“Come on, I think it’s time to call it a night,” I suggested.
Skye turned and looked at me, pointing her finger but not able to keep it steady. Or maybe she was seeing two of me. She’d almost knocked off the bottle of tequila so I was amazed she was still sitting upright, let alone able to string words together, even if they were slurred and made no sense.
“Yeah, okay,” she conceded easily.
She attempted to start cleaning up, but was knocking things on the floor and making more mess than she was cleaning.
“Leave it. I’ll get it,” I told her, standing up and offering my hand.
Slapping my hand away, Skye bounced to her feet, obviously thinking she was indestructible and completely underestimating how much she’d had. She wobbled on her feet, and before I could get to her she toppled off-balance, thankfully going back towards the couch.
“You okay?”
“Yep!”
She tried to stand again, but this time when she wobbled, I was close enough to catch her. Taking her by the elbow, I started to lead Skye towards the bedroom. We’d just made it to the bed when she slumped forward and vomited everywhere—all over herself, all over the bed, all over the floor, and all over me. It took everything I had not to hurl. Everything reeked and Skye went floppy in my arms.
Ignoring the disgusting mess on my feet, I bent down and picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. She couldn’t sleep like this. Setting her down on the closed toilet lid, I stripped off my shirt and threw it on the floor trying to ignore the disgusting smell as my eyes watered. Turning on the faucets, I turned back to Skye.
“Skye, we need to get you in the shower and cleaned up,” I started to explain to her. “Do you need help?”
“Please say no. Please say no,” I chanted in my head. Instead of answering me, well not with words, Skye looked up at me with huge doe eyes. She looked so small and fragile and broken, my heart hurt for her. I’d been so caught up in my own head about how much pain I was in, I hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that I wasn’t the only one.
Instead she murmured something incoherent and wobbled, leaning her head against the tiles.
If undressing someone covered in vomit while they were barely conscious wasn’t easy, then getting them in the shower was a freaking miracle. I’d managed to get us both down to our underwear, me in my boxers and Skye in her panties, and boy wasn’t I surprised when I’d pulled her top over her head expecting to see a bra only to find two perky tits with diamond pointed nipples in my face.
Once she was in the shower, she slumped down on the floor, letting the warm water fall down around her. With Skye safely sitting on the floor with nowhere to fall, I raced back into the bedroom and stripped the bed, tossing the sheets out the door. As quick as I could, I cleaned up the mess, probably going overboard with the lemon scented disinfectant but it was better than the alternative. I was just pulling the fresh blankets up, when I thought I heard crying.
“Skye?” I called out, hoping the shower had helped her sober up a bit.
She didn’t answer.
Grabbing the last pillow, I tossed it in the center of the bed before going to check on her.
I’d seen a lot of shit through the years but finding Skye curled up on the tiles in the bottom of my shower, her body wracked with sobs as the most painful cries escaped her pink lips, almost dropped me to my knees.
Without thinking, I yanked open the shower door, sat beside her, and pulled her into my arms. I don't know how long we sat here, Skye crying on my shoulder and me feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and stomped on with every sob. When the water ran cold, I managed to scoop her up, get her out of the shower, and wrap her in a towel.
She wouldn’t look at me.
She wouldn’t meet my eye.
Instead she stared at the floor and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. After drying her off as carefully as I could, I led her back into the bedroom and sat her on the end of the bed, before grabbing one of my t-shirts and pulling it over her head. It was too big but for now, it would do.
Once she was dressed, I tucked her in and went to leave.
“It’s okay, Syke. Everything will look better in the morning.”
I flicked off the lamp and made sure the blankets were tucked in snug around her. When she grabbed my wrist, I almost had heart failure.
“Don't go,” she mumbled.
“I’m not going anywhere. Get some sleep,” I tried to reassure her.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded.
“Skye,” I began, my voice thick with warning. “That’s probably not a good idea,” I told her, knowing damn well it was a terrible idea.
