Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
My intentions of shutting the party down are derailed by Lou Clempson and his posse.
“I’m not doing this with you,” I growl at the bitter songwriter as he blocks my path to the DJ. “It’s late. We need to shut this down.”
“Oh, right. Because you’re so responsible now. How’s that arrest record going?”
“Better than your Oscars shelf.”
His mouth opens. Eyes bulging, he steps toward me, violence practically vibrating in his stance.
Yep. Should have kept my mouth shut, but this dude begs to be provoked.
“You have no right to that award!” he roars.
“An entire Academy disagreed with you. It’s been three years since the snub, dude. Let it go.”
“You would think it’s that easy, wouldn’t you?! You don’t even understand what it means to win an award like that because you’re not a real artist! You’re a populist hack with a pretty face and nice abs!”
Hmm… maybe I got this situation all wrong .
“Aww. Sounds like someone has a crush on me.”
Hyped up on whatever he’s got flowing through his veins, he lunges forward.
I step aside with a curse and keep moving toward the DJ. This guy isn’t worth a lawsuit.
A hard shove from behind sends me crashing into a table.
“What the hell?” I shout, twisting back.
I duck as a fist comes flying at me, avoiding the hit, but not the mental strain of this bullshit.
This isn’t even my party.
Furious, I fire a lethal look and reverse course back to the hallway. I don’t have time for this shit. Not with the other—literal—mess I have to clean up.
I’ll have to try again later.
I use the journey back to Luke’s room to pull in soothing breaths. My ribs ache from the collision with the table, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside. I won’t survive the night if I don’t get a handle on the chaos in my head.
Luke is stirring when I return to the bedroom, which means it’s time for the real pain. Callie hangs back as I drag him from the bed and heave his naked drunk ass to the bathroom.
“Get… the fuck… off me!” he slurs, swinging his arm.
I pivot my head just enough to avoid a direct strike for the second time in five minutes.
“No. Now shut up and move your damn legs. Less punching, more walking.”
“You’re a-a…” He can’t finish the insult, so he twists out of my arms instead.
He almost goes down, and it takes every bit of strength I have to haul him back up.
At least he’s conscious. That’s a good sign.
We finally make it to the bathroom, and I slip into autopilot for the rest. It’s the only way I can deal with this shit.
“I hate you,” he growls as I wrestle him to the floor by the toilet, positioning myself on the cold tile directly behind him to keep him upright.
“Yeah, I know.”
“No, really. You?—”
I turn my head for the retching. God, I despise this part so much. My own stomach is thick with nausea, but we’ve just begun.
Luke slumps back, weak and covered in sweat. I lock him against me so he doesn’t fall to the floor. His labored breaths quiver against my chest.
“I’m… a dick,” he mumbles.
“Not now, Luke.”
“No! I am. I-I love you. You… you’re my brother. I don’t deserve you.”
I clench my eyes shut as emotion builds in my throat.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
“Case? You know I love you, right?”
I can’t I can’t I can’t…
“Tell me you know that!”
“Yeah, man. I know.”
You love me enough to cut yourself out of my life. To make me wonder if a stupid party was an excuse to cut yourself out of living entirely.
Apparently it wasn’t, but that’s a question I’m going to have to carry at every pass.
In the doorway, Callie chews on one of her nails. I can only imagine what she’s thinking through all of this. I hate that she has to see it, but maybe it’s for the best. You want to love Luke Craven? This is what it means.
He lurches forward again, and I lean back to give him space.
When he finishes, I catch him once more.
I don’t know how long this goes on. It feels like hours. Maybe it is. In some ways, it’s a lifetime.
When we finally reach the point where the first round of purging seems complete, I ask Callie for a wet cloth to clean him up. Then, we combine forces to get the patient back to bed.
I grab a water bottle and hold it to his lips.
“Here, drink this.”
Luke swats at the bottle. “I don’t want it.”
“Drink it, you idiot.” I tip the bottle as I prop his head up with my other arm.
His curses roll off me, along with the water dribbling from his mouth to his chest.
“Can you find a pair of boxers or something in his drawer?” I call to Callie.
She seems relieved to have something to do, and I know that feeling well. There’s nothing more helpless than watching someone you love destroy themself.
After she hands me the shorts, she heads to the bathroom to see what she can do with that mess. As if I needed more evidence she’s an angel in disguise.
