Chapter 18 #2
I stared at the ceiling of my room, blinking slowly up at it.
I knew I should be crying, or screaming, or something.
But I just felt…flat. Like someone had drained all the color out of me.
All the music. Every song we’d shared. Every lyric that had lived rent-free in my head.
Gone, leaving me empty, nothing but silence in their place.
Holly had gotten me out of the funeral home, and I’d been drinking since we got here. For a while, it was quiet. Just the two of us, sitting in the silence.
Then the people started arriving.
My mom was hosting a wake at the house. There were probably waiters floating around with drinks and canapés, while people in black murmured about the stock market and my father’s legacy. Like this was just another networking event.
She’d tried to come in, but Holly hadn’t let her.
I could hear them on the other side of the door, voices muffled but sharp.
“If he’s been drinking, I’ll send someone with coffee,” my mother said.
“He can’t go out there. He’s a mess. He needs to be alone right now, not paraded around like an attraction so people can talk about how sad all this is on ‘Federico’s poor son,’” Holly hissed.
“He left the funeral, Holly. He can’t be this disrespectful to his father—”
“Yes, he fucking can,” Holly snapped. “This has been destroying him for months—” Her voice cracked.
“Months—and all you’ve done is ignore him while he carried an enormous responsibility that wasn’t even his to begin with.
Instead of being there for him—for your son—and giving him a hug. What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” my mother said coldly.
“No. I’m done playing nice. You stay the fuck away from him unless you actually want to be a mother.”
“I’m calling your parents,” she snapped, the telltale click of her heels following as she turned to go.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Holly said, her voice rising again as their footsteps retreated.
I rolled off the bed and stood beside it, the bottle of vodka still lying there. I took another swig before pulling on my shoes.
No hesitation. No thought.
I slid out of the room and snuck around the hall, avoiding both Holly and my mother—and the hundred or so of our “closest” friends and family. I paused by the open door of my parents’ bedroom. Ilana was lying on the bed on my father’s side, curled into herself.
For a second, I almost went to her.
Instead, I kept walking.
I slipped into the office and pushed the window open, climbing carefully down the side of the house. I’d done it a million times, but it didn’t feel like sneaking out anymore. It felt like escape.
I pulled out my phone and typed:
Me
You up for company?
When the address came through, I called for a car and tucked my phone into my back pocket. I emptied the flask as I waited, swaying unsteadily on my feet. Then I turned and looked back at the house.
That’s all it was. A house.
This wasn’t home anymore.
Probably never would be again.
Ten minutes later, the car pulled up. I slipped inside without a word and let the driver take me away from this empty place.
The doorbell rang, and a second later, the door was pulled open.
River gave me a once-over, an eyebrow arched. “Aren’t you a little overdressed?” he asked with a chuckle.
He was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants. I ignored the hollow twist in my stomach and stepped inside. Music pulsed low from the speakers. An open bottle sat on the coffee table.
I dropped onto the couch and reached for a glass.
“Please, serve yourself,” he said, sitting beside me.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I poured the glass almost to the top and lifted it up to my lips. I managed to take a gulp before River pulled it from my grasp.
“Slow down, will you? You’ve clearly had more than enough.”
I leaned in closer to him. “Then what else are you offering?”
He huffed. “You’re still as charming as ever, hotshot.”
From his pocket, he pulled a plastic bag and emptied its contents onto the glass table. With practiced ease, he shaped the powder into six neat lines and handed me a rolled-up bill.
I took it without hesitation, bent down, and inhaled.
The bitterness was sharp, acidic. It lit up my brain like a firework—and then dulled everything else.
I did a second line and handed him the bill.
Slumped back against the couch, head dangling, I welcomed the chemical drip sliding down my throat.
“Are we going out?” I asked, not really caring.
“Sure. After.”
He was pinching his nose when I looked over. Our eyes met.
I raised a brow.
“This isn’t the only reason you came here, Noah,” he said, giving the table a pointed glance.
“No?”
He reached for my throat and dragged me toward him, mouth colliding with mine in something that barely resembled a kiss.
“You can have as much coke as your pretty little heart desires.” His voice was sticky against my lips, fingers digging into my chin.
“But first, you’re going to put out. So get that suit off and get on the bed. I want you on all fours.”
The words scraped against something raw inside me. A bitter taste rose in my throat that had nothing to do with the drugs.
“Let me have more.” I held out my hand.
He placed the bill in my palm. “Have at it. Don’t want you to pass out halfway through.”
The couch groaned as he stood, strolling toward what I assumed was his bedroom.
My eyes flicked back to the table. Two perfect white lines waited for me, still untouched.
I pulled out my phone, shut it off, and placed it face-down beside them.
The room was dark. Black couch. Black table. Black rug. Gray walls. No lights.
Almost poetic.
I leaned down, nose close to the surface, and let myself disappear into the darkness.