Текст книги "Affliction"

Автор книги: River Savage

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Holly

My hung-over ass rolls out of bed and looks around the room. Where the hell am I? The bare room rings no bells as I sit up and get my bearings. My legs are naked and I’m wearing a worn black tee and my panties. What the hell? The shower runs in the next room and for a moment I panic that I’ve ended up in some stranger’s bed. How did I get here? My eyes search the room some more, only stopping when they land on the leather cut draped over a chair. Shit. The memories of Kadence getting engaged, Sy and his calling me out, and me getting drunk off my ass all comes back. Oh, God, that all happened. My stomach turns, and before I know it, I’m racing for the bathroom. I don’t care if Sy’s in the shower, naked, only a few feet away from me—or the fact I’m only wearing panties, and a T-shirt. My only concern is the toilet and hoping like hell I make it in time.

“What the hell?” Sy turns as I push the door open and run straight to the toilet. Dropping to my knees, I hug the bowl like it’s my long lost friend.

“Holly, are you okay?”

“Yep,” I croak into the bowl, hiding the crimson shade I’m sure to be wearing on my face. I dry heave some more, my embarrassment growing as the sounds being exorcised from my mouth echo around the small bathroom. The shower door opens, and I don’t have it in me to turn and tell him to stay in there.

“Fuck,” he curses, leaving me alone for a moment, before returning a few seconds later. “Here,” he says, pulling me away from the bowl and holding out a cold glass of water. I look up, my eyes watering from the intense chuck-up session, but through the haze, I’m met with the image of pure fucking sex. Sy is wrapped in a towel, every inch of his body covered in tattoos, and dripping with water.

“Fuck me,” I curse, taking him in.

“I already have,” he says, smirking. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m probably still drunk, a wet, naked Sy standing in front of me would totally mortify me. But it doesn’t. I swallow past the lump forming in my throat and take the glass of water, swallowing the bitch down fast before I choke on my drool.

“Care to tell me how I ended up in your bed?” I ask after handing the glass back up to him.

“Well, I could have put you in the spare apartment, but I was worried you might have choked on your own vomit.” He smirks again, resting his hip against the basin.

“I vomited already?” I wince, wondering how much I had to drink.

“Twice,” he informs me as he folds his arms across his tatted-up chest. Jesus, the man is covered in ink. Every single inch of him.

“Is that why I’m not wearing my clothes?” I ask, putting two and two together.

“Yeah, you totally fucked them up,” he tells me, shaking his head.

“Did you change me?”

“Yep, stripped you, washed you and dressed you.” My face heats up again, embarrassment filling my cheeks.

“Not like I haven’t seen it all before,” he remarks, and at his comment I tense. The past comes crashing back, reminding me of my grief, but most shockingly, the regret. I need to tell him.

“Where did you just go?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, watching me carefully like he can read me every which way.

“Nowhere.”

“You went somewhere. For a moment there, I thought I had you.”

“Had me?” I ask, coming to a stand, but I’m shaky on my feet. He reaches out, steadying me.

“A small glimpse at the old Holly,” he says.

“I’m still the same Holly,” I defend myself, yet at the same time I know exactly what he means. The old Holly wouldn’t be hiding.

“You keep pretending, and I worry I won’t ever get her back.”

“You say that like you had me in the first place,” I snap, not liking where this is going.

“Oh, I’ve had you, Holly. Don’t deny it. Had you with a snap of my fingers,” he purrs, the mischievous grin breaking out over his face. Oh, God, that shit works.

“Please, keep telling yourself that,” I say, still holding onto his arms. His strong, wet, naked arms. Releasing my hold, I step back out of his reach. I try to look anywhere but at him. My eyes have other ideas though as they keep drifting back to the towel wrapped low on his waist. They then zero in on the water droplets forming over his inked body. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mind and tongue took over and started worshiping each drawing he has etched into his skin.

“Like what you see?” he asks, catching me checking him out.

“I’ve seen better.” I go for the cool and collected vibe, failing miserably.

