Love To Hate You

by Isabelle Richards

  It’s a quick drive to the club, but it feels like an eternity. My stomach is in knots, and I can’t relax. My foot won’t stop bouncing. I wasn’t this nervous before the Super Bowl.

  The driver, Mark, pulls up to a back entrance. “I’ll be listening. As soon as I hear you’re getting ready to come out, I’ll be right back here with the engine running. Good luck.”

  The ground vibrates from the heavy bass from the club. A long line wraps around the front of the building. Thankfully, Vic and Butch got us VIP passes. Apparently they took a tour of the club earlier and paid off a few attendants to help us out.

  The smell of fog machines and sweat hits me as soon as we walk in. The club is in an old power plant that has to be four or five stories high. The whole first floor is a giant dance floor with bars on either end. A staircase in the middle leads up to a smaller second floor, where the DJ is set up. That’s also where the VIP area is. Unlike most of the clubs I go to that cater toward luxury, this club is raw. People come here to dance and hear music. If you want to see and be seen, you’re in the wrong place. There are only ten tables in the whole place, and they’re in the VIP section. Apparently Sven and his cohorts have one of them. At least that’ll make it easier to find her.

  Techno, or electric music or whatever they call this shit, isn’t really my thing, but this guy’s pretty good. I mean, if the circumstances were different, I certainly wouldn’t have paid $150 a head to get in, but then again, if circumstances were different, I wouldn’t be here at all. Ari would be at home with me, not in some club in Germany, coked out of her mind and listening to a bizarre remix of “Get Down on It” by Kool and the Gang. But things are as they are.

  Once we’re in, I hug Charlie. “Good luck. If anything makes you uncomfortable, get out of there.”

  “We’ll be fine. Go make yourself scarce.” Butch threads her arm through Charlie’s. “They’re at the fifth table along the wall. My guys haven’t seen her in a while though. She might be dancing. We’ll keep you posted.”

  As soon as they walk away, I lose them in the crowd. This place is jam-packed with people. It takes me forever, but I finally cross the VIP section to a place with a decent view of the tables. I don’t see Ari anywhere, but I do see Sven and the other guys from Butch’s pictures.

  I spot Charlie, Spencer, Butch, and Vic break through the crowd as they walk down the row of tables. Despite how nervous she is, Charlie plays the part well. She and Spencer walk through the crowd, looking as if they don’t have a care in the world. They laugh and move to the music as though it’s just any other night at a club. When they get in front of Ari’s table, Charlie casually scans the group. Her eyes go wide as her smile turns to a look of pure terror.

  Charlie tries to push the people around the table out of her way. “How can you just stand there? She needs help.”

  “She’s fine,” someone says over Charlie’s mic. “Relax. Who the fuck are you anyway?”

  “Chase, something’s wrong,” Butch says into the com. “Stay put until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Fuck waiting. I push through the crowd, using the same force I would on the field. People are shoved and toes may get stepped on, but I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is getting to Ari.

  “Chase!” Charlie shouts when she sees me. “She doesn’t look good. We need to get her out of here.”

  Ari’s slumped onto Charlie’s lap, her clothes hanging off of her. If they can be described as clothes. More like scraps.

  Some asshole tries to block me from getting to her. “This is a private table, pal. I’m not sure who you guys think you are, but you need to get the hell out of here before I get security to kick your asses out of here.”

  I elbow him in the gut, hard. Coughing, he doubles over, trying to catch his breath. The girl he’s with gets up to see if he’s okay, clearing my path to Ari.

  I tap the side of Ari’s face, trying to get her attention. “Ari? Baby? Wake up for me, please. Ari?”

  She’s so pale she looks gray. Her skin is so hot it singes my fingers. Her eyelids flutter when I speak to her, but she never opens her eyes. Fuck, I think she’s ODing. I’ve got to get her out of here.

