Chapter 20
TWENTY
A soft groan comes from me, sounding hoarse, as I try to wake up properly. With a deep yawn, I sit up in the bed, rubbing the sleep away from my eyes with the back of my palm. I blink a couple of times, glancing around.
We’re in Niko’s small studio above the diner, and true to the word studio, it is rather small.
One room that serves as the bedroom, kitchen, living room, and hallway, with a separate, small bathroom that can barely fit a shower, toilet, sink, and the smallest washing machine possible.
Yet, it’s perfect for what we need right now.
My eyes drop to a sleeping Arlo beside me, and a soft smile stretches on my lips. He’s sleeping on his stomach, both hands underneath the pillow, his broad shoulders filled with that gorgeous ink in my view. I lower down, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him.
That unique scent of his hits my nose, and for a brief moment, I feel at peace, at home.
Because I know by now that home is wherever Arlo is, and nothing will ever top the feeling of having my own person to call my home.
His warm body soothes the aching nerves inside my head, the anxiety subsiding the longer I’m with him.
His mere presence is enough to bring me peace, despite the chaos that awaits outside the walls of this studio.
Arlo stirs in his sleep, turning around. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me to lie on top of him, face buried in his chest. He’s still half-asleep, but his grip on me doesn’t falter, and neither of us is awake enough to start the conversation we’ve been dreading since last night.
This moment of peace won’t last forever, so I try to bask in it, not knowing when it will happen again — if I’ll have the opportunity to just lie in his arms, or if this madness will swallow us whole.
“Morning, butterfly.” Arlo’s hoarse voice reaches my ears, a shiver running down my spine. He runs his fingers down my back, gently stroking me. I snuggle closer into him, leaving no room between our bodies.
“Morning.”
I pull back enough to look at him, and he kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer.
My heart swells with affection, and I feel the safest I’ve ever been in my entire life.
The warmth of his body seeps through my clothes, luring me back to sleep, even though I know we have to get up.
A whine comes from Arlo when I sit up again, and I chuckle in response. He sits up next to me, his messy hair falling over his face. His roots aren’t terrible, but there’s a bit of growth, which makes me wonder who bleached his hair while I was away?
“Who did your hair?”
Arlo chuckles, running his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks. “Aria. She insisted I had to look presentable for you when you returned.”
“Well, thank you Aria.” I joke, and he grins.
Arlo leans in, kisses my cheek, and I melt a little on the inside. He stays like that for a moment, but we both know it’s time for us to get started on everything that needs getting done.
“What are the plans for the day?” I ask just as Arlo gets up. He opens the small dresser, pulls out some clothes that belong to either Niko or Lucas, and tosses on a jumper and a pair of sweatpants.
“I have to visit Hudson and see what the fuck we’re going to do about that.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No,” he dismisses the idea immediately. “You’ll be safer here. No one knows about this place, and if something were to happen, Niko and Lucas will be down in the diner the entire day, as well as many of our men to watch over the building.”
I nod in understanding. “Okay. How did last night go?”
After we arrived at the studio, I took a shower and went straight to sleep. It took me less than five minutes to fall asleep, and I don’t know how much longer Arlo stayed awake.
“It went fine, they did the job. I woke up around seven, the feds were already at the manor. I got the notifications, saw them on camera. They didn’t find anything, though, and Agent Arnault is very pissed, which is fun.”
“Is he going to become a problem?”
Arlo puts on his coat, pushing his hair backward. “Probably. I’ll handle it, don’t worry.’’
He approaches me again, leans down, and kisses me. I kiss him back just as eagerly, and he smiles into the kiss before pulling back. His lips touch the tip of my nose, eyes lingering on my face for a few moments before he pulls out a gun from the drawer, putting it next to me on the bed.
“Just in case.”
“Be safe.”
“I will. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod, and with one last, lingering glance, Arlo leaves, closing the door behind him. I slump back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence around me is deafening, and now that I’m all alone since Arlo rescued me… I start feeling it all at once.
My eyes swell with tears, and I allow myself to break down within these four walls, where no one would be able to hear or see me crumble. I curl into a ball, covered with the duvet tightly as tears stream down my cheeks.
Everything hurts.
From the physical exam Freya did on me to today.
I knew back then why she did a rape kit, and although she didn’t say it explicitly, I knew what her expression meant.
The fact that I blacked out during the assault is what’s bothering me.
Just like all the previous times, I’m bound to start remembering them at some point, and if it comes at the worst time, it will ruin me.
It will ruin Arlo, too.
My chest tightens, and I can barely breathe. The memories of when Paul first touched me resurfaced, along with the fear the teenage Blair felt. The physical and mental pain is there, and I have to force myself to take a breath; otherwise, I’ll die.
