My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 41: Family Portrait

I woke up with my face in a familiar pillow, but not my own. I tried to lift my head up and look around, but my body felt like it was made of cement, mouth dry and eyes mostly sealed shut with sleep crust. Last night slowly came back to me, snorting heroin, sleeping with Mick in Keith's bed... is that where I was? I inhaled deeply, but that rough, woodsy, almost bitter scent of the Rolling Stone wasn't present. Instead, my nostrils were met with the smell of dryer sheets, lemony aftershave, and spearmint toothpaste.

"Honey are you okay?" 

I felt Linda's hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. This was my stepparent's bed, and I was on Paul's side; this was his scent. Shaking my head slowly, I clamped my teeth shut to keep the vomit in my mouth, too weak to get to make it to the toilet.

"Here, here." She lifted my head up and pushed me off to the side of the bed where a blue bucket was waiting for me. It still had the pungent odor of floor cleaner from when it was used for mopping, which only ripped the yellowish bile from me more forcefully. "I can't believe you still have anything in your stomach. You've been puking on and off since Keith brought you home last night, said you ate some bad fish." Very bad fish indeed. "I was supposed to meet Mo for drinks, but if you want, I can stay here with you."

I shook my head slowly, skull throbbing. "It's okay," I managed to gasp out through my parched throat. Honestly, I didn't really want her around while I was like this, even if it meant I'd be suffering alone.

Linda dabbed my mouth clean, pushed the sweaty strands of hair out of my face, and kissed my temple before rolling out of bed to grab her purse and slide on a pair of flats. "And if you need anything, don't worry, Paul's right downstairs." I tensed up at her words, but thankfully she didn't see it, kissing Mary goodbye before leaving.

Once she was gone, I realized I couldn't go back to sleep, my body aching all over and my head swimming with fractured memories. The more I recalled from the previous night, the more ashamed I felt, wanting to smash my head into a wall as punishment for my moronic behavior. Needing a distraction, and wanting to finally get out of this fucking bed, I started wiggling my toes, then rolling my ankles, then tensing and relaxing my calves, eventually regaining feeling in my arms and rolling over onto my back. In this position, I became aware of a strange pain in my backside, and my mind flashed back to sex with Mick. It didn't hurt in the moment, but now, there was a dull throb where he'd penetrated me.

I tried to sit up, maybe go use the bathroom, but I was hit with a wave of vertigo and flopped back against the pillow, my body a thousand kilos. In my logical mind, I knew this wouldn't kill me, but it sure as hell felt like it, worse than any flu or stomach virus; I hadn't been in this much agony since...

Mary's shrill cry pierced through the air, seemingly out of nowhere. Nothing fell to the floor, no one rang the doorbell, she just started wailing; perhaps she had a nightmare.

Once again, I attempted to push myself out of the quicksand bed, but the silky sheets kept swallowing me whole. It didn't matter though- Paul was there to comfort his daughter a few seconds later, his quick footsteps and clear eyes letting me know he was sober. 

Paul scooped the child out of her crib, her sobs diminishing slightly with warm arms around her, comforting her, but it took several minutes for her to calm down entirely, sniffingly and squeaking. I didn't look away, not just because my head, neck, and shoulders all hurt too severely for me to try and shift positions, but also because the way he rocked and shooshed Mary was almost hypnotic, the warm, gooey feeling in my chest easing the pain from this brutal hangover. He looked so beautiful, his beard recently trimmed, faded purple shadows under his eyes, but he still retained that famous, youthful beauty. Despite Mary's crying, he didn't seem too perturbed; he was used to taking care of her. My mind drifted, without my intention or consent, to the fantasy of me waking up to this, my husband rocking my child. It took me a moment to realize that my desire wasn't directed towards Paul, but the idea of being a mother, and the warmth in my belly hardened to a hard, hot pit of longing and grief.