  One of the guys from Butch’s presentation is on Ari’s other side. “She’s fine, man, just taking a little breather. Leave her the hell alone. Like the man said, this is a private party.” He puts his hand on her leg. “She’s got plenty of people looking out for her. Mind your own business, friend.”

  I push him away, knocking his ass to the floor. “Get your hands off of her. Don’t you ever fucking touch her.”

  He smirks as he sits up. “I can put my hands wherever I want. She’s with me.”

  My fist clenches. I’m about to knock the smirk off of his face when Spencer grabs him by the collar, pulls him to his feet, then slugs him.

  Spencer looks at me. “You don’t have time to get into a fight right now. Get Ari, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  I pick her up and turn around, looking for the fastest way out of here.

  “This way,” Vic says, pointing toward the back. “There’s an emergency exit. Follow me.”

  He does a great job of parting the crowd, clearing a path for me to walk through. Vic opens the exit, and the cold air rushes in. Looking at her, I hope the blast of cold will make her stir, but she just lays limp in my arms.

  Vic opens the back door of the SUV. “Go. We’ve got another car for everyone else. We’ll meet you back there.”

  “Is she breathing?” Mark shouts as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Yes, but it sounds strained.”

  “Strained is okay. We’ll be there in just a few minutes. Make sure she keeps breathing. Does it feel like she’s running a fever?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “She’s burning up.”

  “We need to cool her down before it cooks her brain,” he says. “There’s a cooler back there with some ice packs. Put one behind her neck, one behind each knee, and one at each elbow. That will help lower her body temp.”

  I reach into the cooler and do as he instructed. Once the ice packs are in place, I look at her and brush the hair back from her face. “Ari, you have to wake up for me. Please.” I kiss her forehead, and her hot skin burns my lips.

  Her legs start to move, but not in a way that makes me think she’s waking up.

  “She’s twitching! What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Could be a seizure, could just be a muscle spasm. We’re almost there. Hang on.”

  Seizure? Jesus Christ. This could kill her! “What do I do?” I shout.

  “Pray, man. All you can do is pray.”

  “Ari, you have to pull through this. I know you’re lost in there, but fight. You have to fight.” My head drops to her chest as tears fill my eyes. “I can’t lose you, not like this.” I’ve never felt this helpless. She could die here in my arms, and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it. Frustration and fear start to take over. I want to scream or put my fist through the window. But I don’t. I need to keep my focus on Ari. Her body continues to tremble and I plead with her to hang on a little longer, hoping some part of her hears me. The SUV pulls into the underground garage then comes to a stop in front of the elevator. “This goes directly to the clinic. Let’s get her upstairs.”

  He opens the door, and I carry her out. When the elevator doors open on our floor, a woman in a white lab coat and scrubs is waiting with a stretcher. I lay Ari on it. Two men in blue scrubs push the stretcher down the hall, and I follow them, but the doctor stops me.

  “I’ll take it from here,” she says in a thick German accent. “Please wait in your room.”

  I don’t want to let go of Ari’s hand. A horrible feeling that if I let go, I may never see her again overtakes me.

  “Sir, I need to examine her. You must let her go.”

  Let her go? Why do I feel like I’m always letting her go when all I want is to hold her forever?

  The doctor pushes me in the
chest so hard I stumble back, and Ari’s hand slips from mine. The doctor shouts something in German, and the nurses roll the stretcher down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chase

  The ticking of the clock is torture. Each tick is a reminder that another second has gone by and they’re still working on Ari.

  Tick

  Another second she’s fighting for a life I’m not sure she still wants to hold onto. Would she have started on this downward spiral if she did?

  Tick

  Another second for me to question every decision I’ve made. Why didn’t we take her to the hospital? I know this place is medically equipped, but what if she needs more than they have?

  Tick

  How will I survive if she doesn’t make it?

