Addicted to Mr. Parks (The Park #2) (3 page)

“No,” I snapped, kicking my bag farther under my desk to hide it, but he already knew my concentration levels had been at an all-time low that morning. My spelling mistakes were atrocious because the only thing I could think of was my next drink.

“Jesus, Evey.” He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose as he swivelled in his chair to face me. It was peculiar and it made me feel extremely uneasy. “I really, really don’t want to do this, but I have no choice but to suspend you until further notice.”

“What?” I whispered, my voice faltering. The last person I ever wanted to feel ashamed of me was Clarke. He couldn’t shun me too.

“Go home, lovely,” he said brokenly as he dipped his head, his sad eyes closing for me. Then he resumed his work, doing everything in his power to ignore my sudden puppy-dog eyes.

I scrambled from the chair to save myself from further embarrassment, quickly snatched my bag from under the table, and made my way the toilets. I slammed down the toilet lid and slumped on top of it as I opened up my handbag. I grabbed at the vodka inside and took it to my lips. The sigh of relief that drew from my chest after I’d taken an almighty swig told me only one thing. I was hooked. Again. I had fallen back to my addiction. How could I let myself get this way?

I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It was Parks. It was my parents. It was everything in my life that was making me this way.

Wasn’t it?

While behind the closed door, I heard women entering the toilets, talking amongst themselves. It quickly became apparent what the subject was.
Me
.

“She’s drunk. You can see it in her eyes.” That was the voice of Posh Patricia.

“She shouldn’t be working here,” said another.

“What qualifications did she have to begin with?” That was Margret.

“Well, apparently, I heard she had sex with Mr. Lowry to get the job in the first place.”

That was when my heart stopped. Completely. I heard a ringing in my ears and felt the colour drain from my face. How had that got out?

“Fucking her way to the top,” Nancy scoffed.

“Nancy, one must not use such vile language. But you’re right, wouldn’t have happened in my day,” Pat added.

They kept talking as they all vacated into different toilets. I thought about leaving while they were all engaged behind the doors and pretending I was never there, but I knew I had to confront them because that’s what I did.

“I haven’t the faintest idea why Clarke is fond of her. She takes utter advantage of that poor man. She cares about no one but herself. No wonder she is extremely disliked.”

Margret laughed at Pat’s comment before the sound of a flush. “Maybe she’s sleeping with him too.” They all laughed like a bunch of stuck-up snobs and stepped out of the cubicles. Then it was my time to shine.

Shoving the vodka bottle back into my bag, I pushed to my feet and unlocked the door. As soon as I stepped out, the women looked up into the mirror. Horror filled their eyes when they noticed it was me.

“You think just because I act the way I do—cold, distant—means that I can take what you all say about me? You think because I’m an introvert that nothing ever hurts my feelings? Well, you’re wrong. I have fucking feelings. I hurt, I cry, and I bleed the same as all you do. Just because I can be a bitch, does that mean I deserve to be hated by everyone?”

Pat shook her head, her pearl earrings wobbling in her ears. “Evey, we didn’t—”

“It’s okay. I can take the hurtful comments everyone throws my way because I’m tough, right?” I was stupidly close to crying, but I sucked it in. “You know, before you pass judgment, maybe you should take a second out of your
perfect
lives to stop and ask another question—
what’s wrong
? Instead of judging and looking disgraced. Everybody hurts. Not just the perfect.”

Yes, that ruffled their pretentious feathers a little. A tear even fell from Pat’s eye. I had never said anything like that to anyone, and the thought hounded me. No one knew me except Steph, and that was the way I wanted it to stay.

Leaving them gaping after me, I swiftly took the lift down to the ground floor, having one thing in mind—get me home.

Home? I scoffed. I had no home. I had no friends I could turn to and talk about my problems with. I’d even gave up on my AA sessions because I didn’t need them.

I was right. I didn’t need help. I had to bottle it all up and drink it.

I hurried across the lobby, dodging rushing crowds of suits and dresses, allowing my feelings to fade into fury. My gaze was glued to the exit door, and my sudden goal was to get out into fresh air. I was almost there until my heel unexpectedly snapped. I was sent tumbling to the ground, flat out on my face. My bag flew from my hands, and all its contents scattered across the lobby, including the empty vodka bottle. My reaction time was slow because of being intoxicated, and it gave me no time protect my head from crashing into the marble. The instant pain felt sickening. The ringing inside my ears stunned me. Before I had a chance to open my eyes, I was pulled to my feet by numerous helping hands as gasps echoed around the room. I reached for my head, trying to ease the pain to no avail. Voices and murmurs clustered all around me. I blinked my eyes open, coming back to earth and into contact with the crowd gathered around me.

“You all right, miss?” A man with a black moustache touched my shoulder as a woman passed me back my bag. I glanced up for a second, disorientated, and spotted intense green eyes studying the situation. I half expected him to rush towards me to help, but choosing to ignore my existence, he turned on his heel and strode into the open lift with Joanna, his assistant, following behind. Parks ignoring me prompted my need for another drink and sent the anger I felt before I took a fall roaring back.