“You feeling okay now?” He ignores my blatant lie; it’s for the best. I even feel embarrassed for myself.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just wait back in the room.” I go to walk past him, but he stops me in my escape.

“Probably best to get that vomit out of your hair first,” he says, pointing to my head. Oh, my God, it just keeps getting worse.

I turn fast, looking in the vanity mirror. Fuck. Chunks of spew sit on the ends of my hair. Just kill me already.

“Ewww,” I say, turning the tap on and leaning forward to rinse out the mess.

“Just get in the shower, and shampoo it out,” he says and I look up, catching his gaze through the mirror.

“Okay,” I respond, thinking how perfect a hot shower would feel right now. I turn and face him, noticing the smirk on his face.

“Why did you change your hair?” He asks the same question as last night, the one I don’t want to answer truthfully. I knew the drastic cut and color would shock everyone, and maybe that was my intention; get them to talk about something other than the fact that I’m fucked up from what happened.

“Wanted a change,” I go for a simple version. Because really, telling someone you hated yourself so much you wanted to feel like someone else, isn’t what they want to hear. “Why?”

“Just can’t believe you cut your hair.”

“What, you don’t like it?” I strike back.

“Didn’t say that.”

“Oh, you’re the type of guy who loves their woman long and blonde,” I accuse.

“Didn’t say that either. Just wanted to know why.”

“Well, now you know,” I say, feeling like I’ve just gone on the offensive for no reason whatsoever. “Are you done?” I ask, pointing to the empty shower, needing to get out of here.

“Yeah, all yours.” He nods, still not moving from his space.

“Umm, a little privacy please?” I ask after a moment of him not moving. The man has lost his damn mind if he thinks I’m undressing in front of him.

“Don’t worry, Holly, I’ve seen it all before,” he teases, but I can’t be sucked in by it.

“Well, I’m not going to undress in front of you.”

“I’ll turn around,” he smirks, and if it weren’t for the fact that the shower is completely glass, or that I would feel vulnerable standing naked in front of him again, I would do it. I never used to be like this. I never used to question everything I would normally do, but the thought of breaking down in front of this man has my hand going to my chest and forcing myself to steady my breaths.

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking a step forward.

“Yeah,” I say, taking my eyes, and casting them past his shoulder to stop panic from clawing at me.

“You’re not, but I’m not going to push. I’ll meet you out there.” He turns and leaves me standing there, giving me the moment I need.

“No, I’m not okay, but you can do this,” I talk to myself in the mirror. I should never have drunk that much last night and left myself open like this. All I need to do is get in the shower, wash the vomit out of my hair, and leave. I nod before pulling Sy’s shirt over my head and stepping out of my panties. Standing in the shower, I let the hot water wash away the vomit and alcohol seeping from my pores. If only it could wash away the grief and guilt. Wash away the lies I’ve told myself, my family, and my friends.

After ten minutes of hiding in the shower, I shut off the water and reach for a towel. I dry my now Sy-smelling hair, knowing I have to carry his smell around with me all day, and pull through the knots with a small comb I find in the vanity.

“Holly, are you almost done?” Sy calls through the door, startling me.

“Umm, almost,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t walk in here.

“I’ve got to go into the shop is all,” he says and I’m not sure if he wants me to leave with him or he’s saying goodbye. All I know is I’m not ready to leave this bathroom just yet.

“Okay you go,” I say, hoping I can get out of seeing him this morning.

“I’ll wait.” Fuck.

“No, go. I’m not feeling good. I might get back into the shower,” I lie, thinking fast. He’s quiet for a moment not saying anything.

“I know what you’re doing,” his voice is so close to the door my heart rate picks up waiting to see how this will play out. I don’t reply, just silently pray he doesn’t push this morning. It was wrong of me to come last night, and getting drunk and ending up in his bed was the last thing I needed.

“Your clothes are on my bed,” he finally breaks the silence.

