Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“I mean it, Annie,” she continues, her voice firm. “If you scare me like this again, I will tell your father. And I won’t stand in the way of whatever he decides. You may be an adult, but you’re still living under our roof, and that means you follow our rules. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I whisper. “It won’t happen again. I feel sick just thinking about it… how close I came to something worse.” My throat tightens. “And I feel… wrong. Being with someone like that. It wasn’t even…” I shake my head. “I don’t know why I did it.”
Mum’s expression softens, just slightly. “You’re hurting,” she says quietly. “And sometimes when people are hurting, they make choices they wouldn’t normally make.”
Tears sting my eyes again. “Aston’s moved on. I know he has. But I keep thinking… how could he have ever loved me in the first place?”
Mum exhales slowly, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
“He did love you, Annie. And a part of him probably always will. But you can’t keep punishing yourself because he’s moved on.
That’s not going to change anything.” I nod, even though it still aches.
“Why don’t I call Dr. Ludwick in the morning?
” she adds gently. “See if we can get you in sooner. I think it would help.”
“It will,” I say quietly.
Because right now, everything feels tangled. Too big. Too damn messy.
And maybe that’s the alcohol still leaving my system…
Or whatever else I took.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Either way, I need help sorting it out.
***
I stayed in the hospital until I was released the following day.
Mum and Ella didn’t leave my side, and Mum kept her word—Dad still doesn’t know.
The nausea hasn’t fully gone, but it’s not just the drugs or alcohol anymore. It’s everything else. What I did. What could have happened. What nearly did.
I hate that Mum is keeping this from Dad.
I don’t want to come between them.
Not again.
Not having my phone feels strange, like I’m cut off from everything. Mum said we’d go out tomorrow and get a new one, and she’s already canceled my old number. At least he can’t use it.
But he still has it.
My photos. My messages. Everything.
God, what a mess.
We’re all in the living room that night, trying to salvage something normal. A movie plays on the television, the same plan we should have stuck to the night before.
If I’d just stayed home…
None of this would’ve happened.
Mum and Ella laugh softly at something on screen, but I can’t focus. My mind keeps drifting to Aston, to everything I’ve lost, to the hollow feeling sitting heavy in my chest.
It shouldn’t feel like I cheated.
We weren’t together.
But it does.
Kissing other guys never felt like this. Never made me feel… dirty.
This does.
And the fact that I can barely remember it?
That makes it worse.
The front door suddenly opens.
Mum’s head snaps toward the hallway. “Oh… hey, babe. I thought you were still on your press tour?” Something in her voice shifts.
Ella and I both turn.
Dad doesn’t answer.
He walks straight past Mum without even looking at her.
My stomach drops.
He crosses the room in seconds and slams a stack of papers down onto the coffee table in front of me. The sharp crack echoes through the room, and I flinch.
His face is a storm, red, tight, and absolutely furious. A vein pulses in his neck, his jaw clenched so hard it looks painful.
“I would still be on my press tour,” he says, his voice low but shaking with anger. “If my daughter wasn’t getting wasted and being photographed half-naked.”
The words hit like a slap.
My hands tremble as I reach for the papers.
Photos.
Of me.
Unconscious on the couch.
A bottle beside me.
Topless.
My breath catches as my hand flies to my mouth, tears flooding my eyes before I can stop them.
“They’re everywhere, Annie!” Dad roars. “How could you be so fucking reckless?” His voice keeps going, but the words start to blur, swallowed by the ringing in my ears. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break out of my chest. Nausea rises fast, sharp, and overwhelming.
I look down at the photographs again.
Each one is worse than the last.
Then I see it.
The open pill box…
And my stomach drops.
He knows.
“Annie, for fuck’s sake… how could you do this?
” Dad snaps, pacing now, running a hand through his hair.
“Drugs? After everything I’ve told you? After everything I’ve been through?
” He points at me, his hand shaking. “How could you do this to me? To your mother? To your sister? To your bandmates?” I flinch.
“To Staked?” he continues, his voice rising again.
“Do you have any idea what this does to us? To the band? To the tours we’ve been working toward?
” Each word lands like a physical blow. “And where the hell were you, Dee?” he suddenly snaps, turning on Mum.
“Where were you while this was happening?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my knees up to my chest as I rock slightly, trying to block it out.
This is my fault.
All of it.
Those pictures are out there now. Everyone’s seen them. They’re probably everywhere—online, shared, picked apart.
Aston’s seen them.
Oh, God! Aston’s seen them. The thought hits like a punch to the gut.
Of course he has.
And now he knows exactly what kind of mess I’ve become.