I laugh through my sobs and I sound even more pathetic. “You’re only just realizing that now? I’m heartbroken! I’m madly in love with you!”
“Okay, shhh . . .” He holds his hands up. “Calm down!” I hear a whisper of “Jesus” before “Have you slept lately?”
I shake my head, trying to stop crying. I can’t. “I just took a pill, though. It should help. If not, I’ll take another.”
“Sleeping pills?”
“Yes. And a Xanax. I went off them for a while, but I’m getting back on them now. I’ll be fine soon, trust me.”
He eyes the vodka, and I know what he’s thinking. Stupid. Yes, I know.
“Okay . . .” He heaves a big sigh. I’ve shaken him up. He just wants to get the hell away from me.
“Please don’t leave.” I reach for him, rope my arms around his waist. “Please stay awhile. I’m having a really tough night.”
For so long, he keeps his eyes closed. Thinking.
Fighting his feelings for me, I’m sure.
He knows we’re perfect together.
When his eyes finally open, they trail down the front of my nightshirt. And his fingertips . . . they twirl the spaghetti strap, as if he’s tempted to slip it off. “I want you to go lie down in bed,” he says softly. “I’ll get you another sleeping pill.”
My heart jumps with hope. Is it possible? Has he changed his mind, at least for tonight? I’ll start with just tonight. He’s not ready to walk away from me yet, no matter what he says. He’s just afraid. I have to convince him that I won’t ever hurt him. I won’t ever betray him like I did.
And I won’t, because I’m going to make millions of dollars off the sale of that vase and live how I’m meant to live, and even though I can’t do anything about my dying mother, at least I have that.
Everything is going to work out.
“Okay,” I agree, making my way over to slip into my double bed that he and I haven’t slept in together yet. I want to. I want to erase the last time we were together, on my couch—and I want to do it tonight.
I’ve learned a thing or two in my time trying to please men who pay for me, and so I lie down on top of my sheets, letting my gown slide high up my thigh without giving too much away. Jace did say that he likes my muscular thighs and my curvy figure.
Finally he returns, with a clear glass in hand, and chunks of ice floating inside. He has one for himself, too. “Figured one drink wouldn’t hurt.” His eyes trail over my body and I see something unreadable in them. Something cold.
I push the thought away.
He’ll change his mind.
“I crushed the pill and dumped it in for you. That’s what I do sometimes, when I can’t sleep. Works every time.”
I take the glass, even though I know it’s stupid to take a sleeping pill with vodka, but Jace does it and he says it’s fine and he’d never hurt me. He cares about me. I know he does. I wince as tiny chunks of pill coat my tongue.
“I know, it tastes weird, but it works. Trust me.”
“I do trust you.” I smile and take another large sip, forcing back the granular bits. “An Ambien, right?” I should have made sure he didn’t take the pill from the unmarked bottle on the left in the medicine cabinet. I don’t even know how old that Oxy is. Six months at least. A client gave them to me one night. I never took any, but I also never flushed them.
He smiles gently. “Right. Drink up.”
By the time I’ve finished my drink—straight vodka’s an acquired taste that I have mastered in the last year—my tongue has gone numb.
“Talk to me.”
He smiles, but it’s a bit strained. “About what?”
I nod to his drink. “Aren’t you going to have yours?”
He swirls it around. “I don’t know. I like watching you more.” His gaze crawls over my body, stalling on my panties, where I’ve let my nightshirt slide up. “Here. How about you drink mine.” He hands it to me and then, with his now free hand, strokes the side of my face, pushing my hair away. “Go on. Drink up.”
I do, happy to please him in any way I can. He’s so gentle, so slow, it’s almost like he’s not even touching me. Or maybe it’s the sleeping pill taking effect. I can feel the weight of it in my stomach almost instantly, the potency beginning to radiate out into my limbs.
He continues stroking my face as I force down the drink, telling myself that this is the last one. In fact, this is the last vodka I’m ever drinking. I’m going to have to call in sick to work tomorrow, but I don’t care. I’ve already given my notice. Those assholes know my mother’s dying and they can’t give me more than three months off? Fuck them.
Everything tastes gritty now, like it’s chalky with pills, but that must just be the residue on my tongue from my drink. This is Jace’s drink.
“Can you lie down with me?” I ask, my lids beginning to feel heavy, my body sinking into the mattress. It’s not the most relaxing feeling, to be honest, but I guess that means the pill is working and I’ll be asleep soon.
Tomorrow will be better.
“Jace?” It takes some effort to say his name.
I crack my eyes open to see him flipping through my diary left on the nightstand. “Oh, God. No . . . ,” I say, and I intended that to be more vehement than I think it is when it comes out. There’s all kinds of things in there, about how much I love him, and about Grady—I don’t want him reading about me sleeping with another man.
“It’s okay. It’s good for me to read this,” he whispers, his face a sorrowful mask. “It makes me feel better about doing this. You weren’t going to stop, were you?”
Trying to win you back? I smile with my eyes closed now, because everything’s spinning. “No. I wasn’t. I love you too much,” I whisper, and I can’t be sure I even moved my mouth. “I think I’m going to fall asleep now.” I force my eyes open. Jace isn’t beside me anymore. Where did he go so fast? Movement catches my eye, and I strain to focus farther. He’s still here. He’s at the door now, with a cardboard box in his hand.
I knew buying that bowl for his mother was a good idea.
Swallowing is so hard right now.
Why is it so hard?
I’m so tired.