Текст книги "Lovestrong"
Автор книги: Nikki Groom
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter 6
“So,” Torran starts, placing a coffee and the biggest slice of chocolate cake I’ve ever seen down in front of me. He takes the chair opposite me and rests his elbows on the table. “What are you doing here?”
“Having coffee and cake with a friendly stranger.” I shrug nonchalantly. He contemplates my answer before shaking his head with a laugh.
“I guess I am a complete stranger to you, yet you still asked me to go for coffee with you. You’re gonna have to toughen up, firebird, if you’re going to survive in London.”
“Well, that’s where you read me wrong. I’m perfectly tough, thank you very much. I’m actually military trained and could take you out in a second.” I raise my chin defiantly but struggle to keep from smirking.
“I’m sure you could.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing in London? You on holiday?”
“Vacation,” I correct him in jest.
“Same difference,” he fires back.
“Honestly, I’m not really sure what it is. It’s a vacation, I suppose, but it’s indefinite.”
“Oh yeah? Well, that sounds cool. How far have you travelled?”
“It feels like a million miles,” I sigh. “Vegas. I lived in Las Vegas.”
“Awesome!” he comments, his eyes lighting up. “I’d love to go to there. Never really travelled very far, never had the chance, but I’d love to.”
“I hadn’t travelled much until now.”
“So what made you?” he asks before taking his coffee cup between his inked hands.
“Life,” I reply, stopping that line of conversation. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, keeping my eyes down at the table in the hope he won’t ask my anymore. He’s too easy to talk to. I’d probably end up in a pool of tears and tell him everything right here in the middle of this coffee shop if I don’t move this conversation on from here. Thankfully he mirrors me, drinking his coffee and not pressing me for an answer. “Do you live in the city?” I ask.
“I live in a city. Not this one though. I live on the coast, in Brighton.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Having coffee and cake with a fiery little redhead.” He mimics my earlier comeback with a wink and dips his finger into the creamy middle layer of my cake. I’m not sure if it’s innocently playful or if he’s flirting with me. Whatever he’s doing, however genuine he seems, being here, with him, suddenly sits awkwardly in my gut. I fight the urge to flee out of the door. It’s ridiculous that even though I’m free and single, I feel guilty for having coffee with a man. Yes, I suppose he’s cute, in a rugged, tattooed, pierced kind of way. He’s tall, probably six foot four plus, and he’s slim. The opposite of Spike’s shorter, stockier build. But there’s something about his gentle nature that reminds me of Spike and this is what stabs guilt deep in to my heart.
“I own a tattooist’s. Came up to town to see a friend of mine and get some new ink.” He pushes his right shoulder forward, indicating where he has a new tattoo.
“More ink? Do you have anywhere that’s uncovered?” I immediately regret that question. “I don’t want to know. I do not need to know the answer to that.” I shake my head rapidly and try to pretend that I did not just ask that question.
Please, ground, you can open up and swallow me whole now.
He laughs at my waving hands and dismissal of his impending answer. “Despite what you might think, I’m not completely covered in tattoos. They’re carefully placed and all have a meaning and a memory of sorts. Do you have any?”
“Noooooooo,” I say and shake my head vigorously as if my verbal answer isn’t enough. The thought of someone driving needles into my flesh at high speed leaves me feeling queasy.
“You don’t like them?”
“It’s not that. It’s because I’m a baby.”
“What? You? The SAS trained firebird?” he teases.
“Look here, macho man, I’ve watched grown men cry while they’re being tattooed. I’ve seen people pass out and not able to complete the tattoo. I have no desire to inflict pain on myself and walk around with a half-finished mistake on my body.”
“You’re funny,” he laughs. “It doesn’t hurt that much. And if you choose something small for your first one, it wouldn’t take long.”
“No and no.”
“Fair enough. But if you change your mind while you’re here on ‘vacation’.” He uses air quotes and I laugh at him. “You come and see me, yeah?” He slides his card across the table before taking one last gulp of his coffee and getting to his feet. “I gotta go, got a train to catch and a shop to lock up. I’d better make sure no one’s passed out today or has half a tattoo that needs finishing.” He winks and I feel a touch of disappointment that he’s leaving so soon, which in turn makes me feel guilty, again. I’ve got to get over this. Spike isn’t here. Spike doesn’t want me. It’s okay to talk to other men, even to enjoy their company. It isn’t like I kissed him or … “It was nice meeting you, firebird.” He holds out his hand for me to shake.
I stand and place my small hand in his, and he closes his intricately tattooed fingers around mine. The action feels too formal after our easy, friendly conversation. It feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer than an hour, but I also don’t want to hug him. It’s a weird middle ground feeling that makes me feel happy that I’ve met someone like him on my first day here, but oddly reminiscent of what I’ve lost and how it actually feels to be single.
