Chapter 11 #2
“Right!” Amelia pumped her fist.
Why was I sweating all over? I gingerly placed the glass on the table, swirling it a couple of times.
This was the right thing to do. I felt it in my bones, or I’d continue to stress and that was the last thing I needed to do.
I took a deep breath and moved to my corporate email, typing in his contact information.
After another brief hesitation, I typed out the appropriate response and the one I’d penned and rewritten in my mind several times.
Just before I hit send, Amelia shifted.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes,” I said and immediately hit send before I changed my mind. Almost immediately I felt a sense of relief.
Then the second guessing popped in.
I could use the money.
I could use the reputable client.
I could use a goddamn break in my life.
“Ugh.” I dropped my head, immediately reaching for my wine. Why was my hand shaking?
“Good job.”
“You think?”
“Not really, but that’s what you need to hear.”
My phone rang at that moment and when I peered down at the number, I was half afraid it was him. Him. Why did I even hesitate to think his name? By the time it rang twice, I’d already checked the card. Neither number listed was the one on my screen.
So I answered. “Yes?”
“Vanessa Blair?”
I was even more hesitant, but the authoritative sound of the voice on the other end had me moving my lips. “Yes, who is this?”
As I listened to the preprogrammed words, I shrank back and my heart started thudding. “Yes, I’ll accept the charges.”
“Who is that?” Amelia whispered.
I couldn’t answer her. “Donovan. What’s wrong?”
When we were kids, I’d been close to my brother.
He’d been my rock, my protector. He’d kept me from being bullied the first year I’d gone to high school.
I’d been the kid with braces and glasses, overweight and a nerd.
He’d been the jock, handsome and popular, a senior who’d refused to allow me to be the brunt of jokes.
He’d also been comic relief to my father’s rantings and his requirements for perfection. I’d looked up to my brother since then, but his life had taken a dangerous turn and recently, I’d felt helpless.
I never felt more that way than I did at this very moment.
He rambled on with his usual excuses and most likely lies. But he was still my brother and I loved him very much and would do anything to protect him like he’d done for me. I lowered my head, placing my hand on my forehead. The ache was always the same, keeping me from focusing.
But this was the worst and one of my greatest fears.
“Okay, just try and stay calm. I’ll be right there.”
When I hung up the phone, a tiny moan slipped past my lips. This was very bad.
“What’s going on?” Amelia asked.
“It’s Donovan.” I lifted my head, hating to admit the family’s dirty laundry. “He’s been arrested.”
By the time I pulled up in front of the shitty apartment community where Donovan lived, I was exhausted, drained to the point I wasn’t certain if I could recite my name.
“I’ll be fine, sis. I can handle it from here.” He ripped at his seatbelt, struggling with it since he was still under the influence of drugs. Once it was off he remained where he was.
So did I.
“I’m real sorry,” he muttered and I truly believed him.
I cringed more inside, trying to keep from yelling at him.
He’d almost overdosed once and I’d hoped and believed his stay at a rehab center had helped him, but I’d been wrong.
Granted, maybe I should have spent more time around him, but the man was draining both emotionally and financially.
Just seeing the light in his eyes fade more and more was heartbreaking.
Only a couple of days before he’d called me for money for rent, but I’d heard the angst in his voice.
I’d learned to tell when he was asking for a handout so he could purchase drugs.
It had started innocently enough with being injured playing football in college, but the anguish had lasted beyond what the doctors had said.
An addiction to painkillers had followed.
My father hadn’t paid much attention, telling Donovan to suck it up and beat the addiction. For a little while, my father’s tough love had seemed to work.
Then my brother had discovered heroin.
“No. I’m going to tuck you in. Just like you used to do with me.
Okay?” I hated being in this part of town, especially at night, but what choice did I have?
I’d made the mistake of allowing him to stay in my place.
Once had been enough. He’d stolen five hundred dollars I kept in cash for emergencies, the only decent piece of art I owned, and my laptop.
Forgiving him had been easy. Forgetting was something else.
I’d thrown him out and we hadn’t talked for a few months. But he was still my brother.
“Sure. Whatever. I’m sorry about this.”
He’d apologized ten times, but I knew if given the chance, he’d be out on the street even after the arrest for possession and selling. Thank God, it had been a tiny amount, but I doubt he’d be able to beat this.
I’d been forced to drain my savings for bail, something my father wouldn’t do. I hadn’t bothered calling him.
Donovan finally slammed open the door, tumbling from the car. At least he was mostly sober given how long he’d remained behind bars before they’d allowed him to call me. I’d need to get him an attorney, but with what money?
Thoughts of Christian’s offer slithered into my mind. There had to be another way.
Even if I wanted to change my mind, there was no doubt I’d burned the bridge between us. Oh, this was such a nightmare.
I climbed out, immediately pulling my purse tightly against me. I had mace and a Swiss Army knife, but I doubted that would keep me safe from the dangerous assholes who I’d seen before lurking in the darkness.
“Come on. Let’s get you tucked into bed.”
Thankfully, he didn’t fight me, allowing me to guide him up the stairs to the second floor. When I walked inside, I was forced to hold my breath. The stench was horrible. When I turned on a light, despondency immediately rushed into my mind.
There were pizza boxes with half-eaten pizza in several places including on the floor. If I looked closely enough, my guess was that I’d see insects crawling over them. Pizza was the only thing he wanted to eat. At least I knew he was consuming something even though he was close to skin and bones.
A long-term facility was needed. How in God’s name was I going to make that happen?
By calling Christian and taking the offer.
No. No…
Now my subconscious was nagging me.
“Thanks, sis. I can always count on you,” Donovan said when he curled under the sheets.
His bed stunk of urine and maybe marijuana, but at least he was safe.
For now.
I went to work, thanking God I found large trash bags. They were left from the last time I’d been to his apartment maybe a month before. I’d also brought him cleaning supplies, which came in handy.
I spent hours cleaning the grime and filth, spending extra time in the kitchen and bathroom.
As light indicated the morning was ready to dawn, I was overwrought and coming close to tears. I didn’t care how embarrassing Donovan was to our father, I was going to give him hell for not caring enough to even check on his own son.
And what about my mother?
Was she really too busy with her charity events and posh gatherings with her rich friends?
Hatred was lingering just below the surface.
I knew it was blasphemous to hate your parents, especially since I knew my mother had always been kept under my father’s thumb, but right now, I needed to feel rage for someone.
My mother had been a trophy wife from day one. My grandfathers had gotten together, forging some insane business deal that had included my parents being married. Who did that kind of crap to their children?
A laugh bubbled to the surface. No wonder I thought the fake marriage with Christian was an abhorrent idea.
It was.
Yet my determination to keep my principles would prevent my own brother from getting the help he needed.
I’d tried so hard to get Dad to take Donovan back home in Atlanta, but he’d refused. My father had laughed at the idea.
I needed to step back from this, or I really would lose my mind. Cleaning. I could become absorbed in cleaning.
When I was finished making everything as neat and tidy as possible, I went to check on my brother. Thankfully, he was sleeping peacefully.
I stood watching him sleep for a few minutes, feeling hopeless and defeated.
This wasn’t supposed to be my brother’s life.
He’d gone to college on a full scholarship, told by his coaches he had a strong chance of making the NFL.
Then the injury had happened and the bottom had fallen out of his world.
He hadn’t even graduated from college because he’d been in so much pain.
How could my parents ignore him?
I knew I couldn’t. Not any longer.
Sighing, I knew what I had to do and if selling my soul to Christian was a way of obtaining help for my brother, then so be it. At least the money would go to a good use.
As if that could make me feel any better.