44. West
M inutes, hours, days—they all blur together. Time stretches in strange ways when you’re coming down from a high. I’ve lost track of it all.
When I finally crack open my swollen eyes and welcome the golden sunlight, it feels like I’ve stepped into heaven. A moment of peace washes over me—the glow of the sun, the scent of fresh air, and even the sound of birds singing nearby. But then something is yanked away from me, sending an icy blast through my body. A blanket, definitely. And the person responsible must be my father.
Yeah, I’m not in heaven.
“Get up,” he barks, his voice grating against my skull. Why can’t he ever sound less irritating? “Quick.”
I mumble something incoherent into my pillow, feeling the cracks at the corners of my lips as I move them. I don’t have the energy to deal with his anger, especially when I was literally on the verge of death and somehow managed to survive.
Honestly, it would be better if I had died. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to his fucking voice.
“Venetia is gone.”
I freeze, letting the weight of his words settle, then snap my head up to meet his blurry, but unmistakably furious eyes. “What do you mean, gone?”
He exhales sharply, his irritation leaking through every pore. “I don’t fucking know, West. You’re her fiancé, not me. She’s been missing for two weeks. Vanished from the house.”
Two weeks? Has it been that long since we last saw each other?
The effort of sitting up drains what little strength I have. I scrub a hand across my face, the dry, cracked skin a painful reminder of the condition I’ve been in for what feels like an eternity. I’m breaking, piece by piece, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Did you call her?” I ask, unsure if it’s the right question. I have no idea what’s going on.
“Do I need to fucking chew it all for you?” He snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me flinch. “Get it together. She didn’t take anything with her, only the cash from her wallet. Her clothes, phone, car—everything’s still at her house. Even the fucking toothbrush.”
A rush of worry sweeps through me, but the exhaustion and the throbbing hangover are a heavier presence, dragging me down. I manage to push myself to the edge of the bed, my muscles protesting with every movement in a symphony of never-ending pain.
“Her dad searched every corner of this fucking city—every hole, every place she might have stayed. Nothing ,” he adds, emphasizing the last word to underscore the seriousness of the situation. “You have to find her.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck .
This is my fault. I pushed her to do this. If I weren’t so weak and pathetic, I would have talked to her like a normal person instead of leaving her alone.
Alone and tied to the fucking bed.
If she did something to herself… No. Fuck, no. She wouldn’t do that.
Or would she?
Worry quickly turns into panic as I jump off the bed and rush to the drawer, grabbing the first clothes I can find—sweatpants and a sweatshirt in mismatched colors. I don’t care what I look like; I just need something to cover myself while I search the city for her.
“Do you hear me, West?” Dad calls from behind. “I need you both here, on time. We have an executive team meeting soon, and I don’t want either of you ruining it with your mood swings. Understand?”
Typical Dad. Something bad has happened to my girl, and all he cares about is being on time for another meeting. “Okay. Yes,” I respond bluntly as I grab my wallet and phone. “I’ll find her.”
The ache in my body is a persistent echo, but it gradually becomes insignificant compared to the roaring urgency that drives me. I burst out of the room, ignoring the pain, the hunger, the exhaustion.
I have to find her.
“Ah! I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen that lady,” the receptionist says, a wide smile spreading across his wrinkled face. He waves a hand at me, then pulls a cigarette from between his teeth and nods. “You two are all over the news—some rich business people for sure. I just prefer to stay out of it. It’s not my cup of tea, you know?”
I bite back a sharp retort I’m desperate to unleash when a flicker of hope ignites within me at his words. After hours of driving around the city, I finally end up at a rundown place on the outskirts, where despair reeks from every corner. It took me a while to stop panicking and realize she might be hiding somewhere no one would think to look, which led me here.
“She’s in here?” I ask urgently. “Which room?”