“I’m fine,” I snapped at the gaping crowd and scrambled for the exit, hobbling on one shoe.

Chapter Five

Walking into my parents’ flat, shoeless, I instantly got hit by the smell of a distinctive toxic odour I had learned to distinguish as a child. The burning smell of sweet rubber was completely revolting. It turned my stomach, making me gag as I walked into the lounge, expecting to see one of my parents smoking crack from a glass bottle. My gaze darted around the living room, anxiously looking for drug implements, but instead I saw my mother slumped on the kitchen floor, eyes rolling to the back of her wobbling head. I bolted to her side, took hold of her shoulders, and shook her limp body.

“Mum,” I screamed, knowing she was definitely out of it. It was a harrowing scene I had witnessed far too many times in my life. My attempts to shake her back to consciousness failed, and after many years of attempting it, I realised I couldn’t do anything but wait until she came around.

I fell back onto my arse and closed my eyes as I sat in front of the despicable creature that was my mum. I couldn’t help her because she didn’t want help. She chose drugs over everything every single time. I didn’t doubt that she bought the heroine in aid of my watch, either. My mother stole and sold anything she could get her thieving hands on.

After giving up, I left her babbling to herself on the floor and backed away from her, finally spotting a glass bottle, and syringes on the kitchen counter. I also saw the needle wounds in her arms and sagged. How could I be so stupid by thinking she was ever going to stay clean? She never would.

My head was still pounding from the tumble I’d taken, and I was itching for a drink. Instead, I paced the kitchen floor, waiting for her to wake up as the minutes turned into hours.

I was four when I first saw her out cold from heroin. I’d come home from nursery with my father and saw her lying on the living room floor. I thought she was dead, and my scream was so piercing I can still hear it ringing in my ears. My dad wasn’t fast enough to hold me back as I ran to her and jumped onto her lap, calling, “Mummy, wake up. Please wake up.” My dad couldn’t take her to the hospital in fear of someone taking me off him, so he waited for her to come around from what I called her “heroin sleep.”

After two hours of pacing the living room floor and biting off my fingernails, she rose.

“Ow. My fucking head,” she slurred. I swung around to face her, only to see her stumbling into the living room, knocking her thigh on the arm of the sofa as she passed it.

“You’re disgusting, do you know that? I thought you were clean, Mum.”

Her eyes tried hard to focus on mine, her black pupils small and withdrawn. “Don’t look at me like that, Evey. You shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

And there it was. My mother’s way of blaming me so she could shift her fault.

“Why can’t you just kick your habit and stay clean for your family?”

She swiped her arm in the air, dismissing the question. “Because I don’t give a fuck for no family.”

That was the last straw, I couldn’t stay calm. “Because you’re a selfish bitch, Mum. You don’t give a fuck for nobody!”

My mother’s temper flared. She launched herself at me, latching her fingers through my hair like claws and pulling my head to the ground. I wanted to fight back every time she hit me, past or present. She’d slap me, punch and kick, but despite all the abuse she gave me, I still respected her as my mother, and to the very last inch of my bones I couldn’t comprehend why. All I could ever do was try to barricade myself and fend her off.

“Mum, get off,” I screamed, trying to detangle her fingers from my hair, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. I knew all about my mother’s temper because I had the same one. When our temper got the better of us, we blacked out. Nothing or no one being able to stop us when we got like it.

Finally gaining some balance, I pulled my hands away from my head and pushed myself away from her, but she continued to come at me, catching me in the face with a slap, her dirty, long nails cutting into my cheekbone.

“Lizzy!” My dad ran into the living room out of nowhere, dropped his shopping bags, and restrained my mother.

“Get her out of ‘ere, Frank,” my mother screamed hysterically. My dad was torn; he always was between his wife and daughter. But it was lost hope that he would ever choose me. He never did.

“Evey, I’m sorry, kid.”

“I’m going,” I told them both, heaving the words out of my chest. “I must be insane to have come back to this shithole.”

I ran to my bedroom, yanked on flat shoes, and hurried outside. I pulled my coat around my body and made my way through the estate, which never seemed so eerie. It was cold and dark and my destination was unknown. I thought I’d just carry on walking until my life got better. But then I’d be walking forever.

It always hurt when my mother attacked me. Always left a dull ache somewhere in my heart. A mother should never attack her daughter, but growing up, my beatings were so frequent that they became a routine of everyday life. Most of the time I would shut off. I’d try and sing a song in my head or tell myself my mother’s blows, punches, and kicks wouldn’t last all night. That if she’d hurry up and get it over with, I could carry on with what I was doing in the first place. Sometimes she’d just hit me for being in her presence or if she was bored. Almost every time I would tell her I was sorry, thinking I deserved those beatings because I’d done something wrong.

