by Sadie Grubor
"Jackson?"
His head slowly turns toward me, causing his body to waver.
"Come on." I put my hand out and he studies it for a moment.
"Come on. I'll walk you down to your car."
When Jackson doesn't move, I start to drop my hand with a sigh. He quickly reaches out for it, but misses my hand and stumbles into me.
"I don't want to leave you."
He lays his cheek on the top of my head, embracing me.
Slipping one arm around his waist, I start guiding him to the door.
"Don't make me go."
"Sam's waiting," is my response.
"I don't want Sam." His hands slide down my sides, stalling our progress to the door.
As if he hadn't shredded me like tissue paper earlier today, my body reacts. Fighting the lust, I push forward, unsure whether it's his touch or fever causing the heat between us.
Finally, he starts moving toward the door.
Sam tries to take Jackson's weight off me, but he won't let go.
"I have to go back inside."
I place my hands against his stomach, trying to push him away.
"You…don't...come…mine." He grows more incoherent.
"He's getting worse." Fear grips my chest, restricting my breaths.
"Julia is making some calls," Sam informs.
I feel a tremor run through Jackson's body and my fear turns to panic.
"Something's wrong." I shake my head.
"He's just high," Sam says, disgust dripping in his tone. "From what Julia says, he's been partying hard all evening with his dealer and what she assumes are hookers."
Nausea cramps my stomach, but Jackson's the one who throws up between Sam and me.
"Fuck," Sam growls, yanking harder on Jackson and pulling him toward the waiting car. Jackson's head lolls to the left.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it, see it.
"Wait!" I catch up, taking part of the weight.
"Miss, I can get him back to the hotel," Sam states, shoving Jackson roughly into the back of the car.
I look back at my building, glancing up to my apartment window. Then I turn to Jackson, sprawled in the backseat.
What the fuck am I doing?
I climb into the car, closing the door behind me.
Taking Jackson's phone once again, I send Sid a text, letting her know what I'm doing. I'm too much of a coward to call. The car pulls away from the curb and Jackson's body starts to slip from the seat.
Resituating our positions, I slip under his head, placing it on my lap.
Putting my elbow against the door, I rest my head in my hand.
"Snake charmer." I ignore the murmur, but movement draws my attention.
Jackson pulls himself up, digging in his jacket. He takes out a small, clear vial, trying to twist the little cap off.
Anger rolls from the pit of my stomach to my throat.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I yell, snatching the vial away from him.
"Come on, I'll share." He grins. "Have you ever fucked when high? It's amazing."
He leans, pressing his body against me.
"Yeah, I'm sure with all the shit in your system you could perform real well." I don't hide my sarcasm or anger.
Pressing the window button, I roll it down and toss the vial out.
"What the fuck?" he snarls, reaching for the window. "That's all I have on me."
He turns hard eyes on me.
"But you have more at the hotel?" I ask, meeting his glare with one of my own.
"I don't want to fight with you." His eyes soften. "I'm sorry."
His eyes roll into his head, causing panic to well inside my chest. He goes limp, landing in my lap. The shaking of his body is not a good sign. I wrap my arms around him and yell, "Sam!"
The divider window comes down.
"He's shaking." Looking up from Jackson's body, I meet Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "We need to take him to the hospital."
With a nod, he puts his phone to his ear.
Turning my attention back to Jackson, I make sure he stays breathing. I don't hear much of what Sam is saying on the phone, so when we pull into the garage of the hotel, I'm pissed.
"I said he needs the hospital."
Sam ignores me, climbing out of the car. The back door jerks open and Sam reaches in for Jackson. Pulling him out of the car, he throws Jackson's body over his shoulder.
"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?" I follow Sam inside the hotel and onto the staff elevator.
"If he goes to the hospital, it will be public news and gossip. Julia has a doctor on the way."
"News and gossip?" I scoff. "That's better than dead or in a coma!"
The elevator reaches Jackson’s floor and Sam exits without another word.
