Page 74 of Damien
Damien
I tried textingVanessa when I woke up a few hours ago. But no such luck. I knew it was early, but surely the two of them are up by now. When I text again with no answer, I resort to calling.
“Hellllloooo?” croaks out like a tortured cat.
Holy shit. Is this Vanessa?
“You okay?” Maybe she’s been sleeping.
She’s silent for a moment, then groans, “Can’t get off the bathroom floor. Puke is everywhere. We don’t have any sheets left in the house that are clean. Julia’s finally asleep on the couch, and I’m feeling better with this cool tile on my face. But other than that, I’m peachy.”
Gathering my keys and wallet, I rush to the door. “I’m coming over…”
“No…” the stubborn woman protests… “You’ll get sick. You don’t need my crazy life. Stay away while you can…”
“I’m coming over,” I insist.
“Why? Why would you come over? My life is nothing but a fucking mess. Trust me… there’s nothing pretty to see here. I’m disgusting, and you’d be better off staying far… far away.” She pants at the end, then gasps. “I gotta go. I’m gonna get sick.”
Fuck. I locked the door when I left. How am I gonna get in?
Thank God, I have Vince’s number, and he’s on the East Coast, so I won’t be waking him when I call.
He answers on the third ring. “Damien?”
“Hey, man,” I say in greeting but don’t have time for chitchat. “Van and Jules have the flu. I’m fairly certain they’ll be fine, but I want to go check on them. Is there a way to get into your house without a key? Vanessa says she’s camping out in the bathroom at the moment,” I try to explain, so I don’t sound like a creeper.
“Wow… Okay… Um… go through the garage.” He rattles off the code, and I commit it to memory.
I end the call promising to keep him updated.
I’m sure I’ve just thrown a wrench in his day, but he thanked me for it all the same.
There’s nothing he can do—and besides, I’m here.
I text Van to let her know I’m here, but I don’t wait for an answer.
The house is quiet, and Jules is where Van said she’d be as I walk by the couch.
When I get to the bathroom, I announce my arrival. “Hey, Van? You in there?”
“Go away,” she moans. “You don’t need to see this.”
As if.
“I’m here. Let me help you,” I say, pushing the door open. She can push me away later—for now, I’m helping her in any way I can.
I find her on the floor curled around the toilet. There’s a floormat under her head as a pillow, and she looks absolutely miserable sprawled across the floor. Her hair is piled on top of her head, most likely to keep the puke away, and she isn’t even able to lift her head to scold me properly.
“Do you think you’re done getting sick?”
“No idea…” she moans softly. “Just when I think I’m done, I rush back in here. Just easier to stay…”
“I’ll be right back,” I assure her as I search the house to see what state it’s in. Seeing a clean bowl beside Julia on the couch and her covered with beach towels, I head to her room to survey the damage. Yep. Vanessa was right. Her sheets are soiled on the floor. I head to Vanessa’s room, and I find the bed in the same condition. Poor girl doesn’t even have the strength to get them into the wash.
Grabbing a large pot from the kitchen, I walk back to Vanessa.
“What about Vince’s room? Think you’d be okay if I put you in there?”