He tilts his head, studying me for a moment, and I don’t have to think long to realize what the fucker wants. “You know, I’m not supposed to?—”
Sighing in annoyance, I pull out a hundred-dollar bill and slam it onto the counter, impatience taking hold. “Please. Just give me the room number and the key.”
“Second floor, 24A,” he replies, glancing nervously around the empty lobby as if worried someone might see. He slides the card across the desk and takes the money. “Just keep this?—”
“Between us,” I finish for him. “And the fact that we’re here. If you spill anything about this, I’ll shut this fucking,” I trail off, struggling to find the right words, “brothel down. Got it?”
“You don’t have to be rude, big guy,” he chuckles, nodding toward the stairs. “I won’t tell anyone. Now go. I can’t do anything if someone recognizes you.”
I turn and jog to the staircase, silently repeating the room number in my head. My mind is still hazy from the hangover, and I can’t afford to forget it. After scanning the hallway, I spot the right door. Worry floods me, and my hand pauses just before reaching the handle. I don’t expect her to answer, but I knock twice anyway. When there’s no response, I slide the key card into the slot and push the door open, impatience taking over.
The first thing I notice is how fucking dark it is inside. Heavy black curtains block out every sliver of light, casting long shadows that shroud the walls. The air feels stale, thick with a familiar, oppressive weight—an echo of my basement where I’ve been trapped for years.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, trying to inject a hint of humor into my voice. Something tells me that everything is worse than I imagined, and as usual, my response is to make a poorly timed fucking joke. “What is this, Dracula’s lair?”
A sob, raw and guttural, shatters the air, pulling me out of my playful demeanor. She lies on the bed, her face turned away, and the sight of her drains any sense of levity from me. Another sob escapes her, and I move instinctively. The door closes behind me as I reach her side, my arms wrapping around her waist.
I nearly choke as I feel how fragile she’s become, her body unnervingly thin. It feels as though the slightest pressure would cause her to break apart.
“Baby girl, look at me,” I plead, gently turning her toward me. I need to see her face, but she buries herself deeper into the pillow, refusing to move even an inch. Up close, the curtains let in a faint spill of evening light, revealing some details. Her hair is slick with sweat, strands sticking to her cheeks and forehead. Tears stream down her face uncontrollably, and I can’t even tell if she fully understands that I’m here.
“How did you find me?” she rasps, finally turning toward me, just a bit. Her eyelids are swollen and red as if she’s been crying nonstop for the past two weeks.
“There isn’t a place in the world where I wouldn’t find you, Netia,” I reply, my hand brushing across her cheek.
I missed her.
Her face softens, yet in an instant, worry replaces it, causing her to frown and her lips to twitch. “Did you tell my dad where I am?”
“No. I turned off my phone. Nobody knows where we are.”
Her attempt at a nod twists into a painful grimace, and she whimpers, burying her face back into the pillow. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’m so sorry?—”
“It’s okay,” I cut in, hating the way she feels the need to apologize when I’m the one who left her like this. “I’m here, baby girl, and I’m not leaving you.” My hand trembles as I touch her forehead, the heat of her skin sparking another wave of concern within me. “Fuck. You’re burning. It?—”
“It’s my period,” she interrupts, her hand clutching her stomach. “I think it started a day ago.”
Is a rise in body temperature normal during a period? I don’t know much about this, but something tells me it isn’t fucking good. It takes me a moment to notice something covering her legs. When I glance down, I realize her jeans are stained with blood.
My mind is a whirlwind of confusion as I try to figure out what the hell to do. She doesn’t say a word, just continues to cry. Was she even aware that she was lying there like this? “We need to get you into the shower, okay? Can you walk with me to the bathroom?”
“No,” she chokes out. “I don’t feel my legs.”
“I’m going to lift you up, okay?” She stays quiet, and my worry deepens when she closes her eyes as if she’s moments away from fading out. “Baby, I need you to stay with me. I’m going to help you. Just stay with me .”
