Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(101)

“I’m going to get a cold rag, okay? I’ll be right—”

“No! Don’t leave me!” he panicked.

He wouldn’t let me out of his sight, no matter what I said. We had moved from the couch to the bathroom where he laid with his head on my lap on the tile floor for the first few hours, throwing up constantly once the drugs wore off. At one point I just sat him against the bathtub to let him puke in there. His body was so weak he couldn’t crawl to the toilet. I don’t know how he still had shit coming up.

I was in and out of consciousness, not wanting to leave him alone, although his physical distress wouldn’t allow me to anyway.

I used to lie awake counting the freckles and scars on his arms that he always laid across me. Holding me tight against his body. Now I counted the tracks on them, which were almost physically impossible to see under his tattooed sleeves. All the colors, shadings, and inks covering what our reality had become for the last year.

Austin hadn’t slept at all, the extreme pain keeping him from being able to drift off. Insomnia set in fast and with no remorse, keeping him wide awake to feel every ounce of withdrawal. His body was craving the drugs that it had been living on for years. I knew opiate and heroin were the worst withdrawals. I just never imagined that watching it would kill me as much as the drugs were killing him.

Terrified he wouldn’t make it through the night.

And the addiction would win.

It was like that for two more days. Same old shit just a different day. Both of us were so f*cking exhausted. I was able to get him to eat some crackers and drink some water, and for the most part it stayed down. He had no energy. Even when I would help him walk around our apartment for a few minutes every few hours just to get his muscles to move. It seemed to help with the cramping and spasms.

By the fifth day it looked like we were passed the worst. I saw light at the end of the tunnel again.

At least physically.

Mentally he was so out of it, but I knew a big part of it was from him not sleeping. I crushed up two sleeping pills in his water without him knowing and even that took several hours to finally kick in.

I took a hot shower for the first time since we got home from the bridge. I stayed in there letting the hot water drown out my sorrows. Trying to cling on to hope, praying to God we would make it through this.

That he would make it through this.

Austin took the first step by flushing every last drug we had in the apartment down the toilet. He was fine for like twelve hours before the withdrawal crept in slowly then it just took the f*ck over.

I had never seen that many emotions take over a person’s body before. Why anyone would do this to themselves was beyond me. I just prayed that the pain was enough to keep Austin sober.

Enough to keep his demons at bay.

One thing was for sure, there was no way we could stay in this apartment, possibly even New York. There was no way we could continue this lifestyle and Austin make it out alive. At that point in time, my uncle never questioned what the f*ck was going on, but he had to assume. Austin hadn't been around or answering his phone. I would be lying if I said it didn’t shock me that he just didn’t show up at our apartment demanding to know what was going on.

I placed my memory blanket on top of Austin, careful not to wake him. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and went outside, leaving the balcony door cracked in case he woke up.

It rang two times before he answered.

“I’ve been expecting your call,” Uncle answered.

I took a deep breath. “Hello to you too, Uncle.”

“How is he?”

Shaking my head in disgust. I scoffed out, “You knew?”

“Briggs, there’s very little I don’t know when it comes to my f*cking business, and even then, I always find out.”

“And you still had him dealing? Even though you knew? What the f*ck is wrong with you? When are you going to start—?”

He completely ignored my questions. “He’s a grown-ass man. I’m not his keeper—”

“You were mine. But seeing as you did such an amazing job of raising me, I guess I couldn’t expect any less.”

I shook my head, once again disappointed by the turn in events.

“Tell me, Uncle… if you didn’t want me, then why did you take me in? Why not just leave me in foster care? My parents didn’t have a will. It’s not like you were obligated. So, why? Why go through all the trouble and burden to raise me if you didn’t want me?” I asked for the first time, needing the answer to the question that consumed my very being since the day he brought me back to his penthouse.

“We’re family, Briggs. You’re my niece whether you want to be or not. No matter what you think of me, I would never turn my back on my family. Ever,” he spoke with conviction.

“You have a very deluded sense of the word family, Uncle.”

“I raised you the only way I knew how,” he rasped out almost in a sad tone I’d never heard before, causing me to jerk back from the sudden emotion in his voice.

“Do you even love me?” I blurted, raising my eyebrows as soon as the question left my mouth.

He didn’t falter. “I loved your mother, and you’re a part of her,” he simply stated.

“I stopped trying to understand you f*cking decades ago. But if you want to finally do something for me, then you’ll let us go. If he has any chance of living a normal life, I need to get him out of here. Away from you.”