The Golden Lily (Bloodlines, #2)(68)

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

He dropped his keys, and I picked them up, figuring I'd have an easier time unlocking the door. I flipped on the nearest light switch - and nothing happened. We stood there for a moment, together in the darkness, neither of us moving.

"I have candles in the kitchen," said Adrian, finally taking a few staggering steps in that direction.

"I'll light some."

"No," I ordered, having visions of the entire building going down in flames. "Lie on the couch. Or throw up in the bathroom. I'll take care of the candles." He opted for the couch, apparently not as sick as he'd feared. Meanwhile, I found the candles - atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine. Still, they cast light, and I brought a lit one over to him, along with a glass of water.

"Here. Drink this."

He took the glass and managed to sit up long enough to get a few sips. Then, he handed the glass back and collapsed against the couch, draping one arm over his eyes. I pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. The pine candles cast fragile, flickering light between us. "Thanks, Sage."

"Are you going to be okay if I leave?" I asked. "I'm sure the power will be on by morning." He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "You know, I don't just drink to get drunk. I mean, that's part of it, yeah. A big part of it. But sometimes, alcohol's all that keeps me clearheaded."

"That doesn't make sense. Here," I prompted, handing the water back to him. As I did, I cast a quick look at my cell phone's clock, anxious about Brayden. "Drink some more." Adrian complied and then continued speaking, arm back over his eyes. "Do you know what it's like to feel like something's eating away at your mind?" I'd been about to tell him I needed to leave, but his words left me cold. I remembered Jill saying something similar when she was telling me about him and spirit. "No," I said honestly.

"I don't know what it's like... but to me, well, it's pretty much one of the most terrifying things I can imagine. My mind, it... it's who I am. I think I'd rather suffer any other injury in the world than have my mind tampered with."

I couldn't leave Adrian right now. I just couldn't. I texted to Brayden: Going to be a little longer than I thought.

"It is terrifying," said Adrian. "And weird, for lack of a better word. And part of you knows...

well, part of you knows something's not right. That your thinking's not right. But what do you about that? All we can go on is what we think, how we see the world. If you can't trust your own mind, what can you trust? What other people tell you?"

"I don't know," I said, for lack of a better answer. His words struck me as I thought how much of my life had been guided by the edicts of others.

"Rose once told me about this poem she'd read. There was this line, 'If your eyes weren't open, you wouldn't know the difference between dreaming and waking.' You know what I'm afraid of? That someday, even with my eyes open, I still won't know."

"Oh, Adrian, no." I felt my heart breaking and sat down on the floor near the couch. "That won't happen."

He sighed. "At least with the alcohol... it quiets the spirit and then I know if things seem weird, it's probably because I'm drunk. It's not a great reason, but it's a reason, you know? At least you actually have a reason instead of not trusting yourself." Brayden texted back: How much longer? Irritated, I answered back: Fifteen minutes.

I looked back up at Adrian. His face was still covered, though the candlelight did a fair job of illuminating the clean lines of his profile. "Is that... is that why you drank tonight? Is spirit bothering you? I mean... you seemed to be doing so well the other day..." He exhaled deeply. "No. Spirit's okay... in as much as it ever is. I actually got drunk tonight because... well, it was the only way I could bring myself to talk to you."

"We talk all the time."

"I need to know something, Sage." He uncovered his face to look at me, and I suddenly realized how close I was sitting. For a moment, I almost didn't pay attention to his words. The flickering dance of shadow and light gave his already good looks a haunting beauty. "Did you get Lissa to talk to my dad?"

"What? Oh. That. Hang on one second." Picking up my cell phone, I texted Brayden again: Better make that thirty minutes.

"I know someone got her to do it," Adrian continued. "I mean, Lissa likes me, but she's got a lot going on. She wouldn't have just thought one day, 'Oh, hey. I should call Nathan Ivashkov and tell him how awesome his son is.' You got her to do it."

"I've actually never talked to her," I said. I didn't regret my actions at all but felt weird at being called out on them. "But I, uh, may have asked Sonya and Dimitri to talk to her on your behalf."

"And then she talked to my old man."

"Something like that."

"I knew it," he said. I couldn't gauge his tone, if it was upset or relieved. "I knew someone had to have prompted her, and somehow I knew it was you. No one else would have done it for me. Not sure what Lissa told him, but man, she must have really won him over. He was crazy impressed. He's sending me money for a car. And upping my allowance back to reasonable levels."