The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(32)

I nod, but I’m not actually sure. I grip his hand tightly and let him lead me back the way we came. We collect our stuff from around the fire and head back to the truck. I feel dizzy and lightheaded, tired but wide-awake, and my mind is suddenly very clear. I want my bed. I want to be left alone in my bed with my thoughts. I have no idea why, but Cam keeps popping into my head and it’s pissing me off.

Roman starts the truck, and it occurs to me that he’s done quite a lot of drugs tonight.

“You okay to drive?” I ask him.

He nods. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but I’m okay. If I’m not, I’ll pull over and we’ll sleep in here. I didn’t have any of that joint, remember; the trippy stuff you had? Just the coke.” He pulls out of his parking spot and onto the road, and I have to laugh at his statement.

“Just the coke. Well, that’s fine then; you’re full of coke but you’re just fine to drive.” I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know where the words are coming from; he’s done nothing but look after me and now I’m being a complete bitch. He swings the truck into a layby.

“Shall I stop? D’ya wanna stay here? Whatever you want, George.”

“I want to go home. I want my bed.”

“Well, the only way that’s gonna happen is if I drive us there. This ain’t London, George; the cab drivers are all in bed at this time, even on a Saturday night.” He leans in, takes my chin between his thumb and index finger and lifts it so my eyes meet his. “I shouldn’t have let you have that coke; I’m sorry.” I feel like the bitch I am; I’m behaving like an arsehole and he’s the one apologising.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m being a bitch; I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He licks his lips and shakes his head. “The coke, that’s what’s wrong with you.”

“I’ve done coke before, Rome; I’ve been doing coke since I was twenty. You do remember who I was married to?” My heart hurts as I say those words…

Was married to.

Sean, I was married to Sean.

I still am married to Sean.

Except Sean’s dead and I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing with my life right now. I appreciate what Roman is trying to do, and he has helped me, massively. He’s proved that I can feel again, pleasure, at least.

“Well, George, am I driving or are we sleeping in the truck?”

“Just drive,” I reply. He kisses my mouth, pulls back out onto the road and we drive home in silence.



*



I decline Roman’s offer to come in. I apologise for my behaviour and explain I just want to be on my own. I’m not actually sure I do; I don’t know what I want, and I’m not sure of anything. My body is exhausted, but my heart is racing because of the coke.

I take a shower, pull on a pair of sleep shorts and a vest and take a couple of Valium to try and calm my heart rate. I know I shouldn’t drink with them, but they’re only a low dose, so I should be fine. I pour myself a glass of wine, and then go and sit out on the balcony. It’s almost four in the morning, but I know I won’t sleep if I go to bed, and I’m hoping the wine will relax me and undo the effects of the coke. I light a cigarette and make a conscious decision, there and then, that I won’t touch that shit again. I don’t like the person I become when I’m taking it. My face burns with embarrassment as I think about what I did earlier, what I let her do to me, someone I don’t even know. I’m pissed off with myself and Roman; he shouldn’t have let that happen, but then again, neither should I.

I stretch my legs out and rest my feet on the chair in front of me, but I’m twitchy; my heart and brain still racing. I go inside and find my phone; I have a number of text messages from Jim and Ash, apologising for their antics Friday night. I smile to myself as I read them and pour myself another wine while scrolling through all my messages until I find the one I want. I put my phone down on the table, drink my wine and light another cigarette. Other than the weed I’ve smoked lately, I’ve barely smoked the last couple of years. I’ve either been pregnant or trying for a baby, but since I’ve been in Australia, I haven’t stopped. It’s living on my own that does it. I’m not allowed to smoke at my mum’s; she just won’t have it. We all sneak out to the studio when we’re together, but if it’s just me, I don’t bother.

Just me.

On my own.

By myself.

That’s my life.

Alone.

I go back to the kitchen and bring the wine bottle back to the balcony. I pour another glass, emptying it, hoping the contents will help me forget the f*cked-up circumstances of my life, just for a few hours.

I sit myself down in the chair. Drugs, smoking, drinking; the first two I need to stop completely. The last one I need to cut back on, and I will. Once I’m back in England, I will, but in the meantime, I light another as I sip my wine. I feel more relaxed now; in fact, I feel quite pissed. I’ve drunk almost a whole bottle of wine in less than an hour…

“Bad Georgia; bad, bad, Georgia,” I say aloud, then giggle to myself. The Valium’s obviously kicking in as I’m starting to feel fuzzy. I pick up my phone and look again at the message I received on my birthday; our conversation had been cut short by Sean’s flowers arriving, and I hadn’t gotten back to him since. I put out my cigarette and text one word…