Page 150 of A Love That Broke Us
I’m half-slumped in the corner against something soft. A chair maybe… or a chaise? I don’t know, but it feels expensive. Everything in here does. The bed across the room is wrecked—sheets tangled, something black hanging off the edge. The air reeks, too, a thick mix of perfume, sweat, sex… and something burnt.
There’s some kind of fancy silver tray on the table with wax hardened on it. Ash is scattered on the floor, foil crumpledaround it. A wine bottle’s tipped over in the corner—red, I think. Or maybe it’s the lighting—honestly, it’s all kind of a blur.
“Listen, I don’t know you, but Seth vouched for you,” she says. “The party’s still going, so take your time. If you need a bump to get you going, I can get you one.”
I force a nod and squeeze my eyes shut. My stomach lurches, and cold sweat beads along my hairline.
“Yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.” She slings a Yves Saint Laurent purse over her shoulder and walks out, the door clicking shut behind her.
A whimper escapes my throat. “Fuck.”
Jesus, did I take something else?Seth said it was Oxy. But—what if it wasn’t just that?
I smoked it?I’ve never done that.
I vaguely remember coming to the party to meet Seth. He handed me pills and told me if I needed it to hit faster, there was a setup in the back. He said nobody would bother me.
But I had a drink first, and I think I took a benzo before he even showed up. My anxiety was through the fucking roof. And now?—
I guess that’s how I ended up here.
The girl’s words slam back into my skull.You passed the fuck out.
My stomach twists tighter. Everything inside me swirls like a storm—loud, violent, sick.
I smoked it? I fucking smoked it? Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?
My head throbs. My limbs feel heavy. My pants are undone, I’m half-dressed on a stranger’s floor, and I can’t even remember how I got here.
Wait.
Alley.
I suck in a breath.Shit. Was I supposed to meet her tonight?
My mind grasps for the memory, but it’s slippery.
Fuck. Our anniversary.Was that today?
Panic surges, swallowing the nausea whole.
My whimper turns into a cry. “God. No. Not today. Please, no.” The words tear from me, desperate and broken, begging my own mind to believe them.
A sob rips through me, raw and full-body, and I curl onto my side—because my limbs are fucking useless.
“Alley,” I whisper. “God. No. Alley.”
I’m a piece of shit.
I don’t deserve her.
She’d be better off without me.
I wish I would just fucking die.
My gaze drops to the baggie that slid off my chest, now lying on the floor in front of me. I reach for it, my fingers wrapping around the plastic. I grip it tight, like it might save me from my choices—from myself.
Relief ghosts through me, filling the corners of my mind, body, and soul.
