Chapter 6 #2
Jeff warned me not to come here, and I can see why.
I hesitate a moment longer debating the wisdom of my decision, but then I’m reminded of my growing concern for Riley, a feeling that’s managed to temporarily overshadow my hurt and anger since learning of his removal from the dorm.
I knew he’d been having problems, that he wasn’t in a good place mentally, but I’d let my own fear and insecurities eclipse all thoughts of what he might be going through once I felt him starting to pull away.
Even if I don’t get the answers I want tonight or the closure I need, at the very least, I’m determined to lay eyes on him for the first time in …
In over six months.
Holy fuck.
I mean, I knew it had been that long, but also … I hadn’t actually allowed myself to think about the time we’d spent apart in any kind of definitive chronological accounting. I guess that doesn’t make much sense, but bottom line? I’ve been living in denialsville.
That’s right. Population: me.
But, no longer. I came here for a reason, and I’m not leaving without seeing the man who broke me, one last time.
So with a deep breath and a resolute squaring of my shoulders, I grip the cool handle and pull the heavy door towards me.
My ears are instantly assaulted by the loud electronic music that’s been reverberating through to the exterior.
The stringy-haired woman on the floor cracks an eye at me as I step across the threshold, and I think she lets out a moan, though it’s nearly impossible to say for sure given the decibel level in here.
I’m not necessarily the timid girl I was before I met Riley, but I won’t deny my nerves are frayed to the max as I scurry across the room, giving the woman as wide a berth as the small space allows.
The lobby opens into a dimly lit hallway.
Jeff had said I’d know Lucky’s unit when I saw it, and I suspect that’s true as I move cautiously toward the origin of the obnoxious music.
There are red Solo cups strewn along my path, and multiple apartments I pass have their doors hanging open.
Smoke is heavy in the air, and the overwhelming scent of pot stings my nose.
A woman with spiky blue hair stumbles in my direction, bouncing a shoulder off the nearby wall before she manages to redirect herself into one of the open units.
I peek curiously after her, taking in the group of people dancing.
Another unit holds two couples, well, coupling on opposing couches.
I’m no prude, but I quickly glance away.
The next apartment is actually missing its door.
I don’t linger to see what’s going on inside that particular one.
My chest is tight, and my heart feels like it’s beating in my throat as I observe people moving in a daze from unit to unit, and again I’m second-guessing having come here.
No one seems to pay me any mind, though, so I soldier on.
I’m finally nearing the end of the hallway and the source of the music—which is now at a nearly unbearable level—when the growing crowd suddenly parts to reveal two men shoving at each other.
It’s a blur of fists and a flash of red as their violent tussle moves my way.
I freeze in alarm, then press myself anxiously against the wall with a squeak as they rumble past me.
They break apart, then one man shoves the other into the open door of a nearby unit and stomps in after him, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
There’s the slamming of a door followed by a woman’s muffled scream as I work to suck air back into my lungs.
Despite my lingering shock, I have the presence of mind not to stick around, hurrying anxiously to the open doorway of the final apartment.
It’s unbearably hot as I shove my way into the packed unit, unwashed bodies pressing against me and causing me to breathe steadily through my mouth. My skin feels sticky, and I’m desperate to find Riley and get the hell out of this— this hellhole.
You’d think after everything I’ve just witnessed I wouldn’t be surprised by what I find in what I assume to be Lucky’s apartment.
You’d be wrong.
Drugs.
A boat-fucking-load of drugs. And yes, the word ‘fucking’ is absolutely necessary in this case to emphasize the sheer level of depravity I’m witnessing, and the disillusionment I’m feeling in this moment.
Riley cannot be here. He just … can’t!
But my eyes find him almost instantly, and my heart drops.
He’s sitting on the end of a sofa that’s clearly seen better days, leaning with his back against one of the arms while a dark-haired man on the other end inhales a line of white powder off the water-ringed coffee table before him.
Riley’s mouth is moving, and while I have no chance of hearing him over the music, the other man clearly does, because he nods several times in agreement before closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the couch.
I’m frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to breathe as I stare at Riley for the first time in more than half a year.
My eyes rove greedily, almost frantically, over him, cataloging his every feature.
He looks … gaunt. His face is thinner than I remember, and he’s so pale.
Too pale for late summer, for a guy so used to spending every spare minute on the outdoor courts playing ball.
His medium brown hair is greasy and dull.
He doesn’t look healthy or even very happy despite the smirk he offers two other men who draw up next to where he’s seated.
Despite his appearance, despite this creepy hole-in-the-wall where I’ve found him, despite my heartbreaking reason for being here and the shitty way he’s treated me … I’m still relieved to see him. Happy, even.
My heart rate quickens, and my stomach flutters like it always does in his presence. My hands ache to touch him.
I hate it.
I love it.
It’s a confusing mix of emotions, but there it is.
A miserable sigh escapes me.