  Memories of every harsh word, every stupid game we played to hurt each other, years lost to pride and fear flash before me. So much time wasted. Regret masquerading as hatred. It was so much easier to loathe her than to face the fact that I fucked up everything. Sure, I had decided I was ready to take our relationship to the next level, but I never paused to think about her. Was she ready? Our past has cut deep wounds in each of us. Mine have healed, but maybe hers haven’t. I was a jealous, impulsive, selfish prick for years, and I hurt her time and time again. I wanted her to have faith in us, but did I ever give her anything to believe in? Guilt and remorse consume me to the point I can barely breathe.

  Charlie and Spencer burst through the door. Charlie runs to me and throws her arms around me. “I thought she was dead. When I saw her slumped over the chair, she didn’t look like she was breathing, and she was so… so… she looked like a corpse!”

  I hold her tight. “I know. It was scary. She’s in with the doctors now.”

  “I’m so worried we’re going to lose her,” she sobs into my shoulder.

  “Ari’s a fighter. She’ll beat this,” I promise, even though I’m not sure I believe it.

  She pulls back and wipes her eyes. “If she doesn’t, I’m going to kill her!”

  “Have they given you any sort of an update?” Spencer asks.

  I shake my head. “They haven’t told me anything.”

  Butch walks in a minute later. I jump up and pull her aside.

  Speaking in hushed tones so Charlie doesn’t hear, I ask, “Are they equipped for this? Should we have gone to the hospital?”

  Looking in my eyes, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “She’s in the best hands. If anyone can pull her back from an overdose, it’s Dr. Gerber. In many instances, these situations look a lot worse than they are. I’m not trying to downplay the seriousness of what’s going on, but if she were going to die, it probably would have happened already. She’s hung on this long, so she’ll probably pull through. And sometimes an overdose can be the catalyst for change. Almost dying can be real eye-opening. This might be the best thing that could have happened.”

  The best thing that could have happened? Is she insane?

  I’m about to scream at her when she gestures to the chairs next to Charlie and Spencer. “We need to talk about a few things. Let’s sit.”

  As pissed as I am at her for saying that, screaming at her won’t solve anything. So I let it go and take the chair next to my sister.

  Butch tucks her hair behind her ears. “Over the last week, we’ve accomplished quite a bit. We’ve tracked her down and brought her to safety. At this point, my team has done everything we can. The rest is up to her. She make wake up and be relieved to see you. Or she may wake up angry and resentful.”

  “She may not wake up at all,” Charlie says, her throat scratchy from tears.

  “Let’s try to think positively,” Butch replies. “This may be a wakeup call for Arianna, or she may decide to hit the snooze button and keep on partying. Hell, she may take the damn alarm clock and throw it out the window and run back to Sven. You can’t control what she does. The only thing you can do is decide how you will respond to her. You have to think long and hard if you want to stay in her life if she continues to go down this path.”

  Charlie’s face turns red. “I’m not just going to abandon her if that’s what you mean.”

  Butch smiles softly, trying to diffuse Charlie’s anger. “Of course not. I would never suggest that. I just want you to be prepared for anything when she wakes up. We rescued her, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to be rescued. Some people want to stay lost.” Butch stands. “I’ll give you guys some space. I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

  After Butch leaves, we sit silently, all words swallowed by emotion. We’re left to our prayers, our fears, and the ticking of that fucking clock.

  A few hours later, the doctor comes into the room and breaks the silence. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Dr. Gerber.”

  Shaking her hand, I reply, “I’m Chase. This is my sister, Charlie, and her husband, Spencer.”

  Dr. Gerber shakes their hands. “Arianna is resting.” Her accent is thick, but her English is quite good. “As far as overdoses go, this could have been much worse. She’s strong, healthy. She’ll be fine. Having said that, she’s severely dehydrated, so she’ll receive IV fluids for a few days. I’ve also given her a dose of benzodiazepine. Since we don’t know the extent of her physical dependency, if we can keep her asleep through the initial withdrawal stage, it may make it easier on her.”

