Midnight Lily(24)

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"Fuuuuuuck," I groaned miserably. By the next afternoon, every muscle in my body had seized up and my stomach was wracked with agonizing cramps. I writhed in pain on the couch, my legs pulled up to my stomach. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I was going to die. There was no way I could survive this misery. Why had I tossed out the pills? God, why? Not able to sit still for more than a few minutes, I got up and staggered into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, shaking so badly, I’d spilled most of it by the time I got the glass to my mouth.

I wanted to escape my own body—get out, get free. The feeling of claustrophobia compounded the fear and anxiety I was already feeling. I was trapped now. Trapped in my own skin. There was no way I could drive and it would take someone else at least a day to get to me. And then longer to get me anywhere I could convince someone to write me a prescription for the pain pills I needed so badly.

Sometime later that evening, I heard the sound of someone's feet coming up the stairs. I was sitting on the floor of the shower, my arms wrapped around my legs, lukewarm water raining down on me. It had started out hot and had worked for a while to soothe my screaming muscles, but now it was barely tepid. I'd thought about getting in the hot tub, but decided the shower was wiser given the state I was in. If I fell asleep, I'd be safer here. My body was in so much agony, the footsteps barely stirred any emotion in me. I supposed I should be concerned, alarmed, curious at least, but I couldn't figure it out, much less drum up an appropriate response.

"Well, this is not how I expected to find you," came the female voice. Oh no. No. Fuck no. I was dead. I was dead and I was in hell. And one of Satan's servants had just shown up to torture me. I turned my head and looked blearily through the glass of the shower door. Taylor. The 49ers’ manager's daughter and my ex-girlfriend.

"What are you doing here?" I managed.

Taylor opened the shower door, causing me to fall out onto the floor in a groaning heap. "Holy f*ck. What the hell is happening with you?" She actually sounded a little concerned.

I crawled over to the toilet and threw up. "Oh God! Jesus," Taylor yelled, the noise making me feel ten times worse than I already did. I hadn't thought that was possible. I heard her heels clicking on the bathroom tile. A minute later she came back with a washcloth, ran cold water over it, and leaned over me to wipe my forehead and around my mouth.

"What are you doing here, Taylor?" I mumbled bleakly.

"I came to see you, to spend some alone time with you." There was a note of disgust in her voice. Clearly me vomiting upon her arrival had not been part of the plan.

"Why?" I closed my eyes, feeling a cold sweat break out on my skin again. "We broke up over four months ago." The cool washcloth was back on my forehead, and it felt good. My brain was so hazy.

Taylor was silent for a minute. "It was four weeks ago. Do you have no concept of time? And we did not break up. You just started acting all weird and distant and I needed a breather. Anyway, none of that matters. I've been thinking about you. And when I figured out where you must be, I knew I needed to come to you. This is the perfect place to get reacquainted, don't you think?"

Think? What? No. "Will you help me get to the couch?" I didn't have the strength to listen to her, much less argue or care about anything she was saying.

Taylor helped me stand up, and I grabbed a towel with my shaking hands, wrapped it around my waist, and limped downstairs to the couch where I fell onto it.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"I'm withdrawing, Taylor. Just leave me here to die, please," I mumbled into the leather.

"Oh, shit. Listen, I applaud your efforts to get clean, but going cold turkey is just stupid. I've seen this before. I brought you some pills—you left a couple bottles at my apartment and I threw them in my suitcase. You need to wean yourself—"

I brought myself to a sitting position, grimacing and clenching my jaw as my muscles locked up. "You have some pills?" I asked desperately. Oh sweet f*cking relief. I'd do anything to feel better, even just for an hour. Anything. Anything.

"Yeah, a couple bottles." She came over me on the couch and straddled my lap. She used her index finger to trace my lips and leaned in slowly and kissed me, her long, dark hair creating a curtain around us. "Say please," she said silkily.

"Jesus f*cking Christ, just give me the damn pills," I almost shouted.

Taylor stood up, giving me a sulky frown. "Okay, okay, testy. Relax." She moved toward some luggage sitting next to the front door and rooted around for what seemed like forever. I wanted to scream. I got up and walked over to her, letting the towel fall to the floor. I didn't give a damn. "Ah, here we go." She held up a bottle of Percocet and I greedily grabbed for it, trying twice to open it with my shaking hands before finally prying the top off and downing two pills without any water. I made my way to the kitchen and drank from the faucet, then stumbled back into the living room and sagged down on the sofa, breathing rapidly, already feeling the drug coursing through my veins bringing relief. Sweet. Blessed. Relief.

"There, that's better, right?" Taylor asked, again straddling my lap. I put my hands on her hips to move her, but then found I didn't have the strength. "Why are you doing this anyway? Why like this?"

"Because I need to get back to my life. Back to the team."