I’m just a single girl, no longer one half of a couple. I’m forcing myself to feel hopeful and free because I have no choice, but in reality, my heart isn’t yet in it; Spike still has it with him in Las Vegas.
After realizing the time, and feeling like all I want to do is sleep, I’ve pushed my stubbornness aside and have decided to take the hotel room that Ari kindly booked for me. It makes no sense to let a perfectly good hotel room go unused. That would just be a kick in the teeth for her and a hassle for me.
I check in at the desk and they hand me a key card for my room.
“You have a studio room, with a view over the river, Miss Miller. The lift is just to the left. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you.” I wheel my case behind me, heading for the ‘lift’ as they call it here. My feet are getting heavier with every footstep. Jetlag is a bitch.
I navigate corridors lined with plush black carpet and pearlescent white wallpaper, and it doesn’t take long to find my room. But I fight to get the keycard to work, and no matter how many different ways I turn it around, it’s not happening.
“Here, may I?” a voice says from over my shoulder and I jump so hard, I nearly knock the tray right out of his hand.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. You scared the crap out of me.” His composure doesn’t slip, and he just smiles kindly before taking the card out of my hand and unlocking the door with ease.
He steps forward and holds it open, “After you.” He gestures me in with a nod of his head and I study his face for a second before moving. He has a cute baby face, and he smiles genuinely at me. I’m guessing he’s no older than twenty. He has wavy blonde hair that comes over his ears and looks more surfer dude than city boy. If I’m honest, I’m a little pissed off with him for making it look so damn easy to open the door when I was probably making it look a million times harder than it actually was. I really want to stomp past him and slam the door in his face, but that would be very rude of me and I just don’t have the energy to give it away on something as trivial as that just to keep up my bitch card. Thinking about it, I seem to have lost my edge completely today. I’ve given money to a boy that tried to mug me, had coffee and cake with a stranger and now I’ve actually made a conscious decision just to be grateful for a little help from this kid. “You coming in, or would you like me close the door so you can try it again?” he asks, with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice. And this time when he looks at me, he smirks, and I smirk right back.
“What’s your name?”
“Luke.” He glances down at his shiny name badge which clearly states ‘LUKE’ in capital letters.
“I see. Well, thank you, Luke.” I step in, and move aside to make room for him to leave. But he surprises me by closing the door and walking right past me. “Uh, excuse me?”
“Lottie, right? I’ll leave this over here for you.” He places the tray, which holds a bottle in an ice bucket and one champagne flute, on the glass table next to the window. “You get the best view from this room, and there’s a switch for the lights on the balcony just here.” He indicates the switch just behind the curtain. “And if you need anything, call down to reception. There’s no charge to you for the minibar or anything you order, so I would take advantage of that if I were you.” He winks and walks past me again to leave. For once I have nothing to say. I don’t know who he is, what he’s doing here, how he knows to call me Lottie as I’m booked in as Charlotte, or why he’s being so nice to me. I’m beginning to think that Torran must have put something in my coffee as I’m starting to feel a little emotional. “Are you okay?” He frowns and tilts his head.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” I think. “What’s that?” I point at the tray.
“It was requested when your room was booked.” He smiles kindly, making me feel a little more at ease.
“Oh. How do you know my name?”
“It’s on the envelope,” he answers simply. Yep, I need to sleep.
“Oh.” I start to chew on my thumbnail, not really knowing what to say next.
“You say that a lot.”
“What?” I frown at him and he smiles.
“Oh,” he mimics me teasingly.
“Oh, do I?”
He chuckles. “Yes, you do.”
“I’m tired,” I offer as way of explanation to both him and myself. That must be my problem. I need to sleep off this jetlag.
“I’ll leave you to get some rest.”
“Thanks, Luke.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods. He leaves with a kind smile and closes the door quietly behind him. I drop my case on the floor right where I’m standing. I’m so tired, I can’t even be bothered to unpack right now. I want a shower. I want to eat, and I want to sleep. In that order.
I check out the view from my window. Very impressive. The balcony is small, not even big enough to seat a table and chairs out there, but plenty big enough to stand out there and watch the world go by. I bet it’s spectacular at night. When I turn away from the window, I notice the envelope that has my name on it on the tray. I pick it up and peel the flap open slowly. There’s just a small slip of paper in there.
