Look After Me (38 page)

And cocaine.

Oh God.

My gaze turns back to him, and when I see just how unresponsive he is, I charge at them, shoving the hussy out of the way and causing her to stumble to the floor.

“What the hell?” she slurs but I ignore her and tend to Sebastian, holding his face in my hands, lightly slapping his cheeks, trying to rouse him from his drugged up state.

“Sebastian, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His eyes slowly flicker open, a haze clouding over. “Ava?” he mumbles with a tremble and I have to ignore the way my heart lurches at the sound of her name. It’s always her name he calls out. She’s the demon within him that he can’t seem to shift. It’s always going to be
her.

“No, it’s Addison, Sebastian. It’s me,” I say gently. His eyes squint with confusion and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus on mine before a drunken smile splays on his lips.

“Addison, hey.”

His dick is hanging limply from his pants with her saliva still visible, so I grab the blanket from the sofa and cover him up.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you,” he slurs, his head swaying from side to side, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“I’m here, I’m right here.”

“Bitch, what the hell is your problem?”

I ignore the stupid hussy’s question and ask one of my own. “What’s he taken?” I demand, my eyes focused on Sebastian.

“What?”

“What. Has. He. Taken? Or are you too fucking high to answer?”

I see her out of the corner of my eye, staggering in her steps as she stands. “Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are but we were having fun before you came . . .”

My entire body trembles with anger. “Fun? You call sucking the dick of a guy who is half comatose fun? You’re a fucking disgrace.” I shake my head, disgusted to be within a foot of such a vile human being. “I think, maybe you should leave.
Now.
”

She picks up a bottle of Jack and takes a swig, her body clumsily swaying. “Well, you’re the one crashing the party. I think maybe
you
should leave since you’re such a party pooper and all.”

Seeing red, I suddenly have a handful of her hair within my grasp and I’m dragging her towards the door, causing the bottle of whisky to fall to the wooden floor with a smash. She startles at the sound and she struggles when I slam her against the wall.

“I’m not going to ask you again. Tell me what he’s taken before I have you arrested for distribution of drugs.”

“H-how do you know the drugs are mine?”

“Because I know exactly who you are. You’re Lola. Coke junkie and drug dealer. What. Has. He. Taken?” I spit in her face, my face contorting with anger.

“N-N-Nothing. He hasn’t taken anything. He’s just drunk.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t taken anything?”

“I’m positive, you crazy bitch. Now let go of me!” I charge over to the coffee table and grab the stash of cocaine before storming back over to her and throwing the coke in her face. It falls on the floor and the baggie splits, causing the white powder to spill everywhere. Like the junkie that she is, she scrambles onto her hands and knees, desperately trying to get it back inside the clear bag.

I used to be her.

My addiction was so bad that I’d have gone to any lengths to get my fix.
Any.
If anything or anyone had tried to interfere with my beloved choice of poison, it felt like the end of the world, as if time had suddenly stopped ticking.

I should feel sorry for her. I should feel
something,
but it’s hard to feel anything when the only thing I see when I look at her is the image of her platinum blonde hair bobbing over Sebastian’s cock. I’m afraid that it’s going to be imprinted in my mind forever.

I shove the door open, indicating for her to leave. “Get out.”

She clumsily gets back to her feet. Her pale complexion is white as a ghost and her entire body is shaking. “I need my money,” she says, wiping at her nose that still happens to be contaminated with cocaine.

“I thought you said he didn’t touch the coke,” I respond, staring daggers at her.

“He didn’t. Every time he’d go to do a line, he’d change his mind and take a shot of Jack instead. But he wanted the drugs and I delivered. It’s not my fault he just wanted to get wasted on whisky.”

Breathing heavily through my flared nostrils, I grab my purse and take out my wallet, desperately wanting to get her the hell out of here. “How much do you want, huh? A hundred? Two? In fact, here’s five hundred dollars.” I take the wad of cash from my wallet and shove the money in the palm of her hand. “Take it and have a great time snorting your way to your death because that’s where this is leading. Although, if you want my advice, I’d use that five hundred dollars towards getting clean. If I ever see you near Sebastian,
again,
I will call the cops, you hear me? Now get the hell out.”

