Page 79 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

“Denise? Denise?” The voice sounds far away. “Denise, baby.” I blink as I feel a cold wash cloth touch my forehead. “Denise.” Keaton.

My mouth is dry as if I’ve been chewing on cotton balls. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping you could tell me, but it looks as though you passed out.”

I realize I’m in my bed as I register the soft mattress and soft gray walls. “How’d you get in?”

“Broke in.” My eyes widen, but he just shrugs. “I knocked and tried calling your cell. When I peeked through the window and saw you on the floor, I broke in. Don’t give me that look. Your car was here, and after what happened, I was concerned.” He makes a show of looking me up and down. “And rightly so.” I try to get up but a gentle hand lands on my chest, keeping me down. He sighs. “We need to talk. No avoiding it today.”

I hear the rattle of pills before I see the bottles. Keaton examines them , but I’m sure he’s already read them. “I found your stash. I’ve been sitting here tearing myself up over if I should call an ambulance and risk you hating me. Or—not call and risk hating myself if—well, I was about to call, right when your eyelids fluttered.”

“I’m fine.”

Keaton jumps up and yells, “No, you’re not. You’re not fucking fine, Denise.” I flinch. He runs a hand through his hair. “Do you know what it’s like to feel helpless and see someone you care about just lying there. You’re bone thin. Your heart rate is out of control. You’ve got dark rings under your eyes. You’re like a beautiful ghost lying there.” He paces the room. “I was worried about outside threats, but the biggest threat to you is in this room.” He stops and points directly at me. “You.”

“I had a panic attack,” I weakly mumble.

“You’re going to the doctor. I’ll be outside while you get ready. Tell the doctor about your damn panic attacks. We’re going to get this shit straightened out.” He stomps out and slams the door.

I splash water on my face and look in the mirror. I don’t look that bad. I just need a little makeup. A thought crosses my mind that has me dropping to my knees in a panic. Reaching as far back as I can in my cabinet, I feel around. They’re all gone. Gone. I stomp into the living room.

“I have anxiety and sometimes struggle with staying awake. Give me my pills back, please.” I hold out my hand and stare at Keaton unblinking.

“Do your parents know?”

“I’m an adult, Keaton.”

“Then act like it. Be a responsible one.”

“I am. I’m on top of everything, but I won’t be without my medicine.”

“Wrong. You won’t be on top of anything if you keep taking them the way you are. You’re abusing them.”

“Just give them here.”

“Can’t. They’re down the drain.”

“You had no right!” I scream.

“If you need them then the doctor will give you some more.”

I want to laugh. A doctor did give me some more and will provide me with another supply.

Keaton glowers at me. “But those didn’t have your name on them. In fact—no name was on them. It’d been scratched off. Just like the ones Isabelle had. Only she had stronger stuff. You’re still on the stepping stones. Is that where you want to head?”

“Don’t compare me to her.”

“Where are you buying?”

“The pharmacy.”

“Bullshit. Don’t play with me, Denise. I can’t sit back and watch. I won’t allow drugs to rob you of life. I’ll find out. I’ll find out and bury them for selling to you.”

“Whatever. Leave before I call the police. Or better yet, my father, and get you fired!”

He shakes his head and walks out. I feel like such a bitch. That wasn’t me. Or was it? I’d like to think I’m not like Isabelle Jamerson, but that sounded exactly like something she’d say. As if I didn’t think I could hate myself anymore, I managed to bury myself lower.

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