CHAPTER 9
I wake up with wrongness in my veins.
It burns all the way up my throat, and the flood of emotions and pain from all those weeks ago when I was taken, fills me with a raging vengeance. I flip the cover off my body and run to the bathroom, sliding to my knees and hugging the toilet.
Not much comes out as I wretch—apart from the alcohol I drank last night that burns all through my throat. Though I’m surprised I didn’t just absorb it all into my system, because it certainly appears that way.
Only, that’s not what’s making me sick right now. This sickness is different, raw and needy, emptying my veins and leaving me desperate. The itch beneath my skin, the need in my blood vessels, the craving for escape, is back. I should be used to it by now. It comes every morning, and even as it eases through the day, it returns at night. It haunts my dreams and calls for me in my nightmares.
I want to rationalize it, I try to anyway, but I haven’t managed yet. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I was only drugged on one occasion. Yes, it was multiple times in a short amount of time, but that was it—one night. I can’t justify why this need is chasing me still… it was just one time. It’s a terrifying desire to poison my blood, and I’m not sure for how long I can resist this call.
I don’t know if I want to anymore.
Images from last night flash through my treacherous memory, and I slide all the way down to the floor, my back hitting the cold tiles as the blue-eyed bane appears in my mind.
“God, what have I done?”
I completely threw myself at him, stupidly thinking he was dragging me out of the bar with such possessiveness because he wanted me. All day at Vincent’s house he pushed me away, until we were alone, and suddenly, he seemed lost. It twisted my perception of us.
“You and I are never going to happen.”
The stare he pinned me with was just as cold as those words. Then he threw the final blow.
“I don’t do relationships, and I certainly don’t do quick fucks with girls like you.”
How could I have been so stupid as to think that this man wanted something to do with me? He’s right—I read far too much into it.
Didn’t I…?
I must have imagined the conflict that tightened his eyebrows and darkened his gaze as he threw his rejection in my face. More than once.
I probably read too much in his possessiveness last night, when he found me dancing with that guy who touched me a bit too insistently. Though, even as I protested, I was secretly thankful he got rid of him in that over-the-top display of power.
No, I didn’t read too much into that.
This man holds a power over me I don’t understand. He stirs something that has been growing deep within the fabric of my soul for a long time. A longing for selfishness and hedonism. A heated look, a lingering touch, even his harsh rejection makes that unfulfilled creature inside of me think it could reach the surface and be free. But it can’t.
Especially as I’m slowly seeing the staggering truth—I didn’t imagine the way he touched me, how he fought to hold himself back, or his stare as we lost ourselves to the rhythm of the music.
It was real. All of it was real.
“And I was an idiot to think that it could mean something.” I slam my palm against the tile, and a knock on the door sends a tremor through me.
Christ.
“Evie, are you in there?”
“Yes, Maya.” I jump to my feet, and I catch myself on the door frame as dizziness sweeps through me.
I swallow, forcing back the nausea, and open the door.
“Oh, you look bad. You got so much beauty sleep today, you should be all perfect and glowing,” she says, giggling with that cheeky amusement.
“Beauty sleep?” I ask, ignoring the childish insult she doesn’t notice.
“Yes. I asked Katya why you weren’t having lunch with us, and she said you were having your beauty sleep. I didn’t know what that meant, so she said that it’s so it helps you be healthy, beautiful, and glowing.”
Glowing? I snort, knowing full well sweat is the only thing that could make me glow right now. It sounds like Katya got uncomfortable and had no idea what to say to her. Wait, lunch? What time is it?
“I’m sorry I didn’t wake up, sweet girl. I was very tired.”
“That’s okay. Katya said to tell you that Mamaw June is coming over later to see me, if that’s okay with you. So… you can continue that beauty sleep.”
At this point I would like it to turn into a coma. No sleep is going to help with what I’m feeling.
“Are you comfortable with her, Maya? Is this something you want to do?”
“Yes. Mamaw June tells me stories, all sorts of fairy tales and legends. And her food is delicious. She said she’s gonna teach me to make crêpes. You know, like the ones you used to make all the time. And the cakes too. And—”
“Okay,” I interrupt her before she walks further down memory lane and pushes me deeper in this despicable feeling that’s making me sick right now. Though, I don’t understand how she could possibly remember me baking; she was so young. “If you want to spend time with her, as long as you are comfortable, I’m okay with it. But you tell me if this changes. Yes?”
“I promise.”
“Good. Now, let me brush my teeth.”
She turns on her heels, skipping out of view, and I close the door, locking it behind me. All I can do right now is allow her to spend time with people who can offer her what I can’t. A life, food on the table, safety. People who bring happiness in her life. Who enriches it in some way and puts a smile on her face and laughter in her voice.
I can’t offer her any of that.
I haven’t been able to in so long. She deserves better, so much better, and all these people… Katya, June, the bloody Sanctum, are giving her just that.
