After the first round of vomiting, I felt a little bit better, so I pulled my hair out of its bun and got to work. I had doubles of almost all of my toiletries—that was what happened when you could buy shit for super cheap at the beauty supply store and rarely got rid of anything—and I painstakingly ratted my hair and painted my face. It was slow going since I felt like shit, but eventually, I had a smooth bouffant and smoky eyes, making me feel a little more prepared for my upcoming conversation.
Gram still hadn’t gotten back with my clothes by the time I was finished. She’d planned on being only a couple of hours behind me, but maybe she’d decided to visit Callie before she came home. I needed to call Callie, I thought, as I made my way to the couch. Maybe I’d do it in a little while after my stomach had settled.
I took my jeans and flannel shirt off, and wrapped myself in the comfort of my quilt, immediately sliding down so I was resting on my side. My mind wandered lazily through my conversation with Slider, and I tried to think logically about what it all meant, but I was freaking exhausted.
Barely sleeping the last two nights had depleted any reserves I’d built up, and I closed my burning eyes for a moment. I hadn’t even realized that I’d fallen asleep until I woke up with a start and threw up my entire way to the bathroom, getting vomit everywhere.
As the sun lowered and the sky grew dark, I waited for Cody to show up, but he never did. Instead, I was alone in the quiet apartment, throwing up over and over until there was nothing left, and still the retching continued.
What the hell was taking him so long?
After . . .
Chapter 33
Casper
Fuck, I’d fallen asleep at the club.
I rolled over to grab my ringing phone, not bothering to check who it was before answering.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Gram. Hey, I can’t get a hold of Farrah. Is she with you?”
My body jackknifed into a sitting position, the worry in Gram’s voice like a bucket of ice water pouring over my head. “No, she’s at home. I slept at the club last night.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“I had some shit to do here.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “I knocked on Farrah’s door but she’s not answering. You still have your key?”
“Yeah, don’t you have one?”
“Think I mighta left it at Lily’s. I can’t find the damn thing anywhere.”
“Shit. Okay, I’ll go over there now,” I told her, pulling on my jeans.
“Hurry, son. Something’s not right.”
“I’ll have her call you when I get there. I’m sure everything’s fine,” I reassured her before hanging up.
Why the hell wasn’t Farrah answering her phone? This felt a whole hell of a lot like the shit we used to deal with when she went off the rails; I couldn’t remember the number of times Gram had called me to see if I knew where Farrah was. I usually had, since I’d followed her ass around like a lost puppy.
I knew that Gram hadn’t consciously appointed me Farrah’s watchdog, but resentment still hit me out of nowhere when I thought about all the time I’d spent chasing after her. I didn’t have time for her shit anymore; bigger things were going on than her finding out her daddy loved her. No, I was worried for no reason. My head was all over the place, but I knew she wouldn’t fall back into her old habits. That wasn’t her anymore.
It only took me about twenty minutes to get to Farrah’s apartment, and as I opened up the front door, the first thing that hit me was the smell. Fucking disgusting.
Fucking disgusting, but familiar.
Goddamn it.
She’d thrown up all down the hallway, and I had to breathe through my mouth and step around spots of it on the carpet as I made my way to her bedroom. My emotions were swinging between overwhelming fear that she’d killed herself, and fury that she’d done this again. So when I saw her kneeling in front of the toilet, safe and looking like shit, fury won out.
I laid into her, pissed as hell and completely unfiltered. What the fuck was she doing to herself? She’d promised that she was done with the drugs and booze, yet here she was, too fucking wasted to even make it to the bathroom before losing her shit. I vaguely wondered who she’d been partying with, but had to focus on anything else when the thought of her being trashed with some other guy made me see red. What the fuck was I doing?
She wasn’t answering me, too drunk or high or whatever the fuck she was to give me a coherent answer, and I’d had enough.
Why the hell was I even still standing in her apartment? With absolute certainty, I knew that I’d never again be the guy that watched her get so wasted that she couldn’t hold up her own head. I couldn’t do it. My head was fucked up enough; my dreams the night before filled with the woman I’d killed. I couldn’t be Farrah’s fucking savior again.
Frankly, I just didn’t have it in me, and I hated myself for it.
I turned and walked out the door, ignoring her as she tried to call me back. We’d been down that road before, her begging me in her drunken stupor to take care of her, to love her, to make everything better. Hadn’t she figured it out yet? I didn’t make shit better. I could barely take care of my fucking self; taking care of someone else was completely beyond my capability.
I hated to do it, but I decided I’d call Gram. She could take care of it so I could stay far, far away from it.
I left the door unlocked as I left her apartment, but I couldn’t make myself leave once I’d climbed on my bike. My hands were shaking so badly, it looked like I was having a seizure. I needed to go back up there. I did. She needed me, and I’d left her. Could I really make myself leave when she was in that shape? God, it had been worse than I’d ever seen her.