"I can't believe you would risk his life because of the press." My disgust is obvious in my declaration.
"You don't know how this business works." A small girl with dark hair stands next to the hotel room.
Sam enters, carrying Jackson.
"I know how life and death work. An overdose isn't something to fuck around with,” I growl, narrowing my eyes on her.
"You're no longer needed." She gives a nod and follows Sam.
Before the door closes, I shove my arm against it and enter behind her.
Her eyes widen, watching as I step past her and into the bedroom.
"Take him to the bathtub," I instruct just as Sam is about to put Jackson on the bed.
He looks to Julia for confirmation.
"Don't look at her," I snap. "I told you to put him in the bathtub."
"The doctor is on his way—”
"And when he gets here, you can show him in." I narrow my eyes, daring her to challenge me again.
"The bathtub, Sam!"
Closing my eyes, I inhale deep, trying to remember what Bethany did with a girl who OD'd back stage once.
With Jackson in the bathtub, I move Sam out of my way and start removing his shoes and clothes.
"If you aren't going to help, you can get out."
I groan from the exertion it takes to get Jackson's jeans off his legs. Heat radiates from his skin. In all my years of Lucas' colds, flus, and teething, I've never felt a fever this hot.
Finally, Sam leans down and helps me. With all of his clothes off, I grab a towel, throw it over his waist, turn the water to cold, and start the shower.
Jackson jerks, bringing his arms over his chest, but he doesn't wake up.
"Do we know what he took? Was it just coke? Did he swallow any pills?" I look at Sam while I climb into the tub behind Jackson.
"I'm not sure." He starts looking around the bathroom before exiting to conduct a search.
"Come on, Jackson. Wake up," I urge.
Slipping behind his body, I prop him up into spray. The water is freezing, but his body is on fire.
"What can I do?" Julia's voice surprises me.
"Put the stopper in the tub and get some ice. His temperature needs to come down and we can't give him anything."
She nods, stepping forward to flip the metal piece before exiting quickly.
Cold water slowly creeps up the sides of our bodies. Unable to take the temperature any longer, I slip out and lay him back against the porcelain.
"I've got the ice." Julia returns with two buckets of ice and we dump them into the tub.
Jackson begins to shake, but I can still feel the heat radiating off him. Grabbing a washcloth, I dip it into the water and place it on his forehead.
"We aren't sure of everything he took, but definitely coke, alcohol, and a lot of it." Sam's voice carries from the bedroom.
An average sized man in jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt enters the bathroom. His eyes settle on Jackson, Julia, and me.
"Let me see what we're dealing with." He pushes between Julia and me.
His hands work over Jackson's body: pulse points, forehead, pulling his eyes open. The doctor reaches back, pulls a red canvas bag to
his side, and grabs a syringe. He turns Jackson's arm and presses on his skin a few times before jabbing the needle into his vein. It fills with blood and he takes the needle from his arm.
Setting it to the side, he digs through his bag again, and pulls out another syringe and a small bottle. He repeats the same actions as before, but this time, plunges a clear fluid into Jackson's veins.
"Who put him in the ice bath?" he asks, keeping his eyes on Jackson.
The doctor places a thermometer in Jackson's ear.
"She did," Sam says, quick to call me out.
"Good job." The doctor looks at the temperature reading and shakes his head. "His temperature was at dangerous levels. It's still not good."
"Will he be alright?" Julia asks.
"I think so, but I can't be sure what damage he's caused himself." The doctor stands, facing us. "We can get him out of the bath now. I gave him something to assist with the fever."
Sam and I go to work, getting Jackson out of the bath and into the hotel bed. The doctor stands, speaking with Julia.
"I should have the test results back in a couple hours, but he needs more medical attention. I placed a call to the hospital and they are sending a nurse with an IV. Chances are he's extremely dehydrated. The fluids will help, but he needs to come to the hospital for full testing."
Julia nods, tears filling her eyes.