She barely gets both feet out of the door before I slam it in her face. A trembling breath escapes me and for just one moment I let the emotion of the past five minutes take over and a sob surges from me. Once the moment of weakness passes, I wipe the tears from my face and head back to Sebastian, who looks to be sleeping soundly in his upright position. Realizing I’m going to be here for a while, I unzip my coat and place it over the back of the sofa before kneeling beside Sebastian, lightly stroking his hair.

Suddenly, he begins to vomit and I inwardly groan as I grab the first thing I can see—the trash can—and hold it in front of him as he continues to retch Jack Daniels. My lip begins to tremble, but I hold my emotions back. I have no idea what has happened for him to be in this mess, but I can guarantee it has something to do with Ava. It always comes down to Ava. I just wish I knew how to help him get over her, but I’m helpless.
God, he was doing so well.
I thought he was slowly beginning to get over her, but I guess I was wrong. It seems I can’t read him as well as I thought.

I gently rub his back, trying to comfort him as he continues to hurl. I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast because I’d probably be joining him right about now if I had. Once I’m confident his stomach is completely empty, I dump the contents of the trash can down the toilet, then disinfect it with bleach before placing it beside him—just in case he wants to hurl again.

I hate seeing him like this, covered in his own vomit. I want to get him in the shower, but I know it’ll be impossible for my little frame to shift him, so I remove his jeans and t-shirt, and lay him down on the sofa. I head into his bedroom to retrieve another blanket since he soiled the other one and gently place it on top of him, letting him sleep the alcohol off.

I do the only thing I can when I’m anxious and begin to clean his apartment from top to bottom, disinfecting every essence of cocaine from the coffee table and removing every single bottle of Jack Daniels. I’m shocked when I pick three empty bottles up and have to pour away the remaining quarter of a fourth bottle.

Jesus, was he trying to drown himself in whiskey?

Whatever it was, it’s obvious he was using alcohol as a way to escape from reality. I’m so relieved he didn’t lose himself in cocaine. He seems to have a restraint that baffles me. I’ve never known a coke addict who has been within an inch of cocaine and managed to curve the urge. It takes an inner super human strength. I am, however, concerned that he’s battling his addiction to cocaine with a new addiction to alcohol.

Once I’ve mopped the floors, I crouch down to his level, brushing against the softness of his hair. “What are we going to do with you?” I whisper. He responds to my touch and groans, a pained look screwing up along his facial features as he writhes against the sofa.

“Ava . . . Don’t marry him . . . Please don’t,” he whimpers. My bottom lip trembles as my heart comes to a sudden stop. Each time I hear her name being spoken in his sleep, I feel a piece of my heart fade away. Is it possible to hate a name as much as I hate hers?

I’ve never met anybody who hurts the way he hurts. It’s a pain that cuts deep to the bone. It’s a pain of beauty, of pure raw agony. It comes from a place of love and that’s a rarity in itself; to find somebody who cares the way he cares and who loves the way he loves. It shows the kind of person he is. I just wish he were able to process his pain in a way that doesn’t kill him from the inside out. He needs to find a way to reel the pain in before it takes his life away.

“Shh, it’s okay just go back to sleep,” I say in a hushed tone, desperately wanting to take his pain away. As I continue to stroke against his forehead, my eyes flicker down to his hand and I notice a diamond ring around his little finger. Encasing my hand in his, I bring his hand up, taking a closer look, and the sharp detail of the ring takes my breath away. It’s beautiful. The uneasy pit in my stomach tells me this was the engagement ring he had given to Ava before she smashed his world into pieces.

Putting together what he just said in his sleep, and now seeing the engagement ring, it doesn’t take a genius to know why he’s gotten into this mess. Letting go of his hand, I gently place it over the blanket.

I hate what she did to him and I don’t understand how she could have fallen in love with somebody else when she had Sebastian by her side. And now here she is, getting her happily ever after while Sebastian is still left behind to pick up the pieces. I’m usually an optimistic person, but I want to hunt her down and beat the crap out of her. I want to go all alpha bitch on her ass, just the way Sebastian did with Zander.