As I got near the exit gates, I heard someone walking behind me. I felt like I’d been watched and followed for a few weeks, but I’d put it down to paranoia. Even so, my feet began to pick up pace. I turned quickly to see if someone was actually following me and saw a face that haunted my dreams and scarred my life. A face I thought I’d never see again.

“Shit,” I gasped, pushing my feet to action.

“Come ‘ere,” he roared, racing after me. The follower caught up to me, grabbed at my arm fiercely, and spun me around. His deep East London accent sent chills down my spine. “Bet you didn’t think you would be seeing me again, did ya?”

“Gabe?” Relief spiked through my chest. It was still a face I’d never wanted to see again, but he wasn’t who I first thought he was. Gabe wasn’t near enough as bad as his uncle.

He dragged me back into the estate by my arm, pulling me against my will. I yanked it from his grip, trying to break free, but he latched on to my wrist, not letting me from his sight.

“They let you out? They must be fucking crazy,” I spat, trying to fight him off.

He grinned sardonically. “Yeah, I’m outta the slammer you put me in. Did ya think I was gonna let you get away with that? Na. You’re a fool, Evey.” He loosened his grip, giving me rein to pull myself free.

“I didn’t rat you out, Gabe, and you know it.”

He sucked his teeth, a gesture of disrespect. I should have been scared senseless. Gabe was the nephew of a notorious gang leader here in London and was extremely dangerous. He probably had a knife or a gun inside his jacket, but my attitude would not let me bow down to him.

“You think I believe that? If it wasn’t you, then it was those drug wasters you call parents. I should cut ya fucking throat, you bitch. But na, Trevor wants you all to himself when he’s out.”

That’s when my heart stopped. “Trevor?”

“Hmm.” He ran his fingers over my cheeks and took hold of my face tightly, squeezing my lips together. “And he wants this pretty little face all to himself.”

I knocked his hand away violently. “Get the fuck off me. You know I had nothing to do with Trevor getting raided.”

“Na? So you didn’t tell Trina it was you?”

My frown was deep. “What?”

Trina was Gabe’s sister and was a good friend to me once. Well, I say “friend.” I went around with her and a few others from around the estate. Did things I wasn’t proud of, but that was the past. It was my parents who ratted Trevor out. They called the police and told them all about the drug dealings that went on in Trevor’s flat. It was because they owed him money and the situation was either going to end up with my parents dead or Trevor in prison. When Trevor and his nephew Gabe got arrested, I told Trina it was me. She was going after my parents, but I knew she would spare me out of loyalty. It seemed she ratted me out too and forgot that promise.

“No.” My tone was firm, but he could see the lies I hid behind my eyes.

“You’re a liar. I swear to God, if I had my way, you’d already be paying the fucking price.”

“Go ahead and do your worst,” I screamed. “You’ve already been following me. I thought childish games weren’t your thing.” I was trying to goad him, trying to get a reaction from him. I also felt weirdly relieved that I finally knew it was him that was stalking me and it wasn’t just in my head.

“Following you?” He was clueless. “I only got out today, you dumb bitch.”

I blinked in perplexity. “It wasn’t you?”

He scoffed, his dark eyes scowling over my body. “Maybe someone else is baying for your blood.”

I remained motionless as Gabe pushed past me abruptly, knocking me to the side. “Watch your back.”

My hands came up to my face, rubbing the exhaustion I suddenly felt towards life. I’d be attacked by Carla and my mother, and now I’d been threatened by a dealer I thought I would never see again. In that mad moment I wanted to call Parks. I wanted to be wrapped in his arms and find my safe place again. I desperately wanted his lips kissing my temple tenderly. A sign from him that showed me he knew of my hidden pain. I wanted his soothing words. His reassurance. His everything that I suddenly began to fall for. But I couldn’t have that because I disgraced him.

After absorbing how much my life was one big mental fuckup, I made my way to a pub. Two hours later, I was staring into oblivion after drinking five vodkas and six shots, and I was swaying to Lana Del Rey’s
“Born to Die.”
My plan was to drink myself into a coma and hope I wouldn’t wake up, but I was suddenly tapped on my shoulder. My vision was hazy, my head hurt, and my balance was lost as I turned, slipping from the barstool.

“A little worse for wear, Evey?”

It was Travie, and he was holding me by my shoulders, trying to keep me balanced.

“Get off,” I spat out, pushing him away from me aggressively.

“Evey, you’re bollocks. Let me get you home.”

“Are you following me?” I mumbled, unlatching my hand from his grip.

“This is my pub, remember?” I heard his chuckle before I lost balance, my ankle seeming to twist in my step. Before my face hit the floor, I was swung around and brought into Travie’s chest.

“Wow,” he said, standing me upright.

His face was so close to mine. I thought he was about to lean in and kiss me, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Get away from me,” I yelled, kneeing him in the balls and leaving him wailing like a bitch as I stumbled away.