"Liza?" Jackson calls for me through chattering lips.
I step to his side and brush the hair from his face. "Yeah?"
"I'm s…s…s…sorry," he chatters.
"I know." Leaning down, I kiss his forehead.
"You can expect paranoia, depression, and guilt when he wakes," the doctor says, his eyes on me. "When the fluids start, he's going to start showing withdrawal symptoms as well. Depending on the regularity of his using, the symptoms can be minimal or severe enough to need medical assistance."
I nod.
"He's lucky we aren't dealing with cardiac arrest tonight," he adds before leaving the room.
I sit down on the bed next to Jackson and bury my face in my hands.
"I called his family," Julia whispers.
Without looking, I nod.
"They should arrive in a few hours," she continues.
The silence becomes long and tense.
"I'm sorry for not listening to you earlier and for being a bitch." The bed shifts when she sits next to me, placing a large, white robe around my shoulders.
"It's okay." Exhaustion starts to take over.
"No, I was mad at him for the way he acted tonight," she hiccups. "I could've caused him…" she trails off, soft whimpers escaping her.
I can't tell her she's wrong. Things could've been worse, but it's obvious she never meant for him to get hurt.
"It's okay now. I'll get a taxi and get out of the way."
Julia puts a hand on my leg before I can stand.
"You're exhausted. Get out of the damp clothes and get some sleep. I'll let you know when they arrive and make sure a car is ready." She pats my leg twice before standing and leaving the room.
I stand from the bed, slip out of my clothes, lay them over a chair to dry, and secure the large robe around me. Back in bed, I stare down on him. Tears fill my eyes, leaking over my cheeks.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" My question is a quiet sob, a plea to understand.
I stare at Jackson's sleeping form until my lids are too heavy to keep open.
Chapter Thirteen
Liza
"Where is he?" A woman's voice stirs me from sleep.
I try to stretch, but my body is held down by Jackson. At some point, he rolled over, pinning me underneath his body.
"I don't care if he's still sleeping." The woman's voice is followed by the door bursting open.
Peeking over Jackson's arm, my eyes take in a lovely caramel-haired woman with a classic Hollywood glamor about her. Behind her stands an older, extremely attractive, gentleman, and two recognizable faces: the lead singers of The Forgotten and Hushed Mentality.
"Well, isn't this like fucking twisted déjà vu?"
"Chris," Mia Ryder hisses.
"What?" His face screws up in confused annoyance. "It is." He waves toward Jackson and me. "Like the time Nic found us in bed together on the bus."
Embarrassment creeps in a heated flush over my skin. I shove Jackson, rolling him off me, and stand from the bed.
"Give me a moment, please," the woman says, her eyes on me.
"But—” Mia grabs Christopher and drags him out before he can finish.
"I'll be just outside the door if you need me." The handsome gentleman kisses her cheek and exits the room, closing the door behind him.
"I'll get out of your way," I blurt, feeling nervous.
"Julia told me what you did for him." She approaches, leaving only a foot of space between us. "I want to thank you for taking care of my son."
"Of course." Stepping to the side, I move out of her way.
Her soft hand comes to my face, cupping my cheek.
"Thank you so much," she says, tears forming in her eyes.
Being a mother to a son, I can empathize with her. My eyes grow watery.
"You're welcome." I choke on the words.
"It's Liza, correct?" Her warm eyes study me.
I nod and she drops her hand from my face.
"Liza, this person…" She glances to Jackson's prone form, "this isn't Jackson."
Looking back into my eyes, I see determination.
"But I hope he's still in there."
Before I can stop myself, I blurt, "He is."
I watch as relief softens the deep lines of sorrow on her face.
"Good." Her shoulders relax and she stands straighter.
"I'll just get out of your way," I mumble, moving to collect my clothes from the chair so I can dress in the bathroom.
"You don't have to rush off because of me."
I don't look back or think before I respond.
"I have to get home to my son."
