Cold Hearted Bastard

Chapter 22

I woke up feeling like I was experiencing the worst hangover in existence. The room was spinning as I tried to sit up, immediately feeling nauseous, and was sure if I didn't stop and take a second to breathe before I got out of bed I was going to puke. It wasn't even like I drank much the night before. I just felt sick to my core, unsure if it was because of Aspen or the alcohol.

I pushed myself up, using my hands to support me, and wobbled to the bathroom but before I even reached inside it I heard a soft knock from behind me. Aspen stood at the door, leaning on the doorframe for support. His leg was crossed behind the other at the ankle. He looked like he hadn't slept the entire night. Concern all over his face. His shoulders hunched as he stuck both hands in his jeans pockets, as he prepared to say something. But before he could even get a word out I interjected.

"I can't believe you, you're such a cunt," I screamed, holding my hands in a fist as I distanced myself a good few feet away from him even more, as I lurked closer into the bathroom door.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair and moving towards me, "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Stop," I shoved a hand against his chest as he reached an inch before me. I pushed him back forcibly, causing him to stumble backward.

"Your dad told me, Wynter," he uttered guiltily, "I'm so sorry... if I knew-"

"If you know what? That my mother overdosed on opioids that you'd stop the drugs? Bullshit Aspen. Once a drug addict there's too slim of a chance of remission."

"I didn't know she died of that Wyn," he glowered. He reached a hand towards me but then got the better of himself as he dropped it to his side, "please don't cry."

I didn't even realize I was crying. I hadn't known how much it still affected me. My mother's death. I never even had the chance to meet her but I was the reason for her death. I never forgot that. If I wasn't born she'd probably still be alive.

"Postpartum depression is a bitch right?" I muttered sarcastically. My body suddenly felt weak and I slid down to the floor, feeling the world swallow me up. Aspen rushed to my side, kneeling next to me, "It was my fault. After she had me she didn't even want me. I made her depressed enough to overdose herself," I whispered, the words haunting me as they always did.

"It wasn't your fault Wyn," he defended me which didn't help. He wouldn't know. Nobody would. Not even my dad as he told me countless times that it was more common than I'd expect. He blamed himself for not seeing the signs. Not being there when she died home alone with me. He had been in the hospital and what a surprise he got to see his wife dead and a baby screaming, the girl who was responsible for killing her, and she hadn't even known what she'd done.

"I hate myself," I wailed, hitting his hands away from me over and over. I was throwing a tantrum, breaking down right in front of his eyes. He probably thought I'd gone crazy. I couldn't blame him, every day my sanity was disappearing.

Eventually, I allowed him to succumb to me, his warmth radiating off onto me, I sucked it up, trying to feel any emotion in his embrace. I felt nothing. But I did cry. I let myself cry until nothing was coming out. I didn't say one thing to him as he allowed me to cry, hours just went by but he just held me.

"I want to try it," I said audibly, surprising myself. His gaze flicked to me, his eyes suddenly narrowing.

"I don't think so Wynter," he stated a little too authoritatively as if he had a say what I could and couldn't do. I was not going to let him control me with this, he had no control over himself and I was willing to use that against him.

"I'm going to do it," I stated, my tone firm even though I had exhausted it from all the crying and I was proud it hadn't betrayed me. Looking at Aspen in the eye with his face set so intensely was so excessively intimidating that I wanted to cover and bury my head to protect myself from him, "whether it's with you or not. So make up your mind 'cause I've made up mine."

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if he was trying to contemplate my words. I knew the good and the bad were fighting within him. How could he corrupt poor, innocent Wynter? I had to give him the ultimatum and I felt guilty forcing him to do it with me. But I knew his conscience wasn't going to let me do it with someone else, I was banking on it.

"Please," I begged, feeling pathetic and reaching a whole new low. I didn't ever consider myself a depressed person but with all the pent-up emotions I was feeling right then I knew I needed something to pick me back up, "help me feel Aspen."

There was no charm in his voice, none of the charisma I'd known of him as he spoke, "okay."

"Come," he ordered, pulling me up as he grabbed onto my arm tightly. He dragged me behind him into the bathroom.

He took a seat on the covered toilet and fished for something in his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of foil and what looked like a credit card. He placed the card between his lips and then carefully opened the piece of foil on the back lid of the toilet. I stayed by the wall, pressing myself into it, almost as if I was afraid to get any closer. My heart began to race as regret threatened my mind.

He evenly chopped at the powder with the card, vigilantly and attentive. Like this was second nature to him. If this is what cocaine users did I was sure he was one of the best. I peeked over his shoulder, trying to see the finished product but still scared to leave the comfort of the wall, needing its support more than ever.

He then took out his wallet and neatly rolled a dollar bill from it. He took one last look at me, almost like a silent offering if I wanted to back out I could. I didn't give him what he wanted and remained impassive. He turned around all I heard was a deep inhale as the cocaine went up to his nostrils. Then it was my turn.

I took the dollar bill with a trembling hand, annoyed that my nervousness was so obvious. He moved from the seat and went to lean on the counter, his arms crossed in one another. I tried to ignore his lack of expression as he just watched me, waiting, but obviously displeased.

I sat and looked down at the line of snow. It frightened me for a second how governed I was by all these emotions that plagued me. My soul was calm at the moment but under such strong feelings of anger, sadness, maybe even love, I was losing so much of myself and becoming the entity of my emotions. I was becoming the person I always refused to be, impulsivity being the only nature I seemed to truly stick to. If sorrow was a cake, I'd take the biggest slice from her and then choke on it.

How deep can you dig before you find your feelings and wish you'd hid them better?

I stared for maybe a millennium and more at the powder. Anticipating its effects was hard and scary and unknown. I hated the unknown, always had and always will. My life had always been ordered, structure, yet there I was about to do something I'd never imagined.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I inhaled.