Enjoy your adventure. Stay safe. xx
I lift the bottle out of the ice bucket and see through blurry eyes that it’s Prosecco. Exhaustion and reality hits me at once and instead of trying to be strong and fierce, I let it out. My chest heaves out a burst of noisy sobs, my mascara-blackened tears wet my cheeks in a constant stream that runs off my chin and drops on to the piece of paper in my hand. I’m making my own way, finding out who I am all over again, and although it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done and pretty terrifying to a home girl like me, I know I need to do it. I need to go through every emotion before I can start to put the pieces of myself back together. They might not fit back in the order they once were, but I have to believe that life will work out for the best in the end.
Chapter 7
I feel like an asshole. Again.
Once more, I’ve pushed away someone that was just trying to help me. Sue was just trying to make my life a little easier, and I took my frustrations out on her. I know I was in the wrong. I know I am sensitive to every little gesture, comment or remark, and I know it’s all totally unreasonable and I need to get with the real world and pull myself the fuck out of it.
The trouble is, I can’t.
I’ve tried. I’ve tried to see the positive. I’ve tried to focus on the future. But all I see is a great big fucking hole that swallows me up every time I try to see past it. It would be much easier if I was ignorant to these mixed feelings. I would much rather feel like crap and be done with it. Instead, I get to feel like crap and feel guilty about it.
I wheel into the kitchen and open all of the cupboards looking for the only thing that might make me forget. I want to forget. I need to forget. I want to erase all of my cares. Fuck it, I want to erase all of my feelings so I feel numb throughout my whole body, not just my legs. I want to get so damn annihilated that I don’t even know who I am. Maybe then I’ll find some peace in my head.
But, no. No alcohol in the whole damn place. Denham must have cleared it all out when he had this place modified for me. Fucking modified. Even the lowered countertops, designed to make life easier for me, ironically make me feel fucking useless.
I swing the last cabinet door shut with a bang and slam my fists down on to the countertop with a strangled cry. God, this is so frustrating. I can’t seem to quell the constant churning in my stomach. It never settles, never lets me rest. Especially since Lottie left.
Lottie.
My heartbeat.
Gone.
I need a drink. It has been weeks since I went anywhere on my own. I break out in a cold sweat from every pore in my body at the mere thought of leaving this room. But I need to forget. I don’t care that it’s only ten in the morning. I need the oblivion, and I’m willing to push my stress levels to the max to get it.
I manage the hall and the elevator without too much of a raised heart rate. The end goal is firmly set in my mind and the craving gets stronger until it’s almost like an obsession that I have no control over.
The elevator doors open and I’m suddenly exposed to the noise in the lobby. It’s a different world compared to the easy ride getting down here. After eight weeks of being holed up in my apartment, the hustle and bustle is a shock to the system. No one notices me. No one even cares that I’ve made it this far. I don’t know what I was expecting. But in the split second it takes me to make a move forward, several people have tried to cram themselves past me and in to the small spaces beside me in the elevator. No one seems to care that I’m trying to get out. This is what it’s going to be like for me. I’m not even a person to them anymore, I’m an obstacle. Frustration climbs through my body until I can’t take it any longer and I push forward with a jolt, making a young couple jump out of the way. The guy immediately puts his body between me and the girl, an instinct I doubt he even questions, before swinging his head around to me with a scowl on his face. He’s fiercely protective of his girl, probably newly in love by the looks of them, and no doubt only momentarily annoyed at the sudden intrusion of their little Las Vegas bubble.
“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath and he immediately stands down and takes his girlfriend’s hand before continuing to walk ahead and disappearing amongst the flurry of people. I can’t help but smile bitterly at them. So in love. So blissfully happy. Then I laugh. I never had to be fiercely protective of Lottie. She was fierce enough for the both of us.
Fuck, I need that drink.
I take myself to the bar I frequently worked and know like the back of my hand. Of course, it’s always manned. As much as I love Las Vegas, I wonder, don’t people get tired of this? Don’t people hate the fact that everything is always there at your fingertips? Where’s the anticipation in that?
“Hey, Spike man. Good to see ya!” the barman, Chris, calls over to me and stops what he’s doing to greet me at the end of the bar. He doesn’t hesitate in scooping up my hand and clapping me on the shoulder. “What brings you to this dive?” he laughs.
“Same thing that brings everyone else here. What do you think?”
“Well, I’d like to say it’s this charming smile, but I know that’s a lie.” He keeps that charming smile painted professionally on his handsome face which makes me laugh.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that charming smile of yours, but I’d prefer to see it after you pour me a very large brandy.” I slap fifty bucks on the bar and push it in his direction. Surely he won’t refuse a paying customer?
“Hard stuff?” he questions with a frown. “It’s early for you to be starting on it.”