“I’m tired.” A cry, thick with tears, gets stuck in her throat. “I just want to sleep .”
My chest tightens with crushing guilt. I’ve been lost in my addiction, neglecting her, while she’s been lying here, suffering all alone. If I had been there, if I had looked out for her, she wouldn’t be in so much pain.
“We’re going to sleep, but first, we need to get you in the shower,” I say, gently brushing the lock of hair from her cheek. “I promise it’ll be quick, okay?”
With great care, I gather her into my arms and lift her. She doesn’t say a word, just wraps her arms around my neck and rests her cheek against my chest. This small movement gives me some relief as I carry her to the bathroom.
I switch on the lights, and a dim, worn-out bulb flickers to life, casting a weak glow. The shower stall doesn’t look promising, and when I glance at her bare feet, I quickly kick off my sneakers and grab a towel from the shelf, tossing it on the floor.
“I’m going to put you down, okay?” I inform her quietly, and she nods. “Take my shoes. I don’t want you to catch anything in this place.”
She attempts a laugh, but it twists into a raspy, breathless sound. Slowly, I lower her feet onto the towel, and she grips the hem of her T-shirt, pulling it up. I support her body with my hands but keep my gaze averted, having no intention of making her uncomfortable. Once she’s done, she steps into the shower, wearing only my sneakers on her feet. I focus on the faucet, turning it on and adjusting the temperature with my hand.
“I’ll ruin your shoes,” she murmurs, her fingers gripping my arms tightly. She sounds just a little lighter than she did moments ago, which is enough to ease the first rush of panic inside me.
“Don’t worry about that,” I answer, finally settling on a comfortable temperature and adjusting the showerhead above her. The water flows over her head, and she blinks her eyes shut. “Do you want me to hold you, baby? Are you okay with it?”
“Yeah.” The absence of her hands on my arms sends a hollow ache through my body as she brings them up to wash her face. “I’m okay with it.”
I pick up the bottle of shower gel, surprised that a place like this even has it. Then, I step into the shower stall next to her, my socks quickly soaking through, discomfort radiating up my legs. But I push it aside—I don’t care about myself right now.
I assist her in washing away the blood, sweat, and grime, careful not to cause any more discomfort. She’s still in pain, but I can tell that with each passing second, it’s becoming a little more bearable for her.
“I’m sorry for everything I said,” she starts again, and I shake my head, but pause when her tiny hands grip my arm, halting me. “I don’t want... I don’t want you to be disgusted by me.”
“I already forgot everything,” I lie. The truth is, her words still sting, the wound fresh and bleeding, and now, standing here beside her, it feels as if it’s exposed to a chilling wind. But I just want to block this out and move forward, and her repeated apologies only make me uneasy. “And I’m not disgusted by you.”
“I’m not talking about this,” she croaks, bowing her head to avoid my gaze.
“I know. I’m not disgusted by you in any way. I’ll never be. You’re my baby girl, remember?”
She lifts her head slowly, her red-rimmed eyes shimmering with impending tears. She wraps her arms around herself and bends slightly, pressing her forehead against my chest. “Fuck. It hurts. I can’t?—”
I press her closer, giving her the reassurance she needs. The water dripping from every inch of her body soaks into my clothes as I trace a calming circle on her back and place a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s okay. You’re doing great, baby,” I murmur, and she lets out a shuddered breath, pulling herself even closer to me as if she wants to dissolve into my body. “We’re almost done. You’ll feel better after this. I promise.”
We stand like this for a moment before the tangled mess of her hair yields to my gentle touch as I wash it, threading my fingers through the soft strands with the care that soothes us both. She relaxes under my touch, the tension easing, and I find a small measure of peace in the simple act of tending to her needs.
I’ve found her. That’s all that matters now.
Her suffering is a wound that needs healing, and I’m determined to be the one to mend it. My sole focus is on guiding her out of the pit she’s fallen into.
I can only hope I don’t end up down there myself.