Page 37 of Destroyed

I can’t even face anyone today, so I’ve opted to work from home like yesterday. The case I’m on is boring and repetitive. I know the guys put me on it on purpose. They are trying to ease me back in. In one sense, I understand, but I’m so damn tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me. My parents didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth. Instead, they treated me like a child and kept me in the dark.

Eric Lockart is my father.

I repeat those words for the tenth time, but they still don’t make sense. He was with both my mom and dad? Ethan is my uncle. Oh god, that means…

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach and rushed to the toilet. I make it just in time to vomit up the remaining bile in my stomach. There’s nothing left at this point. I’m rinsing my mouth in the sink when I hear my front door open. I creep towards my bedroom door, grabbing a revolver on my way that I keep stashed in my dresser drawer. I raise the gun and whip around the corner quickly, my gun pointed directly at the intruder's face. Jamison stands there with his arms crossed, leaning against my kitchen counter. His face is impassive per usual, but his eyebrow shoots up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jamison, I could’ve killed you. A little warning maybe next time before you just show up unannounced here.” I make my way around him, grabbing a glass and filling it with water before gulping it down. He’s turned towards me now but still hasn’t said a word.

“What?” I growl out. I’m annoyed as fuck. Of all the guys, our office robot is the last person I need to deal with right now. He has the emotions of a fucking potato. It's a deadly potato, but it's still a potato.

“I sent you six text messages and tried calling four times before showing up. If you had looked at your phone, you would have been better prepared for my arrival.”

I narrow my eyes at him before grabbing my phone off the kitchen table. I scroll through, seeing various missed calls and messages from my mother, Corrine, the other guys, and, of course, Jamison last. I open the feed to count—six text messages. I huff before opening my call log and count his four missed calls before his voice interrupts me.

“There are also two voicemails in case you want to count those.” His signature psychopath smirk crosses his face before it goes blank again.

Asshole.

“Whatever, what do you want?” I ask.

“I came to check on you.”

A manic laugh escapes my lips, and I slam the glass on my countertop. “You were put on babysitting duty, huh? Where is Kaz today? Did you draw the short end of the stick with Jonathan? I’m surprised you aren’t up her ass instead.” It’s a low blow, and I know it. A dangerous glint hits Jamison’s eyes before they go blank again.

“Kaz is out to lunch with Riley and Corrine. I’m sure discussing your inability to stay sober. Maybe she’s telling them you have performance issues as well.”

I know the fucker is goading me, and I can’t help my reaction as I jet around the kitchen island, prepared to land a punch to his smug face. Unfortunately, I am on day two of recovering from a close call with a possible overdose, and my body is still weak. He pushes me back, causing me to stumble. Before I regain composure, he has his hand around my neck and walks me back against the fridge.

“Do not attempt something stupid like that again, Xavier. Everyone else may baby you right now; they may treat you like a fragile piece of art, but I will not. If you need an outlet, something to take your anger out on, you know exactly where to find me. Do not go there until you get your shit together.”

My body visibly deflates as he pulls his face away, but I’m surprised when I feel his hands digging into my pockets.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask him when he grabs the bottle of pills out of my pocket. He doesn't respond and proceeds to dump the entire contents down the drain. “I wasn’t even taking them!” I grit out.

“And you won’t be,” he replies before walking into my bedroom and whipping open all my drawers. I didn't plan on using them anymore, but now that I see him taking them away, the anxiety creeps back up. I can feel my heart rate increasing, and my palms are sweaty. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. A sharp slap to my face jerks me out of the oncoming panic attack.

“Get it the fuck together Xavier. You are stronger than these pills. They don’t control you. Only you control you.” He’s in my face, his eyes pinned to me, and I know he’s right. I’ve been here before, and I have come back from it. My breathing slows back to a steady pace as I close my eyes and count in my head. There isn’t a number in mind, just counting. I’ll know when to stop when I get there.

“Are you good now?” He asks me after a few minutes.

I nod yes at him.

“Perfect,” he says before returning to the main living area. “Now, figure out what you are wearing tonight. According to the girls, they want to go out, so we are all on babysitting duty. I’ll be back later this evening to pick you up.”

Fuck, I forgot all about that. I should respond to a few messages. Jamison leaves as I grab my phone and slide onto the couch.

Mom:Xavier, honey please call me.

Mom:We need to talk about all of this with your father.

Mom:I’m so sorry we kept this from you.

Mom:Please be careful who you speak to about this.

Mom:Xavier, at least tell me you are okay.

Mom:I’m worried

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