Page 55 of Her Dark Angel

I try again.

And again, I’m met with silence.

I try the doorknob and to my surprise, it twists open with ease. Nash should learn to lock his front door. I’m an example that anyone could just walk right up and enter his home without so much as lifting a finger.

The door creaks open slowly, almost as if I were in a horror movie about to walk into a trap. Another cold chill races down my spine as I look around the dark foyer. It’s so quiet I could hear a pin drop if it were to fall from anywhere in the house.

“Nash?” I call out, my words echoing off the walls.

Silence. Followed by more silence.

My eyes dart to the second-floor landing where there is a soft glow on the walls in the hallway that leads to Nash’s bedroom.

Well, here goes nothing.

With each step I take up the staircase, my stomach twists uncomfortably as a sick feeling washes over me. That same feeling follows me as I reach the landing and peer down the long hallway. The soft glow is spilling from beneath Nash’s closed bedroom door.

“Nash?” I try again as I slowly walk down the hallway, not wanting to startle him if he’s sleeping or busy doing something else.

Nash having a woman in his room crosses my mind for a split second, but it’s way too quiet. If that were the case and he had invited someone over, I would hear voices or moans. But I hear nothing aside from the heavy rainfall pelting against the roof.

My heart picks up speed when I reach his bedroom door, the sick feeling only intensifying. I turn the doorknob before I lose my confidence and step into the room. “Nash, are you ok?—”

My eyes widen to saucers when I take in the scene before me. Nash is slumped over the edge of the bed with his left hand touching the carpet, while his other arm is tucked by his side as he lay on his stomach. His hair covers his eyes, but I know they’re closed because he would’ve turned to look at me when I entered if they weren’t. My knees tremble when I take a cautious step forward and scan his half-naked body. Black sweatpants cover his lower half, leaving his torso exposed to the crisp air.

What the hell is happening?

When Nash doesn’t move an inch, my eyes dart to the nightstand beside the large bed and an audible gasp escapes my lips. I rush toward the stand, eyeing the clear plastic bag with a white substance inside. The same white powder is formed into seven neat rows along the surface with stray cigarettes and a bottle of Jack behind them. Residue coats the top of the nightstand, indicating that more lines had once been there.

“What the fuck,” I murmur, frantically looking at Nash. My heart feels like it’s going to burst through my chest as realization dawns on me. “Oh, shit.”

Kneeling in front of Nash, I use all the strength in my body to push at his shoulders and roll him onto his back. His skin is cold from the lack of warmth in the house and it sends an icy sensation across my body. Lowering my ear to his face, soft puffs of air fan against my cheek, but they’re faint.

This isn’t normal if he’s simply asleep.

As panic courses through my body, I realize that my gut feeling from earlier was right.

There is something seriously wrong with Nash.

“Nash, you need to wake up,” I plead, shoving at his shoulders. His body is stiff as he lay on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing labored.

The Grim Reaper on his forearm stares back at me, its gaze intense. The flames around it lick at my sides. My blood runs cold as I wonder whether its intimidating nature is foreshadowing what’s to come.

My head spins as I run a hand down the side of my face, confused and worried beyond words.

What the hell should I do?

Calling an ambulance would be the logical choice because they can get him the help he needs. Judging by the amount of drugs and alcohol on the nightstand, Nash had an agenda in mind when he returned earlier after leaving my house. I just hope he’s drunk and not overdosing.

The thought that he could’ve done this because of what happened between us makes me feel queasy and lightheaded.

“Nash, please.” The quiver in my voice triggers the panic building in my chest, forcing me to blink away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. “Come on, you have to wake up.”

At that moment, Nash’s closed eyes start to flutter and his body no longer feels rigid. But he doesn’t wake up.

Shit.

Scanning the room frantically for a sign of what the I should do, I spot the door to the adjoining bathroom and a lightbulb goes off in my head. Memories from when I was drunk back in high school with Sadie and Matt come rushing back to me. I remember Sadie would put me in the shower as a way to ‘sober me up’ after a night out so I didn’t feel sick, and oddly enough, it worked every time.

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