My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 46: That's Not Love

"I need to go." I slipped on my shoes, the world swaying as I came down.

"Are you serious?" Jagger demanded, standing in front of me buck naked. "You just got here."

I grabbed his jaw, kissing him softly. He jolted at first, surprised, but then reached out, touching my waist, tongue slipping between my teeth. "I'll see you another time babe, but I've got to split."

I don't know if Mick Taylor's discovery of my photo happened to coincide with my high fading, or if my anxiety over getting home and finding that newspaper shook off the majority of the sludge-like feeling heroin gave to me. Some of those sluggish feelings lingered as I slumped in the back of the cab during the ride home, and though I'd love to relish that residual numbness, I pinched the back of my hand, attempting to clear my head.

I went into the house through the front door, ignoring the girls clustering outside the gate. Right on the welcome mat, the newspaper sat rolled up, and I sighed with relief, stuffing it into the bin and putting some wet paper towels on top to conceal it. 

Breathing became easier after that, even though the information still existed, and my stepparents could find out about it at any time. God, I needed a drink. 

Opening the refrigerator, I pulled out a bottle of beer, setting it on the counter before poking around in one of the drawers for a bottle-opener. As I was sifting through the junk, my hand brushed Linda's address book, the one Jack used to make hundreds of pounds in trunk calls. Something compelled me to flip it open, my beer forgotten, and I turned the pages two at a time, not quite sure what I was looking for. Eventually, I found myself in the F-section, bitten-down nails sliding down the rows until it landed on Foxwell, Felix.

My father's name made me stop short, breath catching in my throat. How many hours had I spent wondering if he thought about me, missed me, wishing I could hear his voice one more time, and his number had been in this kitchen drawer the whole bloody time.

Without thinking twice, I started tapping in the number, noting that the area code was for Queensland, Australia, where we used to go when I was a child. The phone rang for a good while, and I realized it must be quite early in the morning there, but I didn't hang up, crossing both my fingers as well as my toes inside my shoes.

After several seconds, the ringing stopped, and a voice asked, "Hello?"

Hearing his clean, crisp RP accent along with the gruffness of sleep and probably a sore throat, which he was prone to, brought tears to my eyes. "Dad, it's me, it's Lo."

"Lorraine?" he whispered. "Where are you calling me from? How- Does Linda know?"

I shook my head before remembering he couldn't see me. "No, she doesn't, but I had to talk to you. I miss you."

"I miss you, too, darling."

"I got the presents you sent me."

"Did you like them?"

"Yes, I did, very much." I pause, twisting the phone cord around my index finger, preparing myself for what I wanted to say next. "You didn't send any for Jackson, and I know that's because you know he ran away. And you know where he is."

My father sighed, making the phone crackle with static. The tip of my finger turned purple as I pulled the cord tighter with anticipation. 

After a shuffle where I thought he might have hung up, a different voice came on the other end. "Hey, kid."

"Jack?" I gasped, letting the cord fall and slap against the fridge. 

"Yeah, it's me, I've been in Brisbane for months." He waited for a response that never came, my mouth hanging open like a codfish. "Well, do you have anything to say to me? Are you angry? Do you miss me-"

"Of course I miss you, you big, stupid idiot." I slid down to the floor, sobbing hysterically, the phone pinched in the crook of my neck.

"Lo, what's wrong, what happened? Are you safe?"

I struggled to speak, hiccuping violently. "It's awful, Jack, it's fucking awful. I hate it here, I hate everything. No one wants me, everyone just used me and throws me away, I'm nothing to them, I'm disposable-"

"I'm coming to get you," he said immediately, saying something to Dad I couldn't hear. "Don't leave London."

"No, you can't! I'm fine, I'm fine."

"You are clearly not. I know I wasn't always the best brother, but I've grown up a lot in the past year; I want to make things right."

Before I could respond, I heard the side door swing open: Paul and Linda were home. "I have to go, Jack, I'll call you again soon. Please stay away; I can take care of myself." I hung up the phone, cutting off his response, wiping my face clean in time to hear my stepparents stumble into the kitchen. I turned around, smiling brightly, covering the address book with my body. "Welcome home. Did you have a good time at the studio?"

Paul cocked an eyebrow, confused by my warm tone. "Yeah, it was gear. Did you phone someone?"

"Gallagher," I said, proud of my quick thinking.

"Did something bad happen?"

I touched my face, realizing it was probably still blotchy from my crying, and my eyes must still be red-rimmed. "Oh, yeah, actually he told me the funniest story, we were hysterical with laughter." Linda grinned, happy that I was happy, but Paul looked skeptical of my explanation. 

"Well, I've got to take this little girl up to bed," Linda said, bouncing the sleeping baby in her arms. "Goodnight all."

Paul watched his wife carry their daughter up the stairs, unbuttoning the collar of his plaid shirt, rolling up his sleeves as well. I stared at the black hair that coated his forearms until he turned back to me, and I lifted my eyes to meet his. "That's a nice dress. Is it new?"

"No, it's actually an old one of Pattie's, I found it and tried it on again."

"I love it. You should wear it to the party we're throwing on Saturday." He paused, clearly expecting me to ask for more details. When I didn't, he added, "You could invite that boyfriend of yours if you want. It'd be nice to get to know him since you two are clearly so close. If that was really him on the phone and not that blonde dyke you're so fond of."

His words elicited a smirk from me, making his hazel eyes narrow angrily. I never realized how cruel he could be when he didn't get what he wanted, it was almost comical. Turning around, I pulled the bottle opener out of the open drawer behind me, popping open my beer and sliding the metal device away along with the address book discreetly. Taking a long drink, I jogged up to my room, not looking back to if Paul was watching me go.

I've got a pretty big announcement: I got my first real job as a freelance writer. I'm going to be ghostwriting a novel for someone. I'll still be working on all my current stories, but my updates might be a bit slower because I'll also be writing a whole other book for someone else, but I still fully intend on finishing this story. My ultimate goal in life is to publish my own books (potentially this one after I edit it and change the names) so I'll always be writing original work, but I'm excited to get real-life experience being paid for my writing, even if it's just a small side-job. 

Thank you all for supporting me and this story, the feedback you give me has been invaluable in my growth as a writer. See you next time! <3