  “Isn’t that addictive? Should we really be giving her something else to get hooked on?” Charlie stops herself from saying something else. She looks down, embarrassed. “I know you’re the doctor. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m exhausted, and all of this is so overwhelming.”

  Dr. Gerber smiles. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a reasonable question. This isn’t a medication I would continue to use for that very reason. It’s just to help her rest during this initial stage of withdrawal. Withdrawal symptoms vary based on a number of factors. Length of use, overall health, metabolism. Arianna is young, healthy, fit, and from what I’ve gathered she hasn’t been using for very long. I suspect she will have muscle aches, nausea and headaches of varying degrees of severity. The medication should help her sleep through the worst of it.”

  Charlie nods, indicating she’s satisfied with the answer.

  “Arianna has an arrhythmia, which we are keeping a close eye on,” the doctor continues. “It takes anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours for cocaine to work through the body. When that happens, her heart may return to normal, or the arrhythmia could be a result of permanent damage done to her heart. Only time will tell.”

  I clear my throat. “Her father died of cardiomyopathy a few months ago. I know it can sometimes be genetic, but I don’t know if she has been tested.”

  Dr. Gerber pulls out her pad and jots down a note. “I’ll run some additional tests. We’ll monitor her closely, and I’ll discuss the results with her when she wakes. Together, we’ll determine the best course of treatment moving forward. Arianna has a multitude of treatment options available, ranging from aggressive to moderate. It will be up to her how she would like to proceed. My practice’s aim is to offer unique solutions to people in complicated situations. She’s welcome to explore treatment options here with me, or if she’d rather return to the US, I can provide the support she needs until she’s able to travel. When Ms. Butcher came to me with your situation, I agreed to assist in any way possible, but I need to make one point very clear: treatment in my facility is done on a voluntary basis. Patients must consent. When Arianna wakes, I will talk with her. If she’s interested in the kind of treatment I provide, then we’ll work together. If she isn’t, there’s nothing I can do. You must prepare yourself for that outcome as it’s a real possibility.”

  Treatment plans and consent forms seem like a lifetime away. All I care about is that Arianna’s alive and will be okay. I nod. “I understand. May I see her?”

  She pulls a walkie-talkie out of her pocket and says something in German into it. “I’ll h
ave the nurses bring her to her room. You may stay with her, but try not to wake her. The longer she sleeps, the easier this process will be on her. There is an emergency button in each of the bedrooms. If you have even the slightest concern, push the button. It’s better to be cautious.” Sliding the notebook back into her pocket, she stands. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” She looks at her watch. “Or later today, I suppose. Try to get some rest. It’s bound to be a long few days.”

  The doctor opens the door, and the nurses wheel Arianna’s stretcher into the suite and directly to the far bedroom. Charlie and I rush into the room as the nurses carefully lift her from the stretcher onto the bed. They hook up all the monitors and hang her IV bag. After giving us a quick nod, they silently leave the room.

  “She looks better,” Charlie whispers.

  I put my arm around her shoulders. “I told you, Ari’s a fighter. Everything’s going to be okay.” I kiss the top of her head. “You should get some sleep.”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet. I just want to watch her for a little bit.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I really thought finding her would be the hard part,” she says with a shaky voice. “And then at the club, when she looked like she was dead in that chair, I thought getting through that would be the hard part. But now, seeing her here, hearing about the road in front of her, I think the hard part is just beginning.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “But she’s strong. Think about how she was with her knee. The injury was awful, but the challenge was the rehab. She spent what? Eighteen months trying to get back into game shape? There isn’t a person on this planet more determined than Ari. If she wants it badly enough, she’ll make it happen. She’ll get through this.”

  “But remember, she fought for all those months, and she failed. At least, in her mind it was a failure. It was the first obstacle in her life that no matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t overcome it. She couldn’t will her knee to heal. That changed her. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it, but she was different after that. What if this time she doesn’t want to fight? Both of them told us to be ready for that possibility.”