KILLIAN LEFT ME on the roof while Micah hugged me. It took me half an hour to convince him I was fine.
When I finally got back to the club, Killian was sat on the closest couch to the stage, with a skinny blonde woman on his lap.
She looked nothing like me.
I watched her toned thighs rest on either side of his as she kissed his neck, his hands gripping her ass while he spoke to his friends.
Her blonde, straight hair cascaded down her back; it made me think about that man a few months back that said I'd be hotter as a blonde.
Not that it mattered. Weather my hair was blonde or brunette, Stefan would still be gripping it right now as he violated me.
I couldn't feel it, but I could hear it, and that was almost just as bad. I could see strands of my brown hair scattered across his white sheets, letting me know he'd pulled some out. I could taste the blood in my mouth from when he'd punched me in the face and I could smell his breath as he spit insults at me. And it was as if the removal of one sense hight ends the others.
҉
Waiting outside Stefan's building for Dad seemed like forever. My worn-out body leaned against the cold bricks, barely holding me up.
An hour ago, I blacked out. Stefan's wrath greeted me upon waking, swiftly followed by an eviction. I struggled against the dark tide but couldn't fend it off.
The world's been spinning since then. Awake means faster spinning, more nausea, though my stomach's empty.
My arm itches—I scratch it.
Stefan's paying, and you still can't manage to keep him content. Pathetic.
There it is again.
I'd hoped it was gone for good.
Miss me?
Screaming, crying, throwing things—anything seemed better than this.
Did you believe you could just stop being crazy?
Nah, darling. You're stuck with me.
Dizziness escalates; leaning off this wall might mean collapse. Vision blurs, exhaustion floods me.
Every limb turns heavy; eyelids shut on their own.
I fight to open them, knowing this Manhattan alley's no place for a nap, but each blink adds weight.
My cheek itches. I lazily scratch it.
"Hurry up, Dad," I mumble.
He's probably forgotten you.
Resting my head against the wall, I shut my eyes, avoiding the spinning world, promising to stay awake.
"Maya?" A distant voice—I ignore it until a tap on my shoulder proves it's not in my head.
Slowly, I meet Nisha Ramirez's worried gaze. I can't summon care.
"What happened?" Her fingers brush my forehead, stained red. "You're bleeding."
I shrug, trying to focus on the real her amidst the spinning multiples. "Okay," she says, wrapping an arm around me, "let's get help."
I shake my head, wincing. "Can't... leave."
"Why?" Her wide eyes scan me repeatedly.
My wrist itches. I scratch it.
"What the hells taking so long?" Another voice joins. "This was supposed to be quick..."
His words fade when he spots us. "Ian," Nisha sighs, beckoning.
"What, Nish? I have shit to do." He faces me; I can't meet his gaze. I just close my eyes. "Lacey?"
My wrist's still itching. I scratch it sluggishly.
"What's wrong with her?" He asks.
"I found her. I don't know."
"Hey," cold hands cup my cheeks, "open your eyes for me."
Laboriously, I do so, and when I do, Killian shoves my face away. "Her pupils are tiny." He scoffs, "She's fucking high."
My wrist is still itchy. I slowly scratch it.
I can hear the judgment in Killians tone, but I don't care. I do what i have to do. Otherwise I wouldn't survive Stefan.
All I care about is sleep and how tired I am.
And how itchy my damn wrist is.
I scratch it again, only this time I feel relief. I sigh in content, resting my head back onto the wall.
"Stop doing that." Nisha says softly, grabbing my wrist from me, "you've made yourself bleed."
I glance down at the blood that's slowly dripping down my wrist and I feel slight satisfaction.
Back to your old ways, huh?
"Maya," Nisha directs my attention to her, "what did you take?"
"Oxy." Killian says, "She takes oxycodone." I nod softly.
"Okay..." She gives Killian a look. I don't see his response. "How many did you take?"
I shrug, scratching my wrist when it becomes itchy again. "Enough to make the pain stop."
"Fucking hell." I hear Ian mumble.
I begin to feel relief on my wrist again.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
Nisha gently takes a wrist away from my hand and holds it out of reach, "Stop doing that."
"Okay, let's go." Killian says, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and trying to walk with me.
"I h-have to wait for my dad." I whisper, the volume of my voice suddenly lost.
He's not coming for you.
Killian and Nisha walk me out of the alley and to a sleek black vehicle. I slump into the backseat after Nisha, while Killian gets into the drivers seat.
My eyelids begin to feel like steel, too heavy to keep them open. I'm confused. My pills have never made me feel like this before. They've never made me dizzy or tired; just numb.
I rest my head against Nisha's shoulder, letting myself take a small nap, only when I'm about to fall into blissful unconsciousness again, Nisha gently pushes me back into a sitting position. "Stay awake for me, okay?"
"I'm so tired." I might have whispered it, I might have said it out loud; I'm not sure, but either way, Killian heard me.
"Yeah, because you're on fucking drugs."
Nisha reaches forward and slaps his shoulder before turning back to me, "what happened?"
I narrow my eyes at her, "huh?"
"Why do you look like you got ran over by a truck?" Killian cuts in, stopping at a red light.
I gulp, knowing exactly what their referring too. There talking about my now matted hair, my black eye, my fat lip, the dried blood from my nose and forehead and my smeared mascara. "I don't know what you're talking about." I shift awkwardly away from Nisha.
She sighs, "Maya—"
"I'm tired." I say, resting my head against the window, "I don't want to talk about this."