Page 19 of The Hallows Queen

My chest vibrates with pleasure as my car purrs, and I take the risk of reaching down in my center console for a cigarette and lighter. Once I get it lit, I hang my hand out the window and listen to the air rushing past me with no destination in mind.

I could go to the beach, let the ocean talk to me like it does for Carson, but I don’t want my friends to be able to find me if they come looking. There are a few places I could go to unwind. I could hop on the highway and head into Raleigh to find an unfamiliar club to keep my mind busy, but with the way my head is spinning, and my eyes are starting to slip closed, I don’t think I would make it that long behind the wheel of my car.

After ten minutes, I realize I’m nearing downtown, subconsciously directing myself toward my sanctuary of Amethyst.

I don’t typically come here two nights in a row, but fuck it.

When I manage to get my car into a parking space on the side of Main Street, I shut off the engine. Resting my head on the steering wheel for a moment, I let myself breathe to clear the fog inside my mind. I’m so fucked up that having my eyes closed for that long makes me feel sick.

Reaching into my pocket, I slide my phone out and turn it off, not wanting any connection to the outside world right now. There’s a boulder in my stomach, pushing down on my organs and suffocating me. I want to reach down my throat and rip it out, unburden myself from the weight of it, let myself breathe freely.

My hands shake as I pull a cigarette from the pack and light it, and I hold the first hit in my lungs until it burns. When I slide my pack of cigarettes into my pocket, it crushes the drugs I still have in there. My lips tingle unwillingly, almost like they’re trying to smile at the reminder of the cocaine I can do tonight.

I make the decision to head for the storage room as soon as I get inside – shut myself away in my oasis and snort so much coke that my face goes numb and I don’t remember my own name.

It’s been almost two weeks since I consumed anything harder than a few Xanax. Logan and Carson have been watching me with careful eyes, worried I’ll snap and fly off the handle again. It’s wasted effort, though. The meltdown I had on vacation was minor, and it was a one-night occurrence. I wish they understood that. I wish they understoodme.I’m not a fucking baby bird, fragile and unable to control my own emotions.

I let a brief run-in with my dad in New York, when I was visiting my cousin, trigger me, and I needed to drink it out of my system when I got to Hawaii, where my friends were waiting for me. Why would I continue to let it haunt me?

Not worth the fucking time spent.

I push the door open, hanging my legs out of the side of my car while I enjoy every last millimeter of my cigarette. Once I’m burning filter, I toss it onto the road and stand up, slamming the car door behind me. Even though the air is thick and humid in the summer, there’s still a breeze passing through the street that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shudder and goosebumps spread over my skin, so I shake out my limbs to get them to function properly as I head across the street toward Amethyst.

I attempt to look a little more sober than I feel, worried that over-intoxication will prevent me from getting in, and I know it’s worked when the beefy dude tips his head and opens the velvet ropes for me.

The music is pounding so hard that I can feel it shaking my bones, and my stomach curls at the headache that ripples through my skull as the purple and white lights blur my vision. A wave of nausea passes over me as I maneuver through the crowd of people, trying not to stumble or fall over.

There’s a bartender at the bar I don’t recognize, with dark hair and dark makeup, and I do my best to give her a once-over when I reach the bar, but the motion ends up making another wave of nausea pass through me.

I’m too fucked up to be here. I’m going to throw up. I can’t feel my face. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel right now.

The look on her face when she approaches me tells me that I probably look sick, and I think she asks me what I want to drink, but the blood is fucking rushing through my ears so fast and painfully that I can’t hear anything she says.

“Water,” I croak, my eyes fluttering as I swallow over the dryness of my throat.

Her brows pull down as she looks me over, but after a breath, she reaches under the bar for a glass and fills it with water before she places it on the bar in front of me.

I down the entire thing in one go. The cold liquid makes my tongue feel numb, and my stomach clenches like it’s going to reject hydration altogether. I swallow heavily, clearing my throat as I place the empty glass back on the bar. “Another.”

She fills the glass again and passes it back. “You okay, man?”

I slide my hand into my pocket for my wallet and rip a bill out, hoping it’s a large one, and throw it on the bar before I grab the glass and turn around.

I need to sit the fuck down.

I head for the couches across the room, my legs wobbling the entire way through the club, and I manage to spill half the glass of water before I even have eyes on my destination.

There are people everywhere, leaving only a few spots open in the seating area against the wall, but I find a spot and let my knees hit the plush surface before I place the glass of water on the table and fall face first onto the couch.

I hear someone say something, but the music is too loud, and I’m trying too hard to focus on getting my body upright on the couch so I don’t look like a wasted piece of shit and get kicked out. My brain is on fire. I want to scoop it out and put it on ice, give my skull some relief from the ache rumbling through it. The incessant buzzing and grinding inside my head is making me feel fucking insane, and my chest heaves once I’ve finally sat myself normally on the couch.

I lie my head back, letting my eyes roll closed.

Why the fuck am I here?

I crack my eyes open and reach for my glass of water, realizing my nausea has passed from the first glass I downed, so hopefully the second will put me in a place I want to be.

My vision blurs, dancing around the edges like everything is moving in slow motion and fast forward all at once, so I blink a dozen or so times to get it to clear. I fill my lungs with oxygen, squeezing my hand around the glass of water while I hold in the air. When my head starts spinning, I blow it out slowly. My headache is starting to calm, and the anxiety in my gut has turned from a tsunami into a light thunderstorm, so I take a drink from the glass.

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