure what he is going through right now or how he will be in the morning, so it might be best if there is not a bunch of people here when he wakes up.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
Remy nods and turns to walk out of the room. I follow him, walking silently to the door. Remy opens the front door and turns to look at me. “He’s going to hate himself in the morning, if he doesn’t already. As far as I know, this is the first time anything like this has happened since he went to rehab. I’m glad he has someone like you here for him. I just hope this doesn’t scare you off, you’ve been good for him, Gracie.”
“I’m not going anywhere Remy. I would never leave him when he needs me.”
Remy’s dark eyes flicker to mine. I know he is thinking about the fact that I said I wouldn’t leave him when he needs me. That implies that I would leave him once he got better, but that isn’t what I meant.
“Good night, Gracie. Call me if you need anything.”
“Good night, Remy.”
He leans in and brushes his lips quickly across my cheek. Then, he turns and jogs down the driveway towards his black Camaro. After he climbs inside, I shut the door and lock it. Turning out the lights, I walk back down the hallway to check on Travis. He is still lying in the same spot where we left him. Deciding to sleep on the couch and give Travis some space, I turn to walk out of the room.
“Do you have a thing for Remy?” he calls out.
I stop,
whipping around to frown at him, “Are you serious?”
“Why were you here with him?”
“Because he called me. He was worried about you.”
Travis doesn’t say anything else. I wonder if he has fallen back to sleep. I turn to walk back out of the room and am about to close the door behind me, when I hear him say ever so lightly, “Please don’t leave me.”
My heart feels like it is breaking. I don’t understand what is going on with him. He isn’t the first addict I have been around, but he is the first one who isn’t constantly falling off the wagon. I take a deep breath and walk back into his room. Shutting the door behind me, I unzip my hoodie and take it off, hanging it by the hood from the door knob. Travis moves so that he is lying on the pillow on one side of the bed. Crossing the room, I climb into bed next to him.
Travis turns so that he is facing away from me. I reach out to him, rubbing my hand over his back, lightly trailing my fingers along the ebony lines that make up the image of a weeping angel. I never realized until this moment how this angel is the perfect reflection of Travis – broken and beautiful.
When I wake up the next morning, Travis is lying on his back staring at the ceiling with an expressionless look on his face. I sit up, rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes with the palm of my hand. Travis doesn’t do anything to acknowledge my presence, which makes me wonder if he is upset that I am here. I’ve been to his house before, but I’ve never slept here. He has always slept at my place. I turn away from him, placing my feet into the plush beige carpet. I stand up and stretch my arms over my head before crossing the room to where my hoodie is hanging.
“Are you leaving?” Travis asks quietly.
I turn around and hold my cell phone up in the air. “No, just getting my phone.”
I walk over to his side of the bed and sit down on the floor facing him. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. I don’t want to be the one to start the conversation, but it looks like I may not have any choice since he doesn’t seem to be willing to start.
I sigh loudly. “Travis –”
“If you are going to end it, then please just go. There’s no need to drag things out with the ‘oh you’re a really nice guy’ bullshit. I’m not a nice guy. I know that. So, if you want to go then go. I officially let you off the hook.”
“Seriously? You officially let me off the hook?” I ask angrily. “ You know, you really can be an arrogant bastard sometimes. I told you I wasn’t leaving and I meant it. If you want me to go, then you need to say so and you need to do it in a way where you aren’t putting it on me.”
“You don’t want to leave?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“No,” I say honestly.
“Not even after I screwed up?”
“I don’t even know what you did, so why don’t you tell me what you think I am going to leave you for. Did something happen with Veronica?”
Travis whips his head towards mine. “How do you know about Veronica?”
“Remy said that you kept saying it was Veronica’s fault.”
Travis turns his attention back to the ceiling. He scrubs his hands over his face and then brings his arms back, resting his hands underneath his head. “I was out yesterday and I ran into an old buddy of mine. He invited me to a little party celebrating one of my old friends who is about to get married. Veronica, my evil bitch of an ex, was there. We exchanged words and then Frankie asked if I wanted to jam with him. I swear to you I poured myself a cup of soda. I had it sitting in the sand next to me and after a few sips, I realized it tasted off but I didn’t think much of it. I thought I was just being paranoid or something.”
He pulls his hands from behind his head and drapes his arms across his face. He doesn’t want to look at me while he admits what happened. I feel bad that he is so ashamed. “By the time I realized I was drinking rum, it was too late. I had been drinking so much and so fast, I was already drunk. Turns out, Veronica kept pouring rum and Coke into my cup, doing less Coke and more rum each time. I was so pissed off at her that I started drinking Vodka. I remember calling Remy, but I don’t remember him coming to get me.”
