Page 73 of To Her

The movement had roused Con, his eyes fluttering open, focusing on me with a mixture of relief and wariness.

"You're awake," he'd said simply, his voice rough with sleep.

"What happened?" I'd croaked, clutching the sheet to my chest, suddenly, intensely vulnerable. "Why am I naked? Did we...?"

He'd shaken his head quickly, understanding my unfinished question. "No. God, no. You were in no state to consent to anything, and I'm not that kind of man."

Relief had washed over me, followed immediately by shame. Of course Con wouldn't take advantage of me. The fact that I'd even considered it said more about the company I'd been keeping lately than it did about him.

"You don't remember?" he'd asked, studying my face.

I'd shaken my head, immediately regretting the movement as pain had lanced through my skull. "Last thing I remember is being in the taxi… Calling you."

He'd sighed, running a hand through his hair—longer now than when I'd last seen him, curling slightly at the ends. "You passed out in the car. When you got here, the driver helped me get you inside, but as soon as we got you to the bathroom, you started throwing up. A lot. All over yourself, the floor, everywhere."

I'd closed my eyes, mortification burning through me. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he'd said, his voice gentle. "It happens. Anyway, you were covered in vomit, so I had to get you cleaned up. I tried to keep you as covered as possible, but... well, there was a lot of vomit."

The mental image had been humiliating—Con stripping off my soiled clothes, cleaning me up, putting me to bed like a child. And yet, there had been something deeply touching about it too—that he would do that for me, after everything.

"Why did you stay in the chair?" I'd asked, noticing the blanket that had fallen to the floor beside it, evidence of his night-long vigil.

"I was worried you might throw up again in your sleep," he'd explained. "Didn't want you to choke. It happens more often than you'd think."

The matter-of-fact way he'd said it had made my heart ache. He'd stayed up all night, watching over me, making sure I was safe. After I'd run from him, ignored his messages, cut him out of my life without explanation.

"Thank you," I'd whispered, the words wholly inadequate for what I was feeling.

He'd nodded, his expression unreadable. "Your clothes are in the wash. Should be done soon. There's water and painkillers on the nightstand. You should drink as much as you can keep down."

I'd reached for the glass with shaking hands, downing the pills gratefully. "What time is it?"

"Just past noon," he'd replied, standing up and stretching, his joints popping audibly. "I'll give you some privacy to get dressed once your clothes are dry. There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet if you want to freshen up."

He'd moved toward the door, his back to me, and I'd been struck by how formal he was being, how careful to maintain distance between us. It had hurt, but I'd understood it. I'd hurt him, and now he was protecting himself.

"Con," I'd called as he'd reached the doorway. He'd paused but hadn't turned around. "I really am sorry. Not just for last night, but for... everything."

He'd been silent for a long moment, his shoulders tense. "I know," he'd finally said, so quietly I'd almost missed it. Then he'd left, closing the door softly behind him.

I'd sat there in his bed, naked and hungover and more ashamed than I'd ever been in my life. The past months had flashed before my eyes—the drinking, the drugs, the meaningless sex, the bridges burned, the people hurt. All of it in service of what? Avoiding pain? Creating distance? Punishing myself?

For the first time in months, I'd allowed myself to really feel the weight of what I'd done, of who I'd become. And it had been crushing.

I'd made it to the bathroom just in time, emptying the meagre contents of my stomach into the toilet, tears streaming down my face as I'd heaved and sobbed, the physical purge mirroring the emotional one.

When I'd finally finished, I'd rinsed my mouth and stared at my reflection in the mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, a ghost of the person I used to be. And in that moment, I'd made a decision.

I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep running, couldn't keep destroying myself and hurting the people who cared about me. Something had to change.

Chapter 27

Geri

Acall came over the speaker, "Flight VA 764 is now boarding." Grabbing my bag, I stood and walked to the gate with everyone else.

I was heading to my mother and brother, where I would go back to rehab, and I would get my life back in order. I wasn't running away this time; I was heading to a destination.

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