B – I’m dialing a doctor. Don’t move. They’ll be there to collect you soon. You’re going to be okay.

J – Hashtag hahahaha.

With a yawn and a smile, I decide I really should get some sleep. God only knows how long Rae is going to torment me tonight.

B – I think I’m going to try and get some sleep. Goodnight, stalker. Stay away from my window.

J – Goodnight. You look pretty in that nightgown tonight.

I laugh and shake my head, putting my phone down.

It’s been so long since I’ve laughed.

It feels nicer than I’m willing to admit.

 

 

CHAPTER 7

THEN – MADDIE

I stare at York.

Just stare at him.

He’s asleep on the couch, his arm flopping down beside him, still fully clothed, snoring. I take a shaky step closer, and kneel down, inspecting the arm that’s exposed. I could swear there is light bruising near his veins in the elbow region. I lean in closer, running a soft fingertip over the skin that looks just ... wrong.

Why would he have bruising there? Has he had a recent blood test? I know, deep down in my heart, that’s not the case. I know it because I’d know if he went to a doctor, and I know the only other thing that could cause those kinds of markings is something I’m not even close to wanting to acknowledge.

Mood swings.

Sleeping.

Not eating.

Highs and lows.

York has been off for weeks. My kind, sweet man is disappearing before my eyes, and in his place, a very angry, restless, tired person is presenting himself. I take a step back, heart racing, palms sweating, body on high alert. What am I supposed to do now? What about Rae? Do I approach him? Do I hope he just stops?

Maybe I’m wrong.

I’m not. I know I’m not.

I move into the kitchen and stand there, back pressed against the counter, arms crossed over my chest, feeling uneasy. I don’t know how to approach this. Is he addicted? Or is he just using something to stay awake during his shifts at night? If he is addicted, how do I get him to stop?

My head spins as I think of all the scenarios.

I love him. I have to help him. Whatever reason he turned to drugs, he needs me to guide him through. We can get through this, right? We can get through anything together. Can’t we?

A groan has my eyes darting to the couch. York is sitting up, running a hand through his messy hair. His eyes land on me, and they’re bloodshot, slightly sunken, and I could swear he’s lost weight. How did I not notice that? Have I been missing what’s right in front of me, or have I just ignored it because I was too scared to face the facts that this man might actually be doing the one thing I fear?

“Hey,” he mumbles sleepily, getting to his feet.

I just stare at him. How do I approach this? What if he gets really angry?

“Hi,” I say softly, walking over to him and placing my hands on his sides, staring up into eyes that I love so dearly. “How are you?”

He stares down at me, the emotion in his face seemingly non-existent. I used to be able to look into his eyes and see so much love. Now, I swear, I can’t see anything. He’s staring down at me, his hands are on my arms, but he’s not looking at me the way he’s always looked at me. His look is vacant. So. So. Vacant.

“I’m fine, you?” he says, as if nothing is wrong.

“You seem ... off. Are you not feeling well? You don’t look well.”

He lets me go and steps back. “I’m fine, Mad. Perfectly fine.”

He’s lying. He knows he’s lying. Because he looks to his left quickly and turns his back to me, leaning down to pick up his phone.

“Are you sure?” I push, just a little bit.

He straightens and looks over at me. “I’m tired. I’m not in the mood for your weird questioning. If you have something to say, come out and say it, otherwise let me go to sleep.”

I hesitate, then I say softly, “You just don’t seem yourself. I was worried that’s all.”

Say what you need to say, Maddie. Just say it.

But for some reason, something inside me is holding me back from saying what I want to say. What I need to say. Is it fear? Uneasiness? I’m not sure, but I just can’t get the words to leave my lips. I’m afraid of how he’ll react.

“I’m fine, honestly. I’m going to bed. I have another big night tonight.”

“You’ve been working extra shifts, is everything okay at work?” I try to ask casually.

“There you go with the fucking questions again,” he snaps.

I flinch and step backwards. “I was just asking about work.”

“Well, don’t, I spend all my fucking time there. When I’m home, I just want to be home. I don’t want to be thinking of that fucking place.”

Right.

Of course.

“I’m sorry,” I say, putting my hands up. “I’ll let you get some sleep. Maybe we can do something on the weekend, on your day off? I miss you.”

His eyes flare just a little. “I’m working all weekend.”

He never works all weekend.

“Oh,” I murmur. “Okay then, maybe next time.”

He studies me, then steps forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Sorry, baby. I promise I’ll take you out soon. Love you, okay?”

Those words should comfort me, but they just don’t. They really just don’t.

“Yeah, of course, don’t worry about it. I love you, too.”

“See you when I wake up.”

He disappears down the hall, and I watch him go.

My stomach sinks again.

What am I going to do?

~*~*~*~

The bedroom door bursts open, and I jerk upright in bed, trying to focus my eyes. It’s just past three in the morning and whoever just barged into my room didn’t do it quietly. My heart pounds as I reach for the lamp, flicking it on with trembling fingers. York stands in the doorway, trying to kick off his shoes, swaying a little as he does.

Why is he home this early? He usually works until at least five.

“Hey,” I say, and he jerks his head up, stumbling backwards, back slamming into the door.

“Fuck, Maddie, you didn’t need to scare the shit out of me.”

Didn’t he see the lamp flick on?

“You’re home early.”

He narrows his eyes. “You make that sound like it’s a fucking problem.”