I wish, wholeheartedly, that I could be the person to give him the happily ever after he deserves, but my gut instinct tells me that he’s never going to be happy. Not with me anyway. I’m missing the one thing that could ever make a relationship work with Sebastian.

Ava.

I’m simply not Ava. I can’t hold a candle to her. She’s the love of his life, and without her he’s nothing. And today just proves that I’m not worthy of the passionate love that is embedded within him and I never will be.

When I’m anxious, I also like to bake, so I rifle through Sebastian’s cupboards and take over his kitchen. Once my last batch of cupcakes are cooling on the rack, and I’ve washed and dried the dishes, I head into the living room.

With his face buried in his hands, Sebastian begins to sit up, groaning as he does.

“Hey, you’re awake,” I say as I take a seat on the edge of the couch. I go to stroke his head, but stop myself, uncomfortable now that he’s awake.

Maybe it’s the image of that blonde chick with her mouth wrapped around his cock that’s still embedded in my mind

His eyes squint with confusion as if trying to remember when I arrived. “Hey,” he croaks, opening and closing his mouth. His face scrunches with disgust. “What the hell died in my mouth?”

“Well, that would probably be the three and a half bottles of Jack that you threw up earlier.”

His complexion pales with shock. “Three and a half bottles? Jesus.”

“Yeah, it may have tasted great but it sure didn’t look that great in reverse.”

He winces as he swings his legs around, burying his head in his hands agonizingly slow. He looks like death warmed over. He’s quiet for a moment as he takes deep inhaling breaths through the hangover from hell that is no doubt taking a chisel to the inside of his head.

“I’ve fucked up.”

“What happened, Sebastian?”

He turns his head to look at me, chewing on the bottom of his lip, a hollow look in his eyes. A moment passes by and a look of pain flits across his face. He slams his eyes shut, his bottom lip trembling. I feel a lump catch at the back of my throat and reach out to him. His eyes open at the touch of my fingers but instead of embracing my touch like he usually does, he shrugs it off.

To say that hurt would be an understatement.

His gaze falls on his hand, pausing when his eyes find the engagement ring on his little finger. He pulls it off and examines it, his facial features contorting as he does. Then without a word, he flicks it onto the coffee table and weakly stands before shuffling in the direction of the bathroom. I hear him throw up twice before he turns the shower on.

He’s in the shower for quite a while, and just as I’m contemplating heading in there to make sure he’s still alive, he reemerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. He still looks like death warmed over, but he seems to have gained a little more color. He drags himself back over to the sofa, heavily dropping down and resting his head on the headrest with his eyes closed. My eyes lock onto his naked frame. Even when he’s at his worst, he’s still sexy. His perfection makes the painful throb in my heart intensify, and not in a good way.

I pick up the iced water from the coffee table and hand it to him. “Here, you need to drink this.”

His eyes slowly open, but instead of taking the glass of water, he just stares at it mindlessly, lost in thought as if my words haven’t registered. “She’s getting married. Ava is getting married,” he says, his sudden words startling me, causing the glass of water to shake in my hands. “She’s marrying
him.
Ashton Douchebag Bailey,”
he grits out in anger, his muscles clenching. “It was supposed to be us. We were supposed to get married. We were supposed to be a family. Me, Ava, and Lily. Ashton shouldn’t even be in the goddamn picture but somehow he wormed his way in and took the only thing I’ve ever loved away from me.”

My insides begin to swirl. I hate how much hearing him speak about her hurts. Doesn’t he understand that he has somebody who loves him right here in front of him? He has no idea how I feel about him and listening to this just fucking kills me.

“It’s as if our four years together meant nothing to her.
Nothing.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over her. She was
it.
She was the one. Nobody even comes close to her—not a single person.”

I clench my eyes shut at his words, inwardly trying to ease the pain that centers at the core of my chest. I desperately want my therapeutic self to take charge, to tell him it’s going to be okay, but it’s hard to put my counselor mask in place when I’m beginning to feel so much more than I ever imagined I would.