“Adam, please.” I use a softer tone, begging.
He growls. “No, Emily. I won’t enable you.”
Anger jumps up and bites me. “Fuck you, Adam. If you won’t, I’ll find someone who will.”
I end the call, screaming from the pit of my lungs, flinging my phone away. It skitters across the floor. My knee jerks as panic travels up my throat.
His voice reverberates in my ears, and tears roll down my cheeks.
No!
My skin crawls as the memory of his callused hands on my soft skin surges to the forefront of my mind.
A whimper escapes my mouth as I climb awkwardly to my feet, almost slipping on the polished hardwood floors as I bend down to retrieve my phone. There’s a new crack along the screen, but it’s still working. I race through the house toward the formal dining room. Dropping to the ground in front of the liquor cabinet, I almost yank the door off its hinges in my haste to get at the contents.
I can’t get my hands on any Molly, so alcohol is the next best thing. I grab an unopened bottle of vodka and push off the floor, wobbling on unsteady legs as I make my way up the stairs.
The door to my bedroom slams off the wall as I stagger inside, swigging straight from the bottle. I drink it like it’s water, needing to consume as much of it as possible so I conk out before my high completely fades and the nightmare returns. Stripping out of my dress, I crawl under the covers in my underwear, placing my cell on my bedside table before bringing the bottle to my lips and drinking until I pass out.
I’ve the mother of all headaches when I wake sometime the next day. My hand shoots out from under the covers, my fingers skimming the table for my cell. I blink my eyes open, attempting to ignore the pounding in my skull as I glance at the time. Holy shit. It’s after lunch.
At least one part of my mission succeeded.
A headline on my feed jumps out at me, and I skim the article with a heavy heart. The guys lost the game last night, and the reporter is slamming Adam for a less than stellar performance. Dad will be pissed, and Adam will be disappointed in himself. An intense longing to feel his arms around me hits me out of nowhere. I wonder when they’ll get back, because I really need to see him.
For that hug.
And some pills.
My stomach sinks as I vaguely remember calling him last night. Flashes of our conversation return, along with images I’m trying so hard to forget. A shiver works its way through me, and nausea churns in my gut. Leaning over the side of the bed, I heave into the trash can repeatedly until there is nothing left to expel. I stagger to the bathroom, clean out my mouth and the trashcan, and then crawl back into bed.
Without overthinking it, I call Adam again.
He answers on the fifth ring.
“I’m sorry about the game,” I blurt, knowing I need to make amends. “And I’m sorry for last night.”
“I haven’t slept a wink all night worrying about you. I would’ve come back early if it was possible.”
“I’m sorry I worried you, but there’s no need. I’m fine.” Thank fuck, he isn’t here to see the state of me. “When are you back? I need to see you.”
The sound of keys jangles. “I’ve just arrived at my dorm.” A few beats of silence trickle down the line. “You need to see me for me or for Molly?”
“Can’t it be both?”
A frustrated sigh leaves his lips. “Emily. I don’t understand. You were doing so great.”
“Come on, Adam. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. You had no issue selling Molly to me before. How is this any different?”
“It’s different because I’m in love with you and I care about what you’re putting into your body. That shit is not good.”
I grip my phone hard. “You are such a fucking hypocrite!” I yell. “You sell to all kinds of people, but you won’t sell to me, and I’m your girlfriend, or have you changed your mind about that too?”
“Of course, I haven’t. But I wouldn’t be much of a boyfriend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this.”
“You’re my boyfriend, not my dad, Adam.”
He growls loudly. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Em. I’m not in the mood for it.”