Once we’re alone, I peel back the bedsheet and do my best to slide the shorts on Luke. He’s stopped fighting me now, and even lifts his hips to help. When I finish, I see he’s holding the water bottle on his own, studying me with glazed eyes.
“You shouldn’t have… come back.”
I freeze. My grip tightens on the edge of the sheet.
His face is a mask of pain and confusion, and I swallow the riot of responses in my throat.
“Not now, Luke,” I say instead.
“Yes now. You… You’re better than this.”
I snap a glare at him. “Better than what? You don’t even know what you’re saying right now. So just stop, okay? We’ll talk about it later.”
“Casey…”
“No! I’m serious, dude. I’m not having this conversation with you. Just get some rest and we’ll deal with it in the morning.”
He opens his mouth to respond but must think better of it.
Slumping back to the pillow, he’s the picture of defeat.
His haunted stare follows my every movement like I’m the freaking sun, moon, and stars.
And the part I really hate? It makes me feel like the dick.
Yes, suddenly I’m the villain in my own story.
But I can’t bring myself to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for. That’s the travesty of this situation. We’re all just sorry about everything and nothing. Just shaking and disgusted and so fucking sad.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and try to catch my breath.
Get it together, man. You knew this is what it would be if you came back.
I can’t break now. I have to?—
Footsteps clap behind me, and I quickly drop my arms. With a ragged breath, I shove the pain back down. I’ve stored it there for twenty-five years. What’s a few more hours?
Callie wears a concerned look when she comes into view, and I’m terrified it’s for me, not Luke this time. She can’t know what this is really costing me.
“He’ll be okay,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. He’s already drifting off again. “We’ll get more water in him a little later.”
“Casey.”
I direct my gaze to her and grit my teeth. Whatever she’s about to say, I can’t hear it right now. Maybe she senses as much when she clamps her mouth shut. After a short pause, she seems to change course.
“Um… you can go enjoy your friends if you’d like. I’ll stay with him.”
And just like that, she punctures the cloud.
A slow grin escapes. I can’t help it. The absurdity of it all…
“Are you kicking me out and telling me to go play with my friends?” I push to my feet with a smirk.
My shoulders feel like they’re caught in a trash compactor. I roll my strained muscles, trying to relieve some of the pressure. People acknowledge the mental and emotional workout of these incidents, but you don’t hear much about the physical toll. I’ll be sore tomorrow.
“No, that’s not what I meant, I just…” Pink splotches bloom on her cheeks, and it’s almost as cute as her attempt to mother me. “If you want to… I like your company.”
A trickle of warmth seeps in for the first time since she stormed away from me hours ago.
“Well, they’re not my friends, anyway,” I say. “I don’t even know most of them. I’m not sure Luke does either.”
I get a rancid whiff of my shirt and shudder at the thought of how I must look and smell. “I could use a shower, though. You never really get used to puke.”
Her small laugh makes me feel lighter as well. “Not a bad idea. There’s a nice one in the extra room, but what about all the guests?”
Right. Still have to deal with that. Based on the time, I might have more success than the previous attempt.
“I think it’s late enough that we can wind this down without damaging Luke’s reputation. Be back in a minute.”
Maybe it’s the puke on my shirt. Maybe it’s the later hour. Or maybe it’s the fact that Lou Clempson reportedly took off in a huff after our altercation. Whatever the reason, my second try at shutting things down is much more successful.
Once I quiet the DJ and close the open bar, the exodus organically begins. When I’m confident things are moving in the right direction (i.e. out), I empty the guest room of partiers and strip down to test out the weird bedroom shower.
I’ve bathed countless times in my life, sometimes in amenities more absurd than this one, but this is by far the cleansing I needed most.
With the door locked and the thunder of water drowning out my thoughts, I close my eyes and let the powerful jets soothe the ache gripping my entire being. Inside and out, I feel the tension swell and melt away.
And with it, the last remaining tether on my turbulent emotions.
My eyes burn from more than shower water as I drop my forehead against the cold glass wall. Memories rush in. Some fresh and raw. Others ancient and crusted into fossilized pain.
Scene after scene mirrors tonight’s horror. Blurred faces, fuzzy timelines.
Many in vivid detail I will never escape.
Each one gets a screen in my head, blaring and crowding in until it feels like I can’t breathe.
The weight in my chest grows with each stifled trauma, until I have no choice but to let it out.
Tears blur my eyes. The sound of my choked sobs echo around me in a surround sound of buried grief.