Addicted

I wanted them to, but that was less important than what I had promised him on the beach. A knock on the door broke me out of my reverie. I wrapped myself in a towel and opened it, seeing Nate. He held something out to me.

"Here," he said, "I know you didn't carry any extra clothes with you." I looked down at his hand. It was a gray t-shirt. One of his. I took it gingerly.

"Thanks."

"Come on out when you're done. The food's almost here."

I agreed and closed the door, walking back to the mirror. I knew I hadn’t been with a lot of guys, but I wasn’t a child. If he didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be. If sex had been all he wanted, then he’d already gotten it. He didn’t need to have me around any longer if I’d already served his purpose for him.

I pulled the t-shirt over my head. It fit me a little bigger than the ones I typically wore to go to sleep. I walked out slowly and looked around the living room. He was in there, wearing boxer briefs and nothing else. He smiled when he saw me.

“I got you the same thing I got, American burger and fries. I hope that’s okay,” he said. He was pulling the cloches off of hot plates of food.

“Nate,” I said, “you don’t have to do any of this. What happened between us doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Are you seeing someone?” he asked me.

“I’m not. That isn’t it. I want to help you, and I like spending time with you. I don’t expect anything in return. I just want to see you well again,” I said, tripping over my words.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m not going to ask you to stay here with me if you really don’t want to, but I want you, Abby,” he said.

My breathing slowed. Was it really that simple? He wanted me? But he was leaving. How could he tell me that, knowing that in a couple months he’d be back in LA and I’d still be here?

“Just stay with me, Abby,” he said, insistently. So what if he was going? I thought suddenly. He was here now. The connection we’d shared at the beach, the time we had spent together – it all had to mean something. It had to.

I walked over to the table and ate with him. We talked about how well his room had been restored since that morning and chatted about the places we’d gone that day, like a date.

When we were finished, it was still fairly early in the night, but I was tired. I thought for a second about asking him whether I could take the sofa bed, but reeled it in, not really willing to throw away an opportunity to be close to him again. His bed was really comfortable. I fell asleep next to him as the television quietly droned in the background.

Chapter Seventeen

Nate

I woke up like someone had just punched me in the chest. The room was dark and quiet. I had to take a minute to remember where I was because my mind felt like I was still asleep.

My skin felt clammy; I was soaking wet with sweat. I threw the covers off and tried to get myself up into a sitting position. Every move I made hurt like I'd been lying still for years. My heart was racing, and I felt like I was definitely about to throw up.

Fuck. Couldn't even do one whole day, huh? I should have known this was coming. I was still on my back. Pushing myself up, I realized I wasn't alone. Abby was asleep, facing me. As if this night could get worse. I tried to move quietly. I couldn't do it quickly because my body felt like I'd just run a marathon.

I needed a fucking dose. I was dying. That's what was happening. This is what death felt like. I'd almost gone an entire twenty-four hours without shooting. That was long enough. I was calling that a record. I'd get clean – as soon as I shot up just this one last time.

Where was my stuff? I couldn't remember. I couldn't think. Where the fuck had I put it? I stumbled into the living room. Was it in there? I couldn't see my kit anywhere. Was it even still there? I'd trashed the place the night before; what if it was gone? I went to a couch and threw the pillows on the ground, checking behind them. There was nothing on the piano or the dining table. I checked the shelves pushing the vases and decorations onto the floor, not caring whether they broke.

Nothing. Where the fuck was it? The bedroom? I couldn't go in there. Abby was still in there. She was asleep. She couldn't see me like this. My stomach was turning. I tried to get to the fridge, but switched streams halfway because I was going to be sick. I scrambled back into the room to the bathroom, barely making it before I started throwing up.

I puked my dinner into the toilet bowl, feeling my stomach cramp painfully.

Shit. That was new. I knew other people who had gotten the cramps and thrown up, but I hadn't stayed sober long enough before for it to be me. Look at that, new milestone, I thought.

I slumped against the toilet, flushing it. I felt exhausted. My heart was still racing but my body ached and I was sweating. God, how awful would it have been for Abby to walk in right then? Yeah. We’d had sex and she was pretty into me, but this would probably cool her down real quick.

I pulled myself painfully back to my knees. Had I left it in here? I checked the tub and shelves throwing the towels on the ground.

"Nate?"

Fuck.

"Go back to bed, Abby," I growled from the ground.