My jaw tightened. “The usual amount,” I said shortly. “My hip was acting up.”
Ghost blew out a slow breath. “I mean... if it’s that bad, maybe you should see a doctor. I don’t think?—”
“Do you have any more or not?” I snapped.
The words echoed down the hallway, louder than I meant them to be. Too loud.
Ghost straightened, his expression shifting. “No,” he said calmly. “I don’t. I gave you everything I had.”
He lifted his hand, like he might reach for me, and I flinched before I could stop myself. His arm dropped immediately.
“Iggy,” he said carefully, softening his tone. “Are you okay?”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, eyes burning, fingers tangling in my hair.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a laugh that sounded wrong even to me. “Just didn’t sleep great.”
I kept my gaze fixed on his chin, anywhere but his eyes. He nodded, but I could feel the doubt hanging there between us.
“Sorry for snapping,” I added. “That was shitty. I’m just cranky.”
“You’re fine,” he said, too gentle. “But seriously, you should talk to a doctor if the pain’s getting like this.”
“Yeah,” I replied quickly, already backing away. “I’ll think about it.”
I turned to leave, then hesitated and glanced back. Ghost was still in the doorway, watching me with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Don’t—uh. Don’t tell Bodhi about this, okay?”
His brows knit together, and I rushed on before he could object.
“I don’t want to stress him out before tonight’s show,” I said. The lie tasted sour. “I’ll talk to him when we’ve got a few days off.”
Ghost studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Just... take care of yourself. Maybe get some rest before we leave.”
“I will.”
I didn’t look back as I walked away, but I could feel his eyes on me all the same. The tears came quietly, blurring the hallway as I went. Ghost knew something was wrong. And even if he said nothing, the damage was done.
Plan A had failed.
Instead of going back to my room, I stopped at the lift and took it down to the lobby. Then I walked straight out into the street without a bag, a jacket, or even shoes, and started looking for a pharmacy.
It took ten minutes.
By the time I stepped inside, my nerves were frayed like an old rope, every thought pulled too tight. If they didn’t havesomethingI could take, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Cry. Scream. Put my fist through a glass display. Any of those felt possible.
Thankfully, the pharmacist spoke fluent English. She was kind, efficient, and utterly unmoved by the desperation buzzing under my skin. She couldn’t give me Tramadol without a prescription, obviously, but she could sell me a small box of co-codamol. Twelve point eight milligrams. Two weeks’ worth. The strongest dose they were legally allowed to sell over the counter.
It would do.
I walked back to the hotel gripping the box like it might disappear if I loosened my hold. Somewhere between thepavement and the lift, my memory blurred, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of my hotel room, staring down at the carpet like I’d just been dropped there.
My hands shook as I tore the box open and peeled back the foil. The instructions said no more than two.
I took three.
I told myself it was just in case. That the extra would help with the anxiety. That the codeine would smooth the edges, help me breathe, help me function. The pills sat heavy on my tongue as I crossed to the bathroom, sticking my head under the tap for the second time that day. My heart slowed before I’d even swallowed.
