“No. I-I need time alone.”
“How about Monday at the studio?”
“Sure. Whatever. I have to go, and you need to leave.”
“Okay,” he hums softly. “I get it. I’ll do whatever you need. Whatever I have to.” I take another step back. Suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in on me and I can’t breathe, and my vision is dizzy, and I think I’m having a panic attack.
“I gotta go—” I mumble, turning away from him and running toward my back door.
“I’ll call you later, sweetheart,” I hear him yell out to me. “Just to make sure you’re okay. I love you.”
I reach the back door and before I know how I got here, I’m sprinting down the stairs and onto the sand, flying down the beach as if I can somehow outrun the maelstrom of thoughts twisting in my head.
Goddammit, Gus. You fucking motherfucker. I never want to see or hear from you again.
Chapter Thirty
Gus
* * *
“Wake up, asshole,” a harsh voice crackles through my ears, followed by a sharp smack across my face. I jolt and my eyes blink open only to immediately close again. My head spins like a top, even with my eyes closed, and a groan sears past my lips. My heart begins to pound, a harsh staccato that only seems to fuel the dizziness.
It feels like someone is using a jackhammer in my head. Maybe two.
“Ugh,” I groan, my stomach roiling up into the back of my throat, and I’m frantic to swallow all that’s desperate to come up, down.
Twisting against the unforgiving ground, I raise myself up, grasping something hard and cold, and before I can even think twice about anything else, I heave violently. Strong arms lift me up by my hips and back, shoving my face into what I instinctively know to be a toilet.
And that’s when the fireworks really erupt.
My body spasms, retching and spitting, and so fucking sick it comes out my fucking nose.
What the hell is happening right now? How did I even get…where the hell am I?
My mind races, trying to recall anything of use. It’s all darkness with flickers of light in the form of fuzzy, nonsensical images.
A party. Keith and I came to our friend, Damien’s house. He was having a party.
Beer. I was sipping on a beer. Keith handed me his bottle of Jack Daniels and I took a swig. That was it.
No.
Someone handed me a glass of something…
I vomit with everything I have, expelling whatever poison my body had taken in.
Something is wrong.
Something is very wrong.
“I didn’t drink like this,” I grumble, collapsing against the toilet seat, sweating and dazed and foggier than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Fifty people would say otherwise,” a voice I now recognize as Keith’s says.
“No,” is all I can manage. I didn’t. Did I? “No,” I repeat, trying to open my eyes. I wasn’t drinking a lot because I was going to drive to Naomi’s after the party. “Where am I?”
“My place,” Damien answers. That’s a relief. “I found you passed out on my bathroom floor and called Keith.”
And any relief I was feeling is now gone. I’ve never passed out before. Never.
A glass of water is thrust into my shaking hand and I take a few small sips. It’s heavy and harsh against my now raw throat and I wince, wiping my mouth clean with my arm. It’s only then that I realize I’m shirtless and my jeans are half-undone.
Sitting up, I set the glass down on the floor and push myself against the wall, my head falling back as I think.
Why can’t I fucking remember?
“What happened?” I reluctantly ask, wanting to know and not at the same time.
“What do you remember?”
Christ. I scrub a hand over my face, reposition myself, and look up at Keith’s concerned gaze. “Honestly, not much. I was drinking a beer and talking to a couple of people. I took a couple of sips of your Jack. Someone handed me some of the punch and I had a couple of sips—”
“What punch?” Damien asks, leaning a hip against the vanity, his arms folded over his chest. “I didn’t make any punch.”
“Whatever. I don’t know,” I snap in agitation. I’ve never felt so horrible in my whole life, and all I want to do is go to bed and forget this night ever happened. “It was red. Some kind of red drink some girl handed to me.”
“Listen, man,” Keith starts, bending down into a squat. “All I know is that when I left you were pretty bombed. I just didn’t realize how bad. I asked if you wanted me to give you a ride home and you said you were straight. Obviously, you weren’t, and I should have stayed or taken you home then. I’m sorry.”
I bluster out a loud breath. “I’m telling you, I didn’t drink that much. I honestly didn’t. I don’t know what the hell happened, but I’ve never felt like this before.” Keith glances up at Damien, both trading uneasy glances. “What?”
Damien looks over at me. “Is it possible you were drugged?”
I snort out a half-baked attempt at a laugh, trying to quell the urge to vomit again. “Who the hell would drug me? For what reason?”
“No clue,” Damien continues. “But I’m telling you I didn’t make any punch and you said the last thing you remember is some girl handing you a red drink. Maybe she slipped you something. Some kind of party favor and it hit you wrong. I mean, look at you. You’re already half-naked.”
A sudden rush of dread fills me. What the hell did I do? No. I wouldn’t have.
“Keith,” is all I can manage as my eyes drift down to my jeans, taking in the way the button is popped open and the zipper is half-undone. No. This can’t be happening. I wouldn’t have. I fucking wouldn’t have, goddammit. “Keith,” I try again, this time my tone is urgent.
I meet his troubled gaze. “I didn’t see you with any girl.”
“But I did.”
I look to Damien. “Who?”
He shakes his head bewilderedly. “I don’t know. Some blonde. I didn’t know her, but I did catch her walking out of the bedroom this bathroom leads to.”
“Fuck,” I yell, ignoring the pounding drum in my head. “Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall. “I didn’t fuck her. I wouldn’t fucking do that. Goddammit!” I kick out, hitting the edge of the vanity, and both Damien and Keith are silent. My face drops into my hands as rage and despair and disgust war within me. “What the hell am I going to tell Naomi?” Naomi. Shit. “What time is it?” She was expecting me at her house. She must be worried like crazy.
“It’s a little after six.”
“Six?” I bellow, my hands dropping as I stare incredulously at Keith. “Six?!” How on earth. “Jesus. She must be going out of her mind.” I try to pry myself up and off the floor, but everything in me hurts. Everything feels sick and wrong, and I don’t know what to do.
How can I not remember?
Did that chick drug me? Did she slip me something so that I’d get wasted beyond comprehension and then fuck me, knowing I wouldn’t remember?