“Come on, my man. You know better than to question the customer. You also know that time stands still in this forsaken place. What’s early?” I shrug, trying to make light of the fact that I’m here and ready to get as drunk as I possibly can.
His eyes crease with uncertainty, and his dark brows pinch together at my out of character request. “If you’re not willing, I’ll do it myself.” I say the words in a calm enough tone, but there’s a definite warning there.
“Fair enough,” he replies with resignation. He pours me two fingers of brandy and I give him a look. He accepts my silent question and tops it up a little more before flashing a look back at me. I know I’m putting him in a difficult position, but sadly enough, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I just want to forget. I accept the glass, nod my thanks and drain it without a second thought. It slips down my throat like liquid gold. Then I feel the burn. Not a slow rise in temperature, but an instant volcano of heat that pushes up the back of my throat, through my nose and makes my eyes water.
“Fuck,” I hiss, feeling my stomach fighting to keep it down. I’m assaulting my body. Testing its limits and punishing it for feeling like I’ve been dealt a shitty hand, too.
“Steady there, Spike. Shoulda' taken that one steady, fella,” Chris comments with a frown and a tight shake of his head. Fuck him. I don’t need his disapproval or his concern.
I push my glass across the shiny bar top and it slides into his waiting palm. He’s a pro and I’m quietly impressed with his sharp reaction, but I don’t acknowledge it. “Shut the fuck up, and give me a refill, will you?”
He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes, drawing in breath through his teeth. “I’m not sure that’s−”
“Just do it, would ya?” I order impatiently. “I thought the customer was always supposed to be right, no? Well, I’m the customer and I want a refill, now. Please.”
He ignores my grumblings like the professional he is and goes about pouring me another drink. I can see him slowing after just a short pour but he glances my way and realizes I’ll just get on him until he fills the damn thing up. I like Chris. He’s a decent guy, nice enough to work with, and on the odd occasion that we went drinking together, he was a good laugh. I know he’s just looking out for me, but I’m done with people telling me what they think is best for me and not asking me what I want, what I need, or how I feel. Right now, I feel the need to consume more alcohol than I have ever consumed in my life and find just a few hours peace in my otherwise noisy, fucked up head. Liquid amnesia.
Four large glasses later and the alcohol is doing what I wanted it to do. I don’t care any less than I did before, but somehow it doesn’t hurt as much. My body is looser and I can’t focus on the finer details as easily as I could before. I think I may even be swaying a little. Is that possible seated in a wheelchair?
The wheelchair. The God. Damn. Fucking. Wheelchair. Nope, not enough alcohol yet.
“Fill ‘er up, Chris, my man,” I slur, pushing the glass towards him. This time it doesn’t slide forward as it did before. My fingers are clumsy and I knock it sideways and it falls off the bar and smashes on the hard ground. Fuck.
“Nope. Sorry, man. That’s enough now,” Chris answers firmly.
“Excuse me?” I squint at him, my vision is extremely blurry and my eyes can’t focus on him properly no matter how hard I try.
“Here.” He hands me another glass carefully this time and I note that he holds on to it until he knows I have it securely in my hands. Fucking idiot. What, does he think because I’m in a wheel chair that I need special treatment like a kid? I push it away, and despite his grip, some of it spills in my lap.
Then it hits me. Four tumblers of brandy on an empty stomach and mixing it all with copious amounts of painkillers in my bloodstream has shut down my coordination. It’s jumbled my thoughts until all that’s spinning around in my head are the words ‘Lottie’ and ‘gone’.
I close my eyes and try to stop the spinning in my head. So fast. Won’t stop.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I blurt out as my throat contracts.
Did I even manage to say that out loud? I reach out in front of me and grab at the edge of the bar which is higher than it’s always been before due to me being in this curse of a chair. But I can’t focus enough to grip it and before I can control my body’s repulsion of the alcohol, I’m heaving over the side and decorating my wheels with strong, pungent, second hand brandy.
I hear people talking. There’s people shuffling around me, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t determine who they are. Shit. This might not have been such a good idea.
“Let’s get you back upstairs,” a soft feminine voice says over my shoulder, rubbing her hand along my upper arm.
“Lottie?” I question. I’m pissed off with myself that all I can hear are jumbled words that merge into a distant echo. I can’t even tell if it’s Lottie that sounds different or if it’s my head distorting the sounds around me.
“No. It’s me, Arianna.”
“Ari … I miss her, Ari. I miss her so fucking much,” I slur, and despite the sad state that I’m in, tears force their way to my eyes as another wave of brandy surfaces in my throat.
“I know,” she soothes. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“I’m sorry.” I manage to get the words out right before I’m hurling over the side of the chair again. “I’m sorry for everything.”