“Okay, thank you, and sorry about last night,” I apologize, feeling more like a fool as the minutes tick by in our silence.

“I wish you would open the door, but I get it. I’ll see you soon and we’ll talk then.” I force myself to hold in my objection. I can’t see him again. I don’t think I would survive.

“Bye, Holly,” he whispers, but it doesn’t sound like a goodbye, more like a promise. After a few moments of quiet, I risk it and open the door. The room is empty, and my dress lies clean on the bed. Lost in the embarrassment, I quickly dress and try to hatch a plan to get out of here without being seen. The last thing I need is for everyone to think I’m doing the walk of shame. Even though Sy and I didn’t do anything, other than him cleaning up my vomit, I feel like I’m sneaking out. I hold in the urge to vomit again. I take a breath, send up a prayer and get the hell out of there.

PAST

Sy

“We want to take her home,” I say, exhausted and defeated. He warned us of this in the beginning when the bone marrow transplant failed, but Katie still held on to the hope it wouldn’t come to this. Today we’re letting go of that hope.

“We can discuss your options,” Dr. Parks says, looking up from his notes.

“As soon as possible,” I insist, looking down at her sleeping body. My daughter’s life slips away from me and I have to sit here, and watch it as it happens in this small fucking room. I can't take it any longer.

“We can arrange home hospice care. Let me talk with her team and we will go from there,” he says, leaving us alone.

“Are you sure you want this?” Katie asks across from me.

“It’s not about what I want; it’s what she wants." I know this is the best thing for her, for us.

“She doesn’t know what she wants,” she protests, but I don’t listen. Just looking down at her, I know this is the best thing. If she’s not asleep, we’re waking her up for treatment only to medicate her again. What sort of life is this for her?

“She knows what she wants. If this is it, we will give it to her.” Leaning down, I kiss her pale skin.

“Are we giving up?” she asks. It’s a question I’ve struggled with for the last few weeks.

“Katie, you know this is the best thing for her. We don’t want her to be on the machine and have these tubes coming out of her when she goes,” I declare, absolute.

“I know. I just feel like we’re giving up,” she sobs into our daughter’s hair, stroking it away from her face.

“We aren't. We're giving her a chance at a peaceful passing. This part matters to her.” I walk around the bed to comfort Katie. As much as I struggle to move past the hurt she has brought on us, I can’t bear to see her break. “You know it’s time, Katie. She’s ready. We need to let her go,” I tell her, hating every moment of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Holly

I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m gasping to get my old self back. Desperation claws at me as my soul craves a sense of peace, yet no matter how hard I try, how hard I pretend, I can’t seem to push past the pain that suffocates me. I’ve tried everything to break through this darkness that keeps pulling me down. It controls me, threatens to take me, and I fight it. I do, but some days, it’s too much.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Sam, my older brother, yells from the other side of the bathroom door, sending the dark shadows away. Jesus, I’ve been doing so well. What the hell is going on?

“Getting ready,” I yell back, still looking at myself in the mirror. I’d like to think no one sees the pain I hide, but some days, even I look at myself and see my reflection telling me I’m a fraud. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I exhale and prepare to face him.

“Well, hurry up. I need a shower,” he replies, like every other morning after he’s stayed the night.

“Maybe if you stayed at your place, you wouldn't have to wait.” I paste on my fake smile. The one I’ve perfected, the one I hide behind, and open the door to face him.

“Why would I want to do that?” he laughs, flicking my nose as he walks past me, slamming the door shut.

“Asshole,” I yell, walking down the hall to start the coffee maker.

“Love you too, little sis,” he calls back. Hearing those words today settles some of the uneasiness I’ve been feeling since seeing Sy again at Kadence’s party. Today is a good day. Today is going to be better, I remind myself while setting the coffeepot up. If you had asked me three months ago where I saw myself this year, this would not be my answer. I never imagined my days would only get better with the help of anxiety pills. But grief isn’t predictable; it can strike so hard that even the strongest fall. When you live your life in color, surrounded by happiness, yet your world is painted with grief, how do you find equilibrium?

