Chapter 18 #3
With Bodhi dead to the world, I slipped into the bathroom with my toiletry bag and shut the door quietly behind me.
I rummaged through tubes and jars until my fingers closed around the familiar orange plastic.
The bottle felt lighter than it should have.
I unscrewed the lid and tipped it upside down into my palm.
Two pills fell out. Just two. No rattle after. No more weight behind them.
Fuck.
My stomach dropped. My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
I set the two pills down on the counter beside the sink and lifted the bottle to my eye, tilting it slowly like there was a secret compartment I’d somehow missed.
Like a miracle might rattle loose if I looked hard enough.
But there was nothing. Just the orange-tinted base of an empty cylinder, translucent and unforgiving.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
I screwed the lid back on and shoved the bottle to the bottom of my toiletry bag, burying it beneath toothpaste and deodorant like that might erase the problem entirely.
Then, without letting myself think too hard, I picked up the two pills, placed them on my tongue, and bent forward to drink straight from the tap.
They slid down easily.
Too easily.
Crawling back into bed beside Bodhi, I stared up at the ceiling, counting the tiny imperfections in the plaster until the familiar heaviness crept through my limbs.
The edges of the room softened. My thoughts blurred.
Eventually, the weight pulled me under and I slipped into an opioid-laced sleep that felt less like rest and more like surrender.
I woke a few hours later, just before noon.
The sheets beside me were cold. A quick scan of the room confirmed what my body already knew.
I was alone. Groggy, I reached for my phone on the bedside table and pressed the side button.
The blackout curtains were still drawn, and the sudden glow of the screen felt like staring straight into the sun.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, blinking hard.
Once my eyes adjusted, I saw Bodhi’s message. A radio interview. He’d be back before we needed to head to the venue.
Relief and dread tangled together in my chest. With Bodhi gone, I had a window. A narrow one. Enough time to find Ghost and see if he had any meds left. If he didn’t, I’d figure something else out. I had to. But for now, I could at least try Plan A.
I rolled out of bed and headed for the door, still in the joggers and ratty T-shirt I’d slept in. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth or taming my hair. Time mattered more than appearances. If this didn’t pan out, I’d need every spare minute to come up with a backup.
I was halfway down the hallway, lost in my own head and trying to remember Ghost’s room number, when someone slammed straight into my chest.
“Fucking he—oh. Hey, Iggy.”
Clara crouched to retrieve the phone she’d dropped and looked up at me with a grin. Her eyes flicked over my wrinkled clothes and the disaster on my head.
“Going anywhere nice?”
“Uh—”
I stopped myself before I could blurt out something stupid. This was . . . actually perfect.
“I lent Ghost my cleansing wipes last night,” I said, gesturing vaguely at my face like that explained everything. “Just wanted to grab them back. Which room was his again?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Four-two-two. Down the hall.”
“Great, thanks.”
I squeezed her arm and slipped past her before she could think to ask anything else, picking up my pace now that I had a destination. She hadn’t mentioned him being out, which meant there was still a chance.
Four-one-six.
Four-one-eight.
Four-two-oh.
“Perfect,” I muttered, stopping in front four-two-two and knocking.
It opened a few moments later. Ghost stood there shirtless, slim frame and tanned skin on display, glasses slightly crooked like he’d just pushed them on. The faint indentations on his cheeks told me I’d dragged him out of sleep.
Objectively, he was attractive. Subjectively, with Bodhi firmly rewiring my brain, I felt absolutely nothing.
“S’up, Iggy,” Ghost said, his voice rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”
I shoved a knotted strand of hair behind my ear and shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of my own body. My stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.
“Yeah . . . all good,” I said, my voice pitching a little higher than usual.
Ghost yawned and scratched absently at his stomach. “What did you need?”
“I, uh—” I cleared my throat, which had gone inexplicably dry. “I was just wondering . . . did you have any more of the, uh, Tramadol?”
“More?” His eyebrows shot up. “They’re gone already?”
I nodded, staring somewhere around his collarbone.
“Yeah, um. There wasn’t that many in there, and—”
“Still,” he cut in, frowning. “I thought they’d last longer than a couple of days. How many were you taking?”
My jaw tightened. “The usual amount,” I said shortly. “My hip was acting up.”
Ghost blew out a slow breath. “I mean . . . if it’s that bad, maybe you should see a doctor. I don’t think—”
“Do you have any more or not?” I snapped.
The words echoed down the hallway, louder than I meant them to be. Too loud.
Ghost straightened, his expression shifting. “No,” he said calmly. “I don’t. I gave you everything I had.”
He lifted his hand, like he might reach for me, and I flinched before I could stop myself. His arm dropped immediately.
“Iggy,” he said carefully, softening his tone. “Are you okay?”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, eyes burning, fingers tangling in my hair.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a laugh that sounded wrong even to me. “Just didn’t sleep great.”
I kept my gaze fixed on his chin, anywhere but his eyes. He nodded, but I could feel the doubt hanging there between us.
“Sorry for snapping,” I added. “That was shitty. I’m just cranky.”
“You’re fine,” he said, too gentle. “But seriously, you should talk to a doctor if the pain’s getting like this.”
“Yeah,” I replied quickly, already backing away. “I’ll think about it.”
I turned to leave, then hesitated and glanced back. Ghost was still in the doorway, watching me with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Don’t—uh. Don’t tell Bodhi about this, okay?”
His brows knit together, and I rushed on before he could object.
“I don’t want to stress him out before tonight’s show,” I said. The lie tasted sour. “I’ll talk to him when we’ve got a few days off.”
Ghost studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Just . . . take care of yourself. Maybe get some rest before we leave.”
“I will.”
I didn’t look back as I walked away, but I could feel his eyes on me all the same. The tears came quietly, blurring the hallway as I went. Ghost knew something was wrong. And even if he said nothing, the damage was done.
Plan A had failed.
Instead of going back to my room, I stopped at the lift and took it down to the lobby. Then I walked straight out into the street without a bag, a jacket, or even shoes, and started looking for a pharmacy.
It took ten minutes.
By the time I stepped inside, my nerves were frayed like an old rope, every thought pulled too tight. If they didn’t have something I could take, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Cry. Scream. Put my fist through a glass display. Any of those felt possible.
Thankfully, the pharmacist spoke fluent English.
She was kind, efficient, and utterly unmoved by the desperation buzzing under my skin.
She couldn’t give me Tramadol without a prescription, obviously, but she could sell me a small box of co-codamol.
Twelve point eight milligrams. Two weeks’ worth.
The strongest dose they were legally allowed to sell over the counter.
It would do.
I walked back to the hotel gripping the box like it might disappear if I loosened my hold. Somewhere between the pavement and the lift, my memory blurred, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of my hotel room, staring down at the carpet like I’d just been dropped there.
My hands shook as I tore the box open and peeled back the foil. The instructions said no more than two.
I took three.
I told myself it was just in case. That the extra would help with the anxiety.
That the codeine would smooth the edges, help me breathe, help me function.
The pills sat heavy on my tongue as I crossed to the bathroom, sticking my head under the tap for the second time that day.
My heart slowed before I’d even swallowed.
By the time I curled back into bed, planning to nap like Ghost had suggested, the panic had dulled to a manageable hum.
My breathing evened out. My muscles softened.
I turned onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow that still smelled faintly like Bodhi, telling myself I’d only needed a little help getting through the day.
And for the first time in hours, everything finally felt easy.