With that, the doctor stood up, grabbed my chart, and left the room. I was again plunged into silence, except for the sound of Donovan’s breathing.
He’d woken about thirty minutes after that, though he had little to say to me. He’d made sure I was alive and would stay that way for at least the foreseeable future, and then he was gone.
Still, the words of the doctor remained. They hung in the air long after night fell, and the sun rose once more. They buzzed between my ears, playing on an endless loop that I had little control over. I haven’t been able to eat or to sleep. All I’ve been able to do is brood over what happened that night and how exactly I got here.
Had Donovan not come over, I wouldn’t be breathing. I would’ve blacked out and died in a pile of my own vomit.
Was alcohol really to blame or was it just my self-destructive nature?
I was so determined not to share the pain in my heart or my true feelings that I turned to booze to keep everything suppressed. Even if liquor wasn’t entirely at fault, it would be the wisest choice to cut it out completely, especially with my family history.
I could tell by the doctor’s expression that he doesn’t expect me to be able to do such a thing . . . but I’ve spent my entire life proving people wrong.
It’s going to be a hard road. Life as a musician is practically synonymous with indulgent intoxication, and if that doesn’t work out, I’d be so bored at an office job that I’d have a hard time staying away from the bottle . . . but still. I can do this. Whether I manage to find another path in my music career or if I end up with a boring nine to five, I can stop drinking as long as I know I have something worth living for.
My mind aches when I consider all the mistakes I’ve made in my life that relate to drinking. All the songs that remain half finished, all the conversations over potential opportunities forgotten, all the friends and new relationships I might have pushed away.
Then, there’s my angel, perhaps the most haunting lost connection of all.
Had I not been so plastered, maybe I would’ve asked for her name. Maybe I would have looked at her note right away instead of allowing Alex and James the chance to destroy it. Maybe I never would’ve let her leave . . .
How different my life might be if I didn’t dilute all my problems with alcohol. It’s clear to me now that as soon as I’m out of this hospital, things need to drastically change and I need to make some major apologies. Donovan’s first. My oldest friend who’s tried his best to be there for me even when I won’t let him. Then Chloe, who I’ve surely made feel uncomfortable with my drinking habits. Then there’s the poor girl who I flaked on the other night. And my band . . .
The list is endless, but some way or another, I’m going to find a way to make all of this right again. I have to. There’s no other choice.
Chapter 18
Morgan
“Chloe, I promise I’m doing fine,” I say quietly into my phone, keeping one eye on the closed bathroom door while I hide from Hanson and Charlotte.
Chloe and Stacy have both been hovering over me like mother hens since my drunken meltdown. I can tell Stacy doesn’t want me to move back to Kansas and leave her stranded without a roomie and a friend, but I honestly don’t know how much longer I can put up with this—or how much longer I’m even going to be employed at Hanson’s agency.
Every time he walks up to me, I expect him to tell me he’s cutting me. I’ve just been loitering around the agency for days hoping to make an impression on any potential clients who come in for meetings, but Hanson hasn’t even given me a single go-see since I was dropped from my last job.
Charlotte is busy of course, constantly out on shoots. To say I’m envious is an understatement.
“I just wanted to check in and make sure you were hanging in there,” Chloe says breezily. “The office is closed today so I’m stuck at home trying to entertain myself. Honestly, this conversation is more for me than for you.”
“Oh no, poor Chloe stuck in a beautiful penthouse with a view!”
She laughs and I can tell she’s rolling her eyes. Then, from under the door, I suddenly hear my name whispered in soft utterance though I can’t tell exactly who’s speaking.
“I can’t talk now, Clo. I’ll call you back,” I whisper-hiss, hanging up before my she can argue.
Carefully, I tiptoe over to the bathroom door and press my ear against it.
“Did you do what I asked, Hanson?” the voice purrs. “Does Morgan know she’s out?”
I realize it’s Charlotte speaking and my bones go cold. Why is she talking to Hanson about me?
“I really don’t know if this is the best idea,” he answers quietly. “She’s beautiful and clients love her personality. I’ve been giving you her jobs like you want, but she gets requested a lot. Even with you and the other girls picking up her calls there’s too many to keep turning away her jobs.”
Turning away my jobs?
“We both know she doesn’t have what it takes. She’s holding us back. Besides, there’s only room for one top model here. With me as your anchor your agency could be so much more. Just cut her out of the picture and you and I will own this city!”
Unable to help myself, I force open the bathroom door and stumble out rather gracelessly to find Charlotte and Hanson whispering farther down the hall. Charlotte is pressed against him, batting her eyelashes and clinging to his shirt.
Charlotte gasps in shock when she notices me.
Hanson’s face goes bone white. “Morgan, whatever you heard—”
“I’ve heard enough to realize you’re a snake, Hanson. I trusted you. I can’t believe you would turn away my jobs and make me believe that I wasn’t talented! I refuse to be treated like this!”
“Morgan—”
“No! We’re done, Hanson. I’m out. I’d rather go out on my own than have anything to do with an agency like yours. And you better believe I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you can’t do this to anyone else.”
Charlotte grins broadly. I know I’ve just given her what she wants by quitting, but I don’t care. There’s no way I can continue working in an atmosphere like this. All I want is to kick her right in her pretty, porcelain teeth, but I plaster on my best smile and glare down the bridge of my nose. “And you, Charlotte, you just wait until he turns on you. It’ll happen. Mark my words. A newer, prettier girl will come along, and he’ll do exactly what he did to me. It’s called karma, look it up.”
I flick my hair over my shoulder then storm deliberately toward the door. Behind me, both Charlotte and Hanson are left gaping.
Even though I just quit the only agency I’ve ever had, I suddenly feel full of hope. Without them holding me back I’m more ready to face the day than ever before. By the time the bright afternoon sun hits my shoulders, however, I realize the extent of what I’ve just done.
Not only am I without an agent in one of the most cutthroat modeling industries in the world, but Hanson could easily blacklist me from other agencies and clients for speaking to him the way I had. Sure, he was in the wrong, but it’s his word against mine. By walking out of there so dramatically, I might have just sent my dreams crashing down even faster than they were before.