Before she has time to react to my admission, I close myself in the hotel bathroom.
Slipping into my clothes, I realize I came here wearing pajamas. Thankfully, I chose to wear cotton shorts and a t-shirt. However, I hadn't worn a bra and my shirt is white. In the morning light, it would be very noticeable.
I look around the bathroom and see Jackson's discarded clothes on the floor. Grabbing his long-sleeved dark tee, I pull it over my head. The shirt is too big, so I roll the sleeves and tie the hem in a knot.
I pull open the bathroom door, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Five sets of eyes turn toward me. Gwen, the older gentleman, which I assume is her husband, Nicholas, Christopher, Mia, and the doctor stare silently. Nervousness prickles across my skin.
"I'll show myself out." My nerves are evident in the pitch of my voice.
"Like I said, Liza, you don't have to go." I glance at Gwen when she speaks. "But I understand why you need to go." Her warm smile makes me instantly like her.
How Jackson could do this to his mother is beyond me. If only my mom had been like her. Mentally shaking my head, I quickly return the smile and exit the bedroom.
My hope to sneak out without any further notice is squashed when nine more sets of eyes turn to me.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice is familiar and my hair stands on end.
"Kristy, I suggest you shut the fuck up." This voice is unfamiliar, but her trademark blonde and black hair gives her away. Kat Conway, lead guitarist for Hushed Mentality.
Kristy ignores Kat and stands from a chair, the same chair Jackson shoved out of the way so he could—
"I asked you a question." Kristy is barely a foot away from me.
"Obviously, she was here for Jackson." This voice is also unfamiliar, but it belongs to Laney Trimball, Jackson's ex, and bassist for Hush.
"No one asked you, slut." Kristy tosses over her shoulder.
Laney jumps up and moves to attack. The thick arm of
Elliott Brockman stops her, pulling her down on his lap.
"Calm down, Fast Lane. She's just pissed because Jackson has apparently moved on…" his eyes roam over my body, "to curvier and better things." He grins for a moment before shouting in pain. "Christ, baby, that hurt." He rubs where his wife, Serena, just pinched him.
"Can you stop flirting for, oh, I don't know, at least five minutes?" Serena glares.
"I'm just honest," he pouts.
"Keep your honesty to a minimum," she scolds.
"Are you jealous?" He smirks.
She narrows her eyes at him.
"Baby, you’ve got nothing to be jealous about. You know you're the only girl for me." He smiles wide.
"Oh, I'm so lucky," she feigns excitement.
"I know, right!" He sits back on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. "I'm a fucking catch."
Serena's face twists and she grabs her swollen stomach.
"What's wrong?" Elliott pushes Laney from his lap, reaching for Serena.
"Nothing." She sits back, stretching her body out. "He's got his feet in my ribs again."
Elliott winces, but stays on high alert.
"What can I get you?"
"A new husband." She grins.
"Not fucking funny, babe," he pouts again, and I have to fight not to laugh.
"This is all so pathetically cute, but I asked this whore a question." Kristy steps closer and I step back, wanting to keep space between us.
"Leave her alone." Laney gets involved once more. "Apparently, Jackson wanted her here, not you."
"Stay out of this, you cheating slut." Kristy spins, facing Laney. "If it weren't for you spreading your legs to whoever will climb between them, Jackson wouldn't be in this state, would he?" She crosses her arms over her chest.
"Did that Ethiopian white girl just say that shit in front of us?" Kat looks to Serena, who nods.
"Yeah, she did."
I glance over my shoulder, seeing this came from Mia.
"Bitch, are you crazy or just hungry? You know Laney's our sister, right?" Kat leans forward, hands on her knees.
"I don't give a shit about your—”
"Serena, hold my phone. I'm gonna kill this trick." Kat stands, only to be stopped by the final member of The Forgotten.
"Don't go to jail." Jimmy Thompson holds tightly to her forearm. "I don't have enough on me for bail."
