Chapter 34
V Saint
“I spent seven days hiding from the world while my mind kept dragging me back to her.”
The first two days at the Ritz felt good. No work. No people. No fake smiling to mask my pain. Just me, weed, and silence.
That was always my thing when life started getting too hectic for me.
By day three, my stomach was fucked up.
I woke up throwing up again, stomach cramping, while sweat ran down my chest and face. I flushed the toilet, rinsed my mouth out, and rolled another blunt anyway.
Dumb.
I knew it was dumb.
The doctor already warned me before that weed was fucking my stomach up, but once my mind got bad enough, I stopped caring what it did to my body. At least it wasn’t cocaine, that's what I kept telling myself.
I sat by the windows, wrapped in a robe, smoking while the city moved outside like life was normal.
Meanwhile, I was sitting in a penthouse smelling like weed and throwing up.
My father was dying.
That thought kept finding me no matter what I smoked or drank.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him in that hospital bed, looking weaker than I had ever seen him. My father wasn’t supposed to look weak. That nigga raised me on discipline and pressure. Now cancer was eating through his brain while I sat in a luxury suite, barely keeping myself together.
I had businesses to run, people depending on me, and a whole family watching me become the next head after him.
And I was in here hiding from life.
By day four, I stopped opening the curtains completely.
My phone kept going off somewhere in the room.
Food deliveries stayed by the door untouched.
I smoked. Threw up. Stood in the shower. Repeated it. But nighttime got strange.
I would wake up thinking somebody was standing in the room.
Twice, I could’ve sworn I saw Sade near the windows in one of my shirts.
Another night, I heard her laugh from the kitchen, clear as day.
I got up fast, looking for her before realizing I was talking to shadows and dark corners.
“Sade?”
I stood in the middle of the suite, rubbing my face hard.
I sat back down on the couch and stared toward the hallway.
“Why you keep looking at me like that?”
Nobody was there.
“You think I’m weak or something?”
I closed my eyes after that.
My mind was shot.
Another night, I could’ve sworn she was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me smoke.
“You should’ve stayed my employee.”
That stayed with me because everything got worse once feelings got involved.
By day five, my family doctor showed up with Vanessa.
I barely opened the door, but my sis barged in.
“You look terrible,” Vanessa said immediately.
“Thank you.” I actually gave her a smirk. My sister was stronger than I was. My father's death hadn’t hit her yet, like it was doing to me.
The doctor sat across from me. “You need to stop smoking marijuana completely.”
I laughed dryly. “That’s not happening.”
He ignored me and kept talking. “You have Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome, which causes repeated vomiting episodes. Your body basically rejects the THC after long-term heavy use.”
I leaned back on the couch, half listening.
“We discussed this before, Nr. St. Clair.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re dehydrated. Malnourished. Your anxiety levels are high. Your body is under stress. You are also showing signs of high functional depression and are finally crashing. You need to let me come back and run an IV on you, and you need anti-depressants when you are feeling better.”
Stress.
That word sounded stupid at that point.
I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in a luxury penthouse getting lectured about weed.
The doctor kept talking while Vanessa sat next to me, looking worried.
“You need rest. Fluids. No smoking.”
“I hear you.”
As soon as they left, I lit another blunt. Stupid.
By day six, I stopped keeping track of time completely.
The suite stayed dark most of the day. I sat on the floor near the couch one night, scrolling through old pictures on my phone.
Family. Business launches. Cars. Women.
Sade.
I stopped on her picture longer than the others.
Her smiling at Crown Heights, holding fabric samples, smiling.
I stared at the picture until my eyes started burning.
“You don’t even know what you doing to me.”
I set the phone down after that and leaned my head back against the couch.
By day seven, I was too weak to even get mad at myself anymore. I took another hot shower and sat under the water until it turned cold against my skin. I stayed there anyway.
Afterward, I dragged myself back toward the couch, wrapped in a towel with another blunt in my hand.
I must’ve drifted off.
When I opened my eyes again, somebody was standing in front of me.
BBW figure. Pretty face. Long hair.
Soft perfume floating off her jacket.
I blinked hard, thinking my mind was playing tricks again.
But she didn’t disappear.
She looked real.
Her eyes moved around the room, then at me,
I sat up too fast and rubbed my face.
“Oh my God, Vaughn. Are you okay?” Sade said softly.
I blinked. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”