My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 65: Secrets

I've got a super long chapter for you guys this time, to make up for the infrequent updates and the shorter chapter last time. 

TW, this part contains descriptions of sexual abuse, and so it might be upsetting to people who are sensitive to that.

Jackson didn't come back last night, his room empty when I checked in the morning. Panic coursed through my veins, a reflex from his previous abandonment, but I shook it off.  He'd return; he had to.

When I got down to the kitchen, I discovered a note from Linda on the kitchen table saying she took Mary to the pediatrician for an earache and her husband would pick up lunch for the both of us. 

"Paul!" I called up the stairs. "Are you here?"

Blissfully, I got no response. The walls of my vagina still ached from the sex we had last night, my lips swollen from his passionate kisses. I didn't think I could look him in the eyes after that. 

What are we doing? What am I doing?

I sat around for forty minutes before I decided I couldn't wait for Paul to bring food, opening the fridge and pulling out romaine hearts, cherry tomatoes, shredded cheese, and croutons, tossing them all together in a bowl for a salad. I needed to stop eating like shit if I ever wanted the bundle of fat on my lower stomach to go away. Or I could just pick up my heroin habit again, that would help me shed the pounds. Just one afternoon of chasing the dragon left my appetite suppressed- and my stomach ached from constipation, one of many unfortunate side effects.

A sharp rapping at the door nearly startled me out of my seat, my pulse skyrocketing. Annoyed, I shoved my fork back into my salad without taking a single bite, jogging over to answer the door.

"These bloody groupies," Thelma snapped, pushing past me and into the foyer, water droplets running off her rain slicker. "Don't they ever piss off?"

"What are you doing here?" I asked as she gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "Not that I'm complaining."

I slid my hands onto her hips, giving them a squeeze, but she stepped out of my grasp, pushing her flaxen locks out of her face. "Sorry, but I'm not here with the best news. Did you hear who ended up in the hospital last night?"

My mind instantly went to Brandon. I imagined him lying in a cot, pulse down to two dozen beats a minute, deep purple shadows under his eyes. But I swallowed down the bile rising in my chest, chastising my irrational thoughts. Thelma had no way of knowing about my ex-fiancé, his terminal cancer, or this kiss we shared yesterday. 

"No, I didn't. Who is it?"

"Mr. Grant, someone beat him up right outside the school; he's in intensive care."

The blood drained from my face, and I only saved myself from passing out by slamming down into my seat, gripping the edge of the kitchen table so hard my knuckles went white. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Well, he's not gonna die, if that's what you mean." She sat down next to me, plucking a tomato from my salad, popping it between her lips. The way the juice burst from the fleshy vegetable made me want to vomit all over again, like blood oozing out of a crushed eyeball. "He's got a few broken ribs, a concussion, some teeth knocked out, at least according to the people who saw."

"Jesus H. Christ," I said, putting my face in my hands.

"Don't tell me you're shedding a tear over than pervert."