Sadie (18+)

Chapter 43

Back at the hotel, a rigid air settled between us. I'd immediately crawled into bed upon returning, occasionally peeking above the covers to observe him.

Vincent had left momentarily, only to come back with a hot chocolate from the lobby, which he gently placed down on the nightstand. I watched the tiny marshmallows flattening in the warm chocolate drink, afraid to meet his tired eyes.

It was a nice gesture, but I was overwhelmed from earlier and had yet to process everything that transpired. I thought about what I'd said to him, how I'd called him out on "fucking me on the side", and I pathetically regretted every bit of it.

It had put my jealousy on full display, when I'd so badly wanted Vincent to think I was nonchalant, that I was cool and unbothered, that I was the perfect other woman. But I was not, and I never would be, and he had certainly seen through my facade.

It was quite silly, and perhaps immature of me to insinuate that he was the one at fault for having sex with his wife and me. I had seduced him knowing he loved her, knowing he would not simply drop her for a problematic eighteen-year-old.

I watched him switch into a t-shirt and athletic pants. He excused himself soon after, explaining that he was going to use the gym facility downstairs. I told him to take his time, and it was the only words we exchanged before the door quietly shut.

I groaned, burying my face into my hands. And the urge to drink grew incessant in his absence; it was a terrible, overwhelming itch. It was the only thing that could turn the thoughts off, that could ground them to mush and sweep them away. It only made it worse that I knew the whiskey was in arms reach, like a child sitting next to a bowl of candy.

I stared at the steam lifting from the styrofoam cup of cocoa, but of course, I opted for his whiskey instead. I leaned back against the bed, bottle in hand, allowing myself to indulge. The rich liquor proved to once again be reliable, always granting a sweet, albeit messy escape. I embraced the elation which consumed me, the euphoric cloud it dropped me upon.

And then, maybe an hour later, with only a quarter of the drink left and an uncomfortable belly ache, Vincent returned. I had turned the lights off prior, but stared through half-shut eyes at the television in an alcohol-infused haze, the pixels swirling and spiraling. A mild headache pushed against my forehead.

He must have assumed I'd fallen asleep as it was eleven at night. His movements were cautionary and quiet as he stepped around the room to his bag, rummaging through. In the dim lighting, I watched him shrug off his clothes and grab a towel before going into the bathroom.

And I planned on not following him, but my stomach planned on something far worse. After the shower had already turned on, I felt the familiar sensations take hold, my mouth producing excessive saliva, my face and neck igniting in sweat. My stomach twisted in pain, but it was not familiar—it was sharp, severe, and most certainly concerning.

It was a less than ideal situation, but I had no choice—I needed help, and now was not the time to be stubborn. I slid off the bed, weakened, and trailed into the bathroom, fingers clutching the wall for stability.

"Sadie?"

I vomited on the floor before he got out of the shower. Had I not been so inebriated, I would have felt embarrassed, but all I cared about was emptying the poisonous contents from my stomach.

He quickly exited the shower and crouched down next to me, soaked with a towel now haphazardly wrapped around his waist. He pulled me to the toilet, where I conjured up the remaining bits in a coughing mess, my throat burning. He had gathered my hair into a pile on my shoulder, a wave of deja vu sweeping over me.