It has been a while. Months, I think. She has no idea Alex is still living with me or that he’s remodeled half the house.
“Answer your girlfriend, Jordan,” Alex says harshly, but it seems I’m the only one who’s noticing. Maggie is rubbing against me like a cat in heat and Kearstin is frowning at her phone.
“Oh. I, uh…”
“Come on, Jordan,” Maggie coos.
What the hell has gotten into her? She doesn’t act like this. She’s never all over me like this. Sex is not a big part of our relationship, and not once has she ever acted like this to get it.
“Fuck this,” Alex growls, and then he takes off.
Kearstin notices, looks up and calls after him. “Alex, where are you going?”
She looks at me and I shrug, as if I don’t know what he’s pissed about. I do, and I should go after him but I can’t.
“I’m going to see if he’s okay,” Kearstin says carefully, holding my gaze.
“Good idea.”
Maggie sighs against me, nuzzling her face deeper against my neck.
I’m wondering if her drink gotallthe tequila since I don’t feel a damn thing.
“Come on,” I say, getting to my feet and helping her to hers. “Let’s get you home and to bed.”
“Are you going to stay with me? So we can fuck?”
“Christ, Maggie,” I say with a shake of my head.
I lead her to the parking lot and help her into my truck. She’s asleep by the time I get in the other side, so I call Alex because I should not have let him leave like that and I need to know he’s okay. Even if he is pissed at me.
He doesn’t answer. So I call again. And again and again. I call him at least thirty times and he doesn’t answer any of them. It rings, so he didn’t block me or shut off his phone. Maybe he lost his cell. Or just misplaced it. I swear he’s always looking for it half the time and nine times out ten, he leaves it in the bathroom. Though, he is good at ignoring phone calls because he does that a lot too. There’s that one ringtone I hear all the time. The one he has never answered. At least, not in front of me.
I glance at Maggie in the passenger seat. I can’t leave her home alone like this. What if someone put something in her drink and that’s why she’s acting so out of sorts? I can’t take her to my house because if Alex is there, all hell will break loose. So what the fuck do I do?
I send Alex a text, letting him know that I’m taking Maggie to her house and I’ll talk to him when I get home. The drive to her house takes twenty minutes, and I get in by using her keys and lie her down on her bed. The moment I do, she groans, rolls over, and throws up all over the floor. Vomit splatters my shoes, her night stand, and her bedsheets.
“Oh God,” she mutters, coughing.
“It’s okay,” I say, stepping around the mess and picking her up. I bring her to the bathroom and help her get to her knees on the floor. “Are you okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“I know you’re nauseous, but other than that, do you feel okay? Dizzy or anything?”
“Just from the alcohol,” she says.
I leave her there to get her a bottle of water and a cold towel. Then I clean up the mess in her room and go sit with her in the bathroom. She throws up on and off for the next hour. I check her pulse, make sure she’s breathing, and get her to drink water when she can. I have no idea what the hell happened. Bad food, too muchalcohol, or someone did put something in her drink. Either way, I can’t leave her.
I try Alex again, and get no answer. So I get Maggie into bed, in the unmatching sheets because I couldn’t find a set. Then I grab a chair from the kitchen, set it up by the bed, and watch her to make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit.
At some point I doze off, and only wake when the sun is shining across my face. I stretch, my back fucking killing me, then go use the bathroom. I wash my face, and splash cold water on my neck because I feel like shit, too. When I get back to the bedroom, Maggie is sitting up on the side of her bed, hands clasped together, staring at the floor.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She looks up at me slowly, a frown on her face. “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?”
Everything around me goes silent, my vision blurring slightly.
