And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) (3 page)

THREE

Three weeks.

Three fucking weeks pass without any sight or sound from Cecelia.

Every day I go to my job, take a detour by the place she called home when I knew her, and try to keep my focus on my task at hand. It’s getting harder and harder though to not give in to despair and I worry it’ll start showing in my work and I can’t lose my job. No one has said anything to me yet, but I know people are starting to notice something isn’t right with me.

Every day after I get off work, I go to Coco hoping to see her. And every day, she’s not there. I wait inside a few times, sweet-talking my way past Trey who thankfully hasn’t heard about my fuck-up with Celia, but see some spritely blond working the bar with Melody. I begin to panic, wondering if Cecelia decided to quit just to avoid me. Once upon a time I’d have considered it an overreaction but now…fuck. She really is doing exactly what I’d stupidly told her to do and what she so fiercely promised she would do.

I can’t imagine it would have been so easy for her to find a new job though.

On one side, that gives me comfort. She needs to work. We’ve both always needed to. So she has to turn up sooner or later. This job has always treated her decent and given our lack of experience or college education, no one wants to let go of a good thing. But then another side wonders if maybe she’s not working because she doesn’t
need
to anymore. Every horrible scenario I can come up with flashes behind my eyes as I consider what has happened to make her not be at her job.

But then it’s like someone somewhere realizes I need something to go on, something to stop the insanity from completely overwhelming me.

I’m standing against the side of the building, watching patrons leave, watching new ones arrive. I’ve just got off work, so it’s early still in the evening and I was too antsy to go home first. I sigh heavily and look toward my work boots, look at my faded and dirty jeans. I didn’t go home tonight to change so I can’t go in but I’m still hoping to see Celia. Though it’s been weeks, I can’t give up.

Pulling my heavy work coat around my body, I see black Nike’s appear in front of me. Looking up, I notice sleek black slacks under a gray pea coat. Further up, I see flaming reddish-orange hair braided over one shoulder and bright pink cheeks on smooth pale skin. It’s funny how I never really noticed her full appearance before this very moment, my mind solely focused on Cecelia.

“You’re Chace, right?” an uneasy tone asks me.

Dumbly I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m Chace. You’re Melody, right?”

She looks me over, eyes scrutinizing my appearance, and no doubt my presence here. “Why are you here?” she asks without answering my question. Or asking how I know what her name is since I can’t remember Celia mentioning it when I saw her last.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want to piss this woman off. “I just want to talk to her. I don’t know where else to look.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to talk to her? Looked to me like she didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Because I’m sure I hurt her more than anyone ever has before and I want to fix that.” My shoulders sag as I admit that out loud. Thinking it and saying it are two different things. Finally acknowledging what I’ve done verbally is another kick to the gut. “I just want the opportunity to make sure she’s really okay.”

“What makes you think she isn’t?”

“When was the last time you saw her smile and it wasn’t forced?” I retort back.

The bright hair bobs with the nod I’m given. “Yes. My name is Melody.” She keeps her hands inside her coat pocket. But the glare she had been giving me softens. “Cece changed shifts with Rina. Probably figured it’d throw you off and so you would leave her alone. Clearly she was wrong.”

Running a hand across my neck I release a heavy breath. Looking at the petite red-head in front of me, I contemplate whether or not she’d be willing to tell me which shift Celia now has. Given the type of restaurant Coco Pazzo is, it really could be any. Realizing I can’t fuck around anymore, waste any more time, I go for it. “There any chance you’d be open to divulging which shift that would be?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitates and I feel my shoulders drop. I could stand outside this place all day everyday if necessary, only I can’t lose my job and that plan would definitely guarantee my job is gone. “Why should I help you? Really? You tell me you hurt her real bad, that doesn’t exactly strike confidence. Especially since I don’t know
how
you hurt her. It could be horrifying. It could be dangerous. As far as I know, you could just be out to hurt her again.”

Two things strike me as I listen to Melody explain why she has doubts about me. All of her reasoning is sound. More than sound. Because it’s true, she
doesn’t
know me. And she doesn’t know what’s gone on to determine if I’m a good guy or not. And that’s what strikes me. And I feel like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.

First, Cecelia has kept everything that’s happened to herself. She really has ‘suffered’ in silence. No one knows about our fight. No one knows about anything that went down, how she nearly killed Hayley, how lies were exposed. Because I know if that weren’t true, Melody wouldn’t even question who I am. She would know instinctively that Celia and I have a history. A long, staggering and tragic history together.

She would hate me. No matter what.

Melody doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know who I am or what my business is with Cecelia. It’s interesting to realize. I’d spent so much time wondering why Celia kept her life, her time spent away from me such a secret that I never realized she’d kept
everything
a secret. Ricky still doesn’t know how Celia and I met. He knows we knew one another as teens because we were young when we first got to Chicago and were struggling before she found his ad and I found Frankie and Brock’s. But other than that, he doesn’t know we were addicts, trying to make the best of rehab and the shitty hand we’d been dealt.

But Melody had never even heard of me before that night a few weeks earlier.

It breaks my heart to realize the why behind Cecelia’s behavior.

Cecelia Santos spent her entire life closed off from everyone. Her mother’s dangerous life, using, hooking, they made Celia keep to herself, isolated from damn near everyone. There’s no way in hell she’d ever want to subject anyone to her life. And there’s also no way in hell she’d want anyone to shame her for the life she was forced to live. And the moment Sadie Jefferies died, leaving Celia to a father she didn’t know, a man who didn’t want her to begin with, well if not for the shortness of her time spent with Vinnie Santos, odds are high Celia never would have brought anyone around even then.