It hurts so much.
Noelle’s in a hospital bed, and we don’t know if she will wake up.
It’s all because of me. Arlo can say it’s not my fault all he wants, but deep down, I know it is.
She wouldn’t be bound to machines to help her breathe, he wouldn’t have started drinking excessively if it hadn’t been for me.
From the day I entered their lives, it all started going downhill.
How am I supposed to live with this guilt?
How am I supposed to act like it doesn’t bother me? How am I supposed to pretend that this isn’t hurting and killing me on the inside? The thought of Noelle dying hurts more than I thought possible.
She welcomed me without a question, never pried deeper to find out how exactly I was connected to Simmons, and when I told her I killed my parents, she validated the anger, the deeply rooted hatred inside of me, and never judged me for the choices I had to make.
She made me feel like there was still hope for me. She made me realize that I wasn’t a terrible person, just a person with a terrible life trying her best to live through the shitty situations that kept happening to me.
I pant, trying to regain my breathing, but it’s difficult.
The past six months hit me like a truck, and for a moment, I just wish I’d die already.
Arlo would be so much better off without me.
His life wouldn’t be as difficult if I wasn't in it. I’m fucking useless, and the weight of it all fell on his shoulders.
He needs to find Amy Marshall, get rid of Paul Simmons, and figure out a way to get Hudson out of prison.
All while making sure Noelle gets the best treatment possible, ensuring Aria takes steps forward in getting the mental help she needs, and trying to find out who the fucking mole is.
And me? I’m lying in the bed, as pathetic, useless, and weak as always, only adding to his worries. I love Arlo more than I could ever put into words. He’s my entire world, and the fact that I’m holding him back is ruining me.
I don’t know what I could possibly do to make this easier on him, except to disappear. But I know that there’s not a single corner on Earth I could go to where he wouldn’t find me. On some dark, twisted level, I’d want him to chase and run after me. That’s how sick I am.
I suck in a deep breath, hands trembling as I wipe away the tears.
All of me hurts. My chest, my throat, my entire fucking body are in so much pain that it manifests in my head, too.
I don’t know if I’ll hold on long enough for Arlo to finish all of this.
I’d want to help him more than anything, but the fear of just being in his way is what stops me.
All the confidence he built is now in shambles after four months of being in captivity.
With a small sob, I push myself off the bed and try to regain my composure, even though my body’s clearly trembling. I get changed into some sportswear, which is definitely Aria’s, and wash my face with cold water.
Droplets fall down my chin and neck when I realize there are no towels in sight. I open the small cabinet below the sink, hoping to find a towel. Instead, I find a couple of small packets with white contents inside. With a frown, I pull one out and immediately figure it out.
Fucking drugs.
Well, given that Niko’s part of the business is drug trade, it’s not surprising to find it here.
They’re using the diner as a cover-up, and most of their dealings happen inside.
Upon further inspection, I see a small label on the bottom of the packet.
It’s heroin, with a hundred grams in each packet.
Jesus Christ.
I take it back to the main room, wiping my face on the shirt I slept in — sue me — and stare at the packaging for a while. Something about it is so inviting; add that to the pain I’ve been feeling since returning to Arlo, I do it without thinking.
With the back of my sleeve, I wipe the kitchen counter clean of any dust, then open the package. I’ve never done drugs before, so I don’t know how to do it properly. But I pull out a small amount, using my pinky finger to create a small line.
I stare at the line.
It’s staring right back at me.
My eyes close for a moment, and it seems to be drawing me in. Without a second thought, I lean in, inhaling the powder through my right nostril. For a few moments, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if I’ve done it properly. Then, I feel it.
A surge of pleasurable rush that fills my veins. My eyes close, and I suck in a deep breath. The feeling isn’t as long-lasting as I’d hoped it would be, but those minutes feel like an eternity.
My body feels lighter, my heart is beating faster, and I feel at ease. The rush of the drug being in my system is incredible. Some part of me knows just how terrible this decision was, but the bigger part of me doesn’t care.
Because just for a little moment, nothing hurts, and I’m at ease.
I’d give anything to feel like this all over again.
Unfortunately, I’m snapped out of my trance when loud banging comes to the door.
Quickly, I hide the remainder of the drugs in the kitchen cabinet, far behind the mugs, and clean up the counter.
I know that the side effects of heroin could be a slower heart rate or struggling to breathe, but I hope it doesn’t hit me just yet.
It’s probably why I don’t even question why anyone would knock at the door, considering Arlo has a key, and no one else knows where we are. My feet move before the rational part of my brain can think, and I pull the door open, only to be met with the end of a gun barrel.