“You doing okay, sis?” Sam grills me, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yep,” I answer, looking up at him from my spot in the kitchen.

“What are you doing just standing there?” Reaching over, he flicks the switch on the coffee machine. Shit.

“Oh gosh, still waking up,” I fake a yawn and hope he doesn’t push. “Want eggs?” I ask, walking past him to get breakfast started. Shit, I don’t have eggs.

“Nah, I have to run, and I won’t be in tonight,” he reminds me; like I care he isn’t dropping in to babysit. He hasn't been in a lot lately and the less time he spends here, the better. I love my brother, but having him around all the time is just painful. He showed up the first day I was released from the hospital, taking up Kadence’s old room. I didn’t protest in the beginning, it wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere. My brother is a fierce protector and in his eyes this was something that would let him feel like he was fulfilling his brotherly duties. I gave him that, knowing I needed it too, but now, three months later, it’s getting old.

“I know, dear brother. However will I survive?” I joke and watch his lips quirk at my attitude.

“I’m sure you’ll manage, but if you need me, just call,” he says, coming forward, and wrapping his arms around me.

“I’m not a child and you’re not my parent, Sam. I’ll be fine,” I counter, pulling back to face him. I hate feeling like a burden to my family.

“No, Holly, you’re my sister. You were shot. You’re dealing with some serious shit, and I’m worried about you. We all are.”

“Sam, that was three months ago. I’m fine,” I protest, with only a small amount of lying laced in my words. I am fine, aren’t I? I was until I saw Sy last week.

“I know how long ago it was, Hol, and the more you say you're fine, the less I believe you. I’m your big brother; I’m allowed to worry.”

“You worry too much,” I tell him, hating that I can't fool him.

“Do I?”

“You know you do. Quit it. You’re turning into Mom,” I tease.

“Take it back.” He reaches for my arm and twists me, holding my arm behind my back. I try to out twist him, but he’s too quick. I know his moves; he’s been pulling them on me since I was five years old.

“Let me go. I thought you had to leave?” I try for a different tactic.

“Not ‘til you take it back.”

“Sam, you are so like Mom it’s disgusting,” I say as an insult. He reaches around and flicks my nose again. “Quit it. You're going to mess with my make-up.”

“Take it back.”

“Fine, okay. You’re not turning into Mom,” I lie. “Now, let me go,” I demand. He holds on for one second longer, and then releases his grip.

“I miss this side of you,” he quietly confesses, causing me to look up at him.

“I’m getting there,” I tell him.

“Love you, little sis,” he smiles, reaching out and scuffing my hair.

“Sam,” I screech, smacking his hand away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he laughs like he loves the fact that he has now pissed me off.

"See ya, asshole.” I wave him off and walk back to the bathroom to fix up the teased mess that is now my hair.

“Make sure you lock up,” he calls after me from the front door.

“Yes, Mom,” I yell back, hearing him laugh. After fixing my hair, I walk back out and finish getting ready for work. A knock at the door stops me from reaching my coffee, and I curse, realizing I keep getting interrupted. Opening the door, I feel the color drain from my face when I see Sy standing there.

“Sy,” I murmur, hiding my reaction. Oh, God, what is he doing here?

“Holly,” he responds, the sound of his voice sending a rush of pain through me. It’s the most beautiful pain in the world, one only I can feel.

“What’s up?” I try for cool, but don’t feel like I even pull it off. I haven’t spoken to him since the morning after the party where I had made a fool of myself.

“Can I come in?” he asks and like a dumb fool, I step aside and let him inside.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, surprised I’m less panicky to have him in my home.

“Yep, but you’ve got a tail today,” he states without any further explanation.

“Umm, okay, why exactly do I have a tail today?” I ask, knowing this has to do with Kadence.

“Club business,” he says, shrugging, his hands going to his pockets.

I cross my arms, waiting for him to tell the truth, because if he thinks for one second I’m in any danger, Kadence would have already called me.