So while we left behind Houston, we hadn’t really left its ghosts behind.

I realize as I stand looking at Melody, that perhaps Celia carried her ghosts with her even more than I did. Shaking my head at how foolish I’ve been for the last nearly eight years, I feel my heart shatter. I thought it’d shattered before, that the betrayal I’d felt from before was the end of it, but I was wrong. This, realizing how completely isolated Cecelia has been from the moment she was born, even up to knowing and being with me; it’s ended me.

“Are you okay?” I hear Melody ask and I realize I haven’t said anything for several moments, no doubt not helping my cause.

“I’m sorry. Yes, I mean no, I’m not okay. But I really do need your help,” I hear my voice come out desperate, almost as desperate as I feel. “Though not physically, I did hurt Cecelia, but it was because of a terrible misunderstanding. Someone said something that wasn’t true and I believed them rather than ask Cecelia and I hurt her feelings as a result. I just want a chance to make it better. To fix my mistake.” I downplay the magnitude of what happened between Cecelia and myself. She hasn’t told Melody anything, and I’m not interested in divulging our sordid history to her. But I need to give her something to make her help me.

“You broke her heart.” It’s a statement not a question. And I can see, even though she has no idea what went on, Melody does know that much.

“I did. In a way we broke each other’s hearts. I need to fix things. Will you help me?”

Though I’m sure in reality it’s only a few seconds that pass, it still feels like a lifetime before Melody finally answers. “What do you need me to do?”

“Convince Cecelia to speak to me. Just speak. If she still hates my very existence after, I’ll leave her alone forever. Will you do that?

As I lay in bed hours later, watching shadows pass along the ceiling, hearing my neighbors fighting for the fifth time in the last few hours while knowing at any moment the police will probably be called to deal with another domestic violence issue, I feel my heart beat speed up. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I should feel hopeful or dejected.

Melody and I had stood, staring at one another, my heart on my sleeve and her face a mask of indifference until her name was called.

Turning, we both noticed bouncer Trey standing at the door, his eyes watching us, me. He might have been a fan of mine, but Melody hadn’t exactly been exuding an openness toward me and he was her protector. His loyalties were tied to her. At least at work. Though the more I regarded his look, the more I realized he carried a deeper devotion to the fiery red-head in front of me than just from a professional standpoint. I wondered idly what their history was or if there was no history, what the future held for them. I wouldn’t let myself think on those thoughts for long though, as I had bigger things to deal with.

As we parted ways, Melody still hadn’t given me an answer.

I’d watched her enter the restaurant, watched the door close behind her before walking home. And now, now I am stuck in limbo. It’s a hopeful but realistic limbo. Because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I’d told Melody about my fight. Told her it would be a long shot to get Celia to attend one again, but that I didn’t know how else to speak with her. I didn’t know how else to be in the same place with her and have it be realistic. I’d told Melody that I needed to fix things, or at the very least give us both the closure we deserved.

With her ice blue eyes scrutinizing me, she’d just cocked her head and shouted toward the bouncer. “I’m coming. Tell Rina I’m not skipping out on her.” And then she walked away.

A car passes by outside, music loud and bass thumping my meager furniture. I gaze around my room as the headlights make a pass across dirty walls. It’s barren. Empty of life and existence. It’s basically me personified. At least the me of today. Once upon a time, I had a room that had life to it, even in the midst of struggling to survive. Once upon a time I had a place that I wasn’t ashamed to live in. Now, I have nothing.

I chose this place though.

I chose this existence.

I’d tossed my best friend away. Even if she has slept with every guy around, I never let her explain. I never let her even try to defend herself. I instantly accused and then threw her away. And for what? What did it solve? Nothing.

“You stupid bitch!”

“Don’t you call me a bitch, you worthless asshole!”

My neighbors are fighting now. Their voices carry through the thin walls as insults pour from their angry lips.

“You’re so pathetic. My mother was right about you.”

“Yeah, well I should’ve listened to my father when he told me to hit and quit it with you. Fucking cunt.”

“What did you call me? You limped dick motherfucker!”

The banging, harsh and savage begins next. Pots, pans, chairs being tossed. A table turned over. The sound of glass breaking against the floor, the walls, and the sizzle of electricity singeing where it is discarded in a fit of rage.

It’s always the same. Nearly always the same words. Insults and recriminations. Then untruths spoken for the sole purpose of hurting. And once the words have struck their cord, the destruction commences.

Hysterics, vicious and uncontrolled bubble up like a life form.

I remember when my neighbors moved in two months ago. How they appeared to be normal and happy. Their façade really only lasted so long though.

The apartment had been empty for a few months. Given the location, most people didn’t stick around for long and if you did…well, if you stuck around here, you were one of two things: either a sad sack of shit without options, or you were doing shit that needed to be kept on the down low. 

Drug deals, arms deals, sex services. That’s what now inhabits the building I call home. It wasn’t even a year ago the place wasn’t so bad. I had people around me that weren’t into breaking the law on a regular basis. But no one cares about this area. No one cares about the people here. So the good ones got out while they could and the unsavory, the rejects against society stepped into their places.

I would have checked out too if I had options. So I am the sad sack of shit. Because I don’t have options. I’m not winning fights. I work my job but I can’t afford to move to someplace nicer. I’d need a roommate to do so and I don’t trust anyone in this fucking city to think about doing that again.

So I’m stuck. Stuck next to liars, thieves and cheats. Next to the dredge of the earth. I suppose given who I’ve become, the asshole I’ve allowed myself to become, I’ve earned this place, this life.