Once again, I slide down until my ass hits the cold tiles, and gather my knees to my chest, clutching my temples in my palms. I know what I need—a plan. A job, money, a roof over our heads, and… to go back to Fleeton.
The idea of returning to that wretched place turns the itch under my skin into molten lava, searing me from the inside out. It’s my home. I was born there. Lived there my whole life. Everything left of me, of us, is there. But the pain and sorrow have replaced the good memories I have of that city.
Whether I like it or not, we have to go back. There’s no other choice. No matter how much it will hurt to return to the place that took so much away from me—I must.
That thought brings another wave of nausea, and only when the pain becomes too much do I realize I’m digging my nails so hard in my skin, I’m piercing it.
I just need a little help. Just this once. A little help to quiet the rush of dread, to find a happy place, to escape, even if just for a few hours, or minutes. Only once, so after I can come back to the real world ready to tackle it, to make a plan that gives my sister the best life, maybe build one for myself too. A little escape, that’s all I need.
I wasn’t dancing with that guy last night by pure chance. I chose him because I caught him wiping a certain white powder off his nose and knew he could help. He didn’t have what I’m looking for, but told me about someone who sells all sorts of substances and where to go to find him. I saved the information on my phone. It would be so easy. It will be. I have no idea how much it costs, but there’s enough on Finnigan’s card to take out at an ATM along the way. Yeah… Finnigan’s card.
I found out that tidbit of information in the bar last night. Because it was either Maddox or Morrigan who used it for me, I didn’t pay attention to the name written in gold. I just assumed it belonged to Maddox and didn’t bother to look. When I tapped it on the card machine, the name caught my eyes and I swear I bought more alcohol just to spite the man.
Buying something harder than alcohol to quench this need is fitting, after all… he’s the one who turned me into this. With his empty promise of saving me before something happened to me. Him who makes me think I could feel alive. Who rejects the possibility of us.
“Oh my god, what am I doing?”
My sister’s laugh sounds farther away on the other side of this door, and it wakes me up from this self-destructive trance.
I can’t do this to myself, chase the need for this high, I have to be strong for her. If not for me, definitely for her.
I peel myself off the floor and jump straight into the shower, washing off the stickiness from my skin, the stench of alcohol, and hopefully this disgusting craving with it, too.
* * *
For two hours I sat in an armchair listening to or watching Maya smile, laugh, and overall, fully enjoy her time with Mamaw June. Two hours of stories, of June teaching her how to beat eggs, how to mix in flour so it doesn’t clump, two hours of twitching. On my part. My legs have been so jittery, I had to gather them both under me on the seat, because both my sister and Mamaw June started looking at me a little funny.
I thought staying here with them would help take my mind off of things. But it did nothing. I’m still a failure. The man with the lisp and his touch on me still haunt. And Finnigan’s blue eyes are still here… rejection shining like a lighthouse in the recesses of my mind.
And after the sun went down, night began to fall, and I was feeling even worse, I left. Not before I put Maya to bed and kissed her goodnight. Not before I told her just how much I love her. But before I told her more… like how I wish I didn’t fail her, that I didn’t bring us to this point where strangers are taking better care of her than I ever could, how I wished she wasn’t exposed to the ugly things she still doesn’t talk about.
I left before I spilled it all into a confession her little ears didn’t deserve to be burdened with. The buzzing in my ears and the sharp prickle in my veins got worse as I told Katya I was going for a walk. She was apprehensive, but I assured her I’ll stay close; I just needed to be alone and clear my head. She told me I have to take someone with me, otherwise Finnigan or Maddox are going to kill her, and I mumbled something that sounded like approval before walking out. It was hard to sneak by the security they have in this building, and I thought I was successful until I got downstairs. I lied through my teeth when the guy downstairs asked me if I was going out alone. I told him Maddox was waiting for me outside. He wanted to check himself, but I told him we’re in a rush and walked out before he could argue, and disappeared around the corner out of view.
My lies will probably bite me in the ass later, but I can’t worry about that now. It’s been about twenty minutes and no one has tried to find me, so I must be good. The ride I booked dropped me off a couple of streets away from my destination, since I thought it would be weird to show up right on the dealer’s doorstep. Now, I’m walking wherever the navigation app on my phone tells me to. It’s following the directions the guy from the bar gave me. I still don’t remember his name. I’m not even sure I asked, or if he even offered it to me. Did I tell him mine? Christ, last night was a mess.
However,… tonight will be an even bigger one.
I take another left out onto a main street, crossing toward a road that takes me further toward the edge of Queenscove. It doesn’t look quite as elegant as the main street. Not bad, just not as well maintained. There are a few bars dotted around, and what look like tourists walking about the street making a mess of themselves, clearly drunk on this Saturday night.
Maybe I should abandon this mission and take the safer way out. Alcohol will be safer. More controlled. Less, much less damaging.
Only, alcohol won’t take me to that place where happiness comes in waves of purity and filth. Where it hurts and exhilarates at the same time. Where I forget how to feel and just… exist. Not live—exist. I don’t want to live right now.