“What’s the first thing you remember after that?” I ask, curious to see if he remembers screaming at me to get out.
He holds up his bandaged hand. “I remember you cleaning blood off of my hands.”
“What I don’t get.” I pause to take a breath, knowing full well that what I am about to say to him could very well start an argument that I really don’t feel like having. “What I don’t get is how it took you so long to figure out you had been drinking.”
“Veronica said it was because deep down I really wanted it.”
“Well…did you?”
Travis turns towards me, sitting up slowly. “Are you trying to tell me that you agree with what she said?”
I shrug. “I think she has a point.”
“You think I am going to start drinking again?”
“Well…you kind of already did, Trav.”
Travis shoots me a look of pure disgust. He shakes his head as he climbs off of his bed and begins pacing back and forth. He comes to a stop in front of me and extends his arm, pointing towards the door. “I want you to leave, Gracie.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I need to figure some things out and I can’t do it while you’re sitting here judging me,” he spits out.
“I’m not judging you,” I insist.
“Please,” he shouts. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. He opens his mouth to speak, this time he doesn’t sounds quite so angry. “Just go.”
Tears well up in my eyes. I don’t know what he is doing, or what he is trying to do. He has to know that if I walk out right now, it is because he is asking me to and not because I am giving up on him.
Slowly, I place my hands on the side of the bed and push myself up so that I am standing. “Okay, Travis, if you want me to leave, then I will go.”
Travis opens his bedroom door and steps to the side. His face is completely devoid of emotion. I walk towards the door, pausing for a moment right in front of him. I move around a bit to try to get him to look at me, but he doesn’t. I lean in to kiss his cheek, but before I can, he darts his face away.
“Take care of yourself, Travis. I am always here if you need me.” My voice cracks at the end of that. Turning away from him, I hurry out the door and into my car, not wanting him to see me cry. Once I am in the safety of my Camry, I drop my face into my hands and let the tears fall freely.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Travis
Watching Gracie leave is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I don’t want her to go, but I am feeling self-destructive and I don’t want to bring her into that. I don’t want to cut her down and I don’t want to make her feel any worse than I already have. She deserves better than that. Hell, she deserves much better than I could ever offer her.
I walk through the house, up to the window by the front door and pull the curtain aside. She is still here, sitting in her car with her face in her hands. I watch as she lifts her head and reaches out to pull down the visor. She glances at herself in the mirror before swiping her fingers under her eyes.
Shit.
I’ve gone and made her cry. That is something else I can toss onto the growing list of things I honestly hate myself for. Anger and self-loathing build up inside of me as I watch her back down the driveway. I try to regulate my breathing, to calm my rapidly beating heart but I can’t. I just fucked up the best relationship I have ever had and I hate myself for it. There is no way, no way in hell, that Gracie is going to look at me the same way she did a few days ago.
My head is pounding. I stalk into the kitchen, whip open one of the oak cabinet doors and pull out a bottle of Advil. I keep trying to open it up, but my hands are shaking so badly that I can’t keep my fingers steady enough to open the fucking cap. A snarl rips from deep within my throat as I pull my arm back and throw
the bottle of Advil at the wall. It bounces off and falls to the floor with a loud thud.
My heart starts beating faster, my head is throbbing and my hands are shaking uncontrollably. I grab one of my wooden kitchen chairs, hold it high above my head and ram it down against the ground. Two of the legs break off and skitter across the floor. The feeling of destroying something is overwhelming in a euphoric sort of way. I fall down to my knees, not letting go of the back of the chair as I continue slamming it against my tiled floor until I am left with nothing but a bunch of splintered wood and the top of the chair back in my hands.
I close my eyes and images flash before me – the syringe, the dingy tube, the fine white powder, the vein throbbing in my arm, begging for me to do it. I want it. I need it. I don’t think I have ever wanted to score some dope as badly as I do right now. My car must still be at the lake, but it would be so easy to find someone to take me to it, or even take me into the city to buy some drugs.
I grab my phone, scroll through my call list, my finger hovering over Frankie’s name. He would take me, I know he would. Especially if I offer to share it with him. I hit call, but before the phone even rings, I change my mind and hit end. I can’t do this. I need to find a way to keep myself busy and keep my mind off of drugs. Before I can change my mind, yet again, I throw my phone down onto the counter and retreat to the basement.
As soon as I get downstairs, I turn on my stereo, set it to CD and plop every Nirvana CD I own, which is all of them, into my changer. I don’t know what it is, if it is Kurt Cobain’s voice, the beat of the bass and drums, the lyrics or a combination of all three, but I have always found his music to be soothing when I am in moods like this.
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