“Well, considering I’m not part of your club, doesn’t look like it concerns me," I say, walking back to the kitchen to try for the third time this morning to get my coffee.

“Well, you are a part of the club, so don’t even start that shit,” he says, following me into the kitchen.

“What do you want, Sy? ‘Cause I’m certain you didn’t come all this way to argue with me about if I’m a part of your club or not, which by the way, I’m not.”

“I did come here for Holly watch. Got shit going down. Nix wanted eyes on you. There’s been some talk circulating ‘cause of the fallout from Zane.”

“What talk?” I inquire, my panic spiking.

“Just some whispers; we’re looking into it.”

I try not to let my panic show, but just hearing Zane’s name has my hand grasping my chest.

“Don’t fucking touch her, asshole,” I yell out to Zane.

“Don’t worry, Holly. You can watch, then you’ll be next,” Zane taunts and the bile I had been holding down since being thrown in the van slowly starts to rise.

“Don’t,” Kadence pleads with him. “You can have me, but please don’t touch her,” she says, giving herself over to him.

“Are you okay?” Sy’s voice pulls me out of my memory as concern fills his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I take a large breath and control my breathing. I haven’t had a panic attack for a week; my first one over Zane in two.

“You’re not,” he accuses like he did back in his bathroom last week.

“I'm fine,” I try again, this time letting my breathing relax me again.

“You do know you have a tell?” he smirks, folding his arms across his chest.

“Shut up, Sy. I’m not in the mood today,” I tell him, not feeling up to faking it. “I have to get ready for work,” I say, walking back out of the kitchen and down to my bedroom—ultimately ending our conversation and making me miss out on my coffee again. Fuck.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you here,” he yells down the hall, not giving up.

Sitting on my bed, I force myself to calm my racing heart. Shit, shit, shit. Every time I see the man, my heart aches. Why does he have to come here and shake my world upside down again?

Forcing myself to work through it, I grab my keys and handbag, and make my way out of the room past Sy who’s now sitting in my favorite chair.

“You ready to go?” he asks, snapping his head up before running his eyes down my body and creating an awareness in me.

“I’m ready to go without you,” I argue, ignoring the tingling sensations that prickle in me at watching him watch me.

“Babe, I already told you, club business.”

“Well, I’m not going to the clubhouse. I’m working in the salon,” I inform him, ignoring his babe comment.

“Didn’t say you had to, but today, you have a tail. Sound good?”

“No, like I said, I’m in the salon today. I don’t want a scary biker dude standing in the corner of my shop looking like a creep.”

“You think I look like a creep?” he questions me, a small amount of amusement in his eyes.

“No, I don’t, but I can’t help but think a tattooed biker in my upmarket salon will look a little creepy.”

“You could come back to the clubhouse, you know, less creepy and all.”

“I have to work,” I say again, not that it would make a difference if I didn’t go in. I’ve been at the new hair salon for a couple of weeks now, and I’m still building a new clientele. I’d probably spend half a day cleaning up the other stylists' mess, or reading a trashy mag in the back room. Even though the environment is a massive change and I miss my old clients, I’m glad no one knows who I am and more importantly, no one knows my past.

“Looks like I’ll be tagging along then.”

“Great.” I force my smile, feeling everything but.

“Don’t look so put out,” he mumbles, standing from the chair and walking forward.

“I didn’t ask for this, remember,” I sneer, watching him move.

“You got no clue what you asked for,” he mutters under his breath, giving his head a quick shake which confuses me more. “You ready?” he asks, now acting pissed. What the hell?

“Yeah,” I reply, still not sure what's going on. I don’t understand why Sy has to be here, and now he seems annoyed about it.

“What’s going on here, Sy?” I ask when we travel down the elevator in silence.

“You tell me, Holly.”

Tell him? God, I wish I could just let it all come out, but I’m just so caught up in my darkness I don’t know how to let anyone in. Not even the one person I should be letting in. And that shames me each day, knowing what I hide from him.