I turn onto a darker side street, a little quieter too, and the app says I’ll be there in one minute. My nerves quiver with anxiety as I near the destination, and I mentally go through each step of my plan to settle them. I already stopped at an ATM and took out enough money to be able to afford a motel for the night. Considering my last experience, I’ll probably wake up in a few hours. Though, if I dose wrong I might not wake up. It wouldn’t be much of a loss… not when Maya is so well taken care of.
“This is it,” I whisper to myself when the app signals I reached my destination.
I look around at the mundane-looking street like I was expecting a giant neon sign saying ‘Drugs Here’ with an arrow pointing at some guy. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary here. A few townhouses, a couple of shops that are closed now, a tattoo shop that still seems to have some people inside, and a bar.
“What the hell am I looking for?”
“Me.”
I whip around so fast, I stagger, and five feet away from me stands the guy from last night. At least I think it’s him. My memory’s a little hazy, but he looks familiar enough.
“You came,” he says when he sees I wasn’t going to initiate.
“Was I supposed to?” I’m confused.
“After last night’s conversation I had a feeling you would show up. You looked a little… impatient.”
Sounds about right. Though, his presence fills me with a different anxiety. It’s the reality check I needed, but it’s not sinking in the way it should, shadowed by the need inside my veins screaming over the recklessness of my predicament.
He grins, obviously reading me like an open book, and takes a step closer.
“You’re going to go in that bar over there”—he points to the only establishment of its kind on this street—“you’re going to ask for Carl and say a redheaded chick is looking for him outside, then you’re gonna walk out. After a guy walks out, follow him. He usually picks an alleyway or something. Got it?”
I don’t move a muscle.
“I’m not coming with you.” He turns his head toward a storefront a few buildings back. “I own that barber shop, and I was cleaning up when I saw you walk by. My kid’s in there waiting for me.”
“Okay,” I finally say. Kid or not, I just want to get away from him and be on my way. “Did you tell Carl I was coming?”
“No. But he’s used to strangers asking for his… merchandise.”
I nod and take a step backward. “Right. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
I turn before he can say anything more and speed my pace as I head to the bar. One deep breath later, I stop staring at the door handle and walk inside. A few people turn to look at me, but there’s a game on TV they’re more interested in. I wait far too long for the bartender to be free, even though probably not even half a minute has passed.
“What can I get you?”
I repeat in my head the words I was told to say, making sure I don’t mess it up somehow. I’m sure the code, if I can call it that, only works if it’s said in the right order.
“Umm… Is Carl around? A redheaded chick is looking for him outside.”
The bartender cocks his head, scrutinizing me for a few too many stressful moments, allowing me too much time to remember what a ridiculously reckless situation this is.
Finally, he nods. “I’ll let him know.”
With a brief thanks, I turn on my heels, wiping my now sweaty palms against my jeans as I walk out of the bar. I stand awkwardly a few steps away from the door, questioning my life choices, when the same door opens, and a man comes out. He barely even glances at me as he turns right and walks away, and I’m debating if this is the right guy that I’m supposed to follow. I look back into the bar, but everything looks normal. No other people are walking about. I turn to the man walking away and he doesn’t stop or turn to give me a sign.
I run a hand through my hair, gripping tighter the further back I reach, and just as I’m about to give myself a bald spot, the man turns toward an alley and for a brief, charged moment, he looks at me with a knowing look.
That’s him.
All my anxiety toward this situation seeps somewhere in the back of my mind where ignorance sits as well, and I finally follow him.
“What do you need?” he asks the moment I’m a few paces away from him in the alley.
He’s maybe mid-forties, with a receding hairline and the most inconspicuous outfit ever. He looks so normal, I wonder why I expected him to scream drug dealer.
“I’m not quite sure. I think—”
“You came seriously unprepared, didn’t you?” he interrupts. “Look, I’m not some mall shop where you can just browse for hours. What are you looking to achieve?” He raises his eyebrows in a slight exasperation.
“Escape,” I say before he barely finished the sentence.
“You want… the hard stuff?” He’s rather reluctant.
“Yes.”
“Vein, smoke, or nose?”
“Vein,” I answer.
He cocks his head yet again and for a few moments, I really thought he was going to tell me off and send me on my way.
“Oh, screw it. Who am I to judge? H, right?” he asks for confirmation.
According to my research, the effects of heroin—H—are the closest to what I experienced when Frankie B injected me.
“Yes,” I answer.
“I’ll give you enough to make you escape, but not enough to go for good.” I should admire his business skills. He’s trying to keep his clients alive.
“Okay.
“Sixty, please.”
I scramble to get the money out of my pocket and clumsily pull out three bills. I hand them over to him at the same time he pulls out a couple of little baggies from his pocket.
The air shifts behind me just as the tips of my fingers touch the clear plastic.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
The blood freezes in my veins all at once at the sound of that voice.
Shit, I’m screwed.