He still feels like mine.
I watch as he sips from a tall plastic gas station cup with faded cartoon characters printed around the outside.
It calls to mind images from my childhood.
We had a collection of those cups growing up, and I remember always wanting to match my orange juice cup with the Saturday morning shows I was watching.
The juxtaposition of the fond memory with my filthy surroundings is at once depressing and unsettling.
Riley still hasn’t noticed me, where I linger near the doorway, so I chance another glance around the apartment.
A couple is arguing in the off-white kitchen to my right, the countertop next to them strewn with baggies of colorful pills, drug paraphernalia, and a variety of alcohol bottles.
Torn chip and snack bags spill their contents across the cracked plastic countertop, and I shudder at the thought of touching anything in this place, let alone eating off of a surface here.
The men standing next to Riley drop down into the pair of duct-taped wing chairs across from him and his pal and proceed to portion out their own lines of white powder.
Just then, a woman stumbles out of a hallway in the back, yelling something to the dark-haired man beside Riley.
She flings herself across the man’s lap, and his eyes fly open.
He raises his head and shoves her roughly off with a sneer, then laughs cruelly as she tumbles to the floor, nearly hitting her head on the table.
The other two men join in laughing, but I only have eyes for Riley, who frowns, then leans over and offers the woman a hand.
She climbs clumsily to her feet with his assistance, then shouts something again at the man who’s returned to his reclined position with his eyes closed.
He waves her off with a middle finger in her direction, and Riley offers her a rueful smile.
I’m oddly comforted by the entire interaction because it only serves to prove to me that my Riley is still in there.
Despite the disturbing company he’s so clearly been keeping, he hasn’t lost his capacity for kindness and empathy.
He hasn’t been corrupted by these people. At least not completely.
But … what the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? In a place like this?
With people like this?
And just how tainted by their association has he become?
One of the men leans across the table and holds out what looks like a straw. It’s not the rolled-up dollar bill you see in the movies, but its purpose is pretty clear. The breath freezes in my lungs, my stomach roils, and I narrow my eyes on Riley’s face as I wait to see what he’s going to do.
Will he accept?
Is he going to partake?
But he shakes his head, and yet another wave of relief courses through me.
It’s at this moment, unexpectedly, that Riley finally looks in my direction.
And stiffens.
The room literally vibrates with the noise from the speakers, but I can no longer hear it over the blood suddenly thrumming in my ears. Everything around me fades as he meets my gaze and I watch those silver-grey eyes widen in recognition.
The thick, smoky air somehow manages to feel even heavier than before as we stare at each other. Then I blink, and he’s on his feet. He’s momentarily obscured from my vision by a group of people moving into the room, but when the crowd thins again … he’s there. Standing before me.
All the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
He reaches out for my hand, and electricity sparks in my veins at his touch.
His touch.
How I’ve missed it. Longed for it.
There’s little time to relish in the feeling, though.
He’s dragging me determinedly from the apartment before I even realize we’re moving.
He shoves open an adjacent exit door, and we spill out into the humid night.
Darkness has fallen in the time since I’ve been inside.
The air is thick, and the cloud cover is heavy.
No stars, I note, as he moves me quickly around the corner of the building.
At the rear, there’s a creepy cement staircase leading down to an underground level.
Graffiti covers the walls, and I get a noxious whiff of garbage from the nearby dumpster as he pulls me down the steps, pushing open another door at the bottom and dragging me into a darkened room.
The heavy steel door slams shut behind us, and I jump.
Riley drops my hand, moving away from me, and despite my heated skin, a shiver runs through me at the loss of his touch.
He moves over to a wooden crate that’s been upturned next to a mattress on the floor and switches on a shadeless lamp before turning back to face me with his hands on his hips.
The room we’re in appears to have once been used for storage, with a small collection of forgotten and water-stained cardboard boxes stacked against the far wall and a mostly empty metal shelving unit next to them. An open sleeping bag is strewn across the otherwise bare mattress.
“What the hell are you doing here, Steph?” he demands, and I mirror his pose, putting my own hands on my hips.
“What the hell are you doing here, Riley?” I shoot back.
He grits his teeth and takes a step closer, glaring, but says nothing more. The exposed bulb casts shadows across his face, and I lament that I’m unable to make out the lovely silver of his eyes in this lighting. Eyes that look glassy and I had appeared red-rimmed upstairs.
“A-are you high?” I gasp.
Maybe he didn’t partake just now because he already had earlier.
“What?” he sputters, looking away from me and massaging a hand at the nape of his neck. “No. Jesus Christ, Steph, I just had a few beers, alright? It’s a party. I’m allowed to let loose at a party.”
I stare at him skeptically. He still won’t meet my eyes, but there could be a lot of reasons for that. “I saw what was going on in that apartment,” I say quietly. “The baggies of pills on the counter. The guy beside you on the couch doing lines. I saw.”