A Hotter Touch, A Better F... Than Any Girl You'll Ever Meet

Chapter 9

I was brought back to the world of the living by a slap to my cheek and slowly opened my eyes to look up at Spencer.

"What the hell did you take?" he asked harshly.

"Er, dude," Brent said lowly from the other side of me.

I looked over to see him standing with the half-empty Vodka bottle and the very much empty glass of pills in his hands.

Spencer had looked over as well. Now he was looking back down at me. "The Vodka bottle was full, that much I know. How many pills did you take?"

"Eighteen," I croaked out, trying to be as helpful as I possibly could, but my mind was already slipping back into the dark void beneath me.

"Shit Ryan, those are extra strong," he muttered through clenched lips. "Pete," he called then.

"Yeah?" came the choked-sounding answer.

That was when I realised what I was actually doing to Pete of all people, forcing him to relive something so horrible...

"Call 911. You know this situation better than anyone," Spencer commanded.

I flinched as I imagined what the harsh words must've been doing to the older man.

Then my attention was brought back to myself as my cheek was slapped again.

"You stay awake," my best friend ordered. Then he slapped me again, but I suspect that was simply for good measure. "Brent?" he called, then paused. "Where the hell did Brent go?" There was another pause and I could picture him looking around. "Brendon, sorry, but I need your help," he then said.

"What can I do?" came the voice of our vocalist. He sounded like he was crying.

Shit! I made him cry again.

I was lifted out of the bed by, judging by the scent, Spencer, hauled ungently and urgently across the room. Then I was lowered to my knees on a tiled floor. Why the hell was I in the bathroom?

"Hold him in place," the drummer finally answered. "Hold the hair out of his face if you're feeling exceptionally nice. I'll be back in two."

I heard the sounds of Brendon getting on his knees behind me. His chest pressed against my back and one arm inched across my waist. I slumped back a bit, resting my pounding and tired head against his chest.

The position was extremely familiar. And I'd been right back then. The only one who could really hurt me when he was around was me. Just a shame I was doing such a fucking good job of that.

He bent his head a bit, and I could feel the tickles of his breath against my ear. "Don't you dare die on us before we have this fucking mess resolved," he muttered before pressing his lips briefly against the top of my neck, just beneath my ear. Usually I'd be repulsed, but right then it was just comforting, it was my last grasp at security, although I didn't even feel secure with the security. If that even makes sense. Never mind.

Then I heard the familiar sound of Spencer's feet on the floor as he re-entered. I felt my hair being pulled back and then my head was lowered over the bowl of the toilet? What the fuck? Then I realised what was about to happen as Spencer took hold of my head, holding it in place, while his free hand stuck something long and rather thin down my throat. I'm guessing the handle of one of the big, wooden spoons we had in the kitchen. I was never using one of those to cook again.

I heaved desperately, feeling tears running down my cheeks. My stomach hurt unbelievably much and now my throat was hurting as well. I heaved again, but then he finally hit the reflexive point in the back of my throat and bile came violently into my mouth, then into the toilet.