I’ve dedicated my life to saving others, but we all need to put distance between ourselves and something vitally important every now and then. Both Brass and Coop understand my need to separate myself from this underground industry for a while until I can find whatever the hell it is I’m craving in my life. Right now, though, it is not this.
I cannot stomach one more woman begging me to save her while my own soul needs saving. Uprooting is my only option at this point, and nobody knows too much of my plan as of right now. I’ve decided what my next step will be, but I have no plans beyond that first footfall. As much as I loathe the thought of giving up control, it may possibly be what I need—a loss of self that the drugs no longer provide for me.
Since Chloe, I’ve managed to find some peace. There are two women whom I have taken an interest in, but I don’t need anything more from them than what they are currently providing me with—their bodies. No, I’m not a misogynistic asshole; I’m merely an asshole who needs a sexual release once in a while.
Ever since Chloe’s disappearance, I’ve emotionally detached myself from the two women who desire me, from two women who I need to keep myself afloat in the sea of slavery.
Shortly after Chloe was kidnapped, I fell into a black hole, the depths of which I would never have been able to get out of on my own—and then Adriana Hugh reached her hand in and gripped her fingers around mine. She’s been pulling ever since, and as much as I try to fall back into the darkness, she refuses to let go and allow me to belong to the deep hell once more.
Between the two of us, we have been flying back and forth from the States to Australia every other month to be with each other, and we’ve kept it quiet until recently. Adriana works for Wade in Brass Global as his personal secretary. Reassured that he’d understand since Wade himself found love recently, Adriana and I let it slip that we’ve been together. Needless to say, Wade was not impressed by my encroachment, nor was he shocked by my admission. I’m sure that he understands that celibacy is one thing that I would never agree to.
At first, Addy was someone who I was able to talk to about what was going on with the searches, but we somehow transformed into more. By more, I mean that we’ve been sleeping together for seven years, but neither of us has pursued anything beyond that from each other. I’m not entirely sure if she’s content with my seeing her as well as Isla Madden, but she hasn’t made any arguments against it.
Adriana has been my life raft while I’ve been trapped in a raging sea, where no one knows how close I have been to drowning. How close I’ve been to giving up and allowing my body to sink to the deepest parts of the ocean. I’ve hurt her more than I care to understand, though. I can see it in her eyes every time I’m with her lately, and I know that I need to do something about it.
Isla—Lord, help me—has been a constant in my life since my freshman year in college over nine and a half years ago. Unlike Addy, Isla is not my polar opposite. She sleeps around and enjoys being single as much as I do. She lives to raise hell and revels in getting a rise out of people. Isla manages a whiskey library called Blended, which is owned by none other than Wade Brass. The three of us have been close since day one, and we’ve all been blended together. I met Wade through our fraternity and Isla through him.
While I consider Wade family, Isla took herself out of that equation when we started fucking on a regular basis.
Now, it’s the end of March, and I have not seen Isla or Addy since I left Scotland at the end of January. I’ve spoken to each of them on occasion, but I’ve not put too much thought into either one. I’m an asshole—I know, but I’m not looking for anything aside from someone to sink into, and they are both well aware of that. The mere thought of being in a relationship again and failing yet another woman is like a wooden stake to my already-mangled heart.
Tomorrow, I’ve decided, I will make my way back to the United States for a while. I haven’t exactly told either woman that I’m flying back, nor have I told them that it will be a permanent move.
I’ve decided to give up my sanctuary here in Sydney, Australia, and say goodbye to those who were close to Chloe. I can no longer force myself to separate my two lives by oceans when I know more waits for me back home. I’ve decided that it’s time for me to live instead of wading in the dark, endless waters while I wait to be taken under.
I’m not looking forward to the colder weather that Chicago has to offer, but it will be good to start fresh on my own once again. I’ll keep this house in Sydney, as it hosts too many memories, both good and bad, for me to give it up.
The world enjoys spinning our lives out of control and watching us fall. This was my descent. I don’t believe that I’d be able to stand up once more if the result will be the same if and when I find my reason for being here again.
Once I’ve finished packing one of my two bags that I’ll be dragging through the airport tomorrow, I let out a heavy breath before grabbing my guitar, spliff, and lighter and stroll out onto my patio which overlooks the ocean.
I roll up my pants after I draw in a lungful of the tobacco and herb combination and sit down at the edge of the pool, dipping my feet and calf muscles into the crystal clear water. I exhale a breath of smoke for the last time, savoring the way it moves as it leaves the confines of my lungs and passes through my lips.
In order to get my life together, I’ve opted to give up this habit. Instead of running from something that I’ve had no control over, I’m going to take back that control, making it bend beneath me, instead of letting it twist me into distortion.
I run my fingers over the strings of my custom acoustic that Isla gave me for my birthday a few years back. I adjust it on my thigh and keep the spliff between my lips as I start to strum the hypnotic cords of Nothing Else Matters. The soothing quality of the notes touch a part of my soul that has been longing for more. Once I’ve played the song through, I set it down beside me and lie back on the edge of the pool.
My mind doesn’t seem to take a break, though, as I argue with myself about my reasons for leaving.
I’ve enjoyed the freedom of doing what and whom I want these last few years, and I don’t see the need to change that in the coming future. Nor do I feel the guilt that should be associated with fucking other women while Chloe was still alive. It was never done to rebel; it was done to get me through the hard-hitting times.
To save ourselves, we have to sacrifice pieces of who we are, and I’ve sacrificed more of myself than anyone should have let me get away with. I’ve got nothing to prove, but I’ve got a plan to get out of here that will ultimately allow me to get out of my own head.
I suck in another lungful and hold in the smoke for a couple of seconds before allowing it to escape. Once the immaculate high captures my body, I get up and drag my sorry ass into the living room where I remain until I pass out into an oblivion, a stupor that haunts me with images of Chloe’s death and mutilations. Images that I eventually need to escape from.
When I wake up, all of the lights in the house are off, and I’m veiled in a complete silence. Death transcends the physical form and makes itself known, especially in the dark. Right now, it’s as if I can feel the dreams seeping from my mind and out into the air around me in an attempt to suffocate what I have managed to salvage of myself. I pull myself upright and run a hand down my face, realizing that the spliff was laced with something a whole fuck-ton stronger than simply tobacco and herb.
My phone goes off, and I groan at the instant headache that makes its claim around my skull. The crushing weight of the developing pain radiates down the column of my neck and eerily spreads over my shoulders. If I wasn’t so used to the debilitating pain, I’d rip at my own jugular. I glance down at the screen, which is lit up with Adriana’s name and picture, inviting me to answer it. I recollect what I can of myself before I answer with a swipe of my finger. Instead of bringing the phone up to my ear, I place her on speaker phone. The thought of having any sound that close to my head right now would drill little holes i
n all of my nerve endings and wholly wipe me out.
“What’s up, Addy?”
“Hey you.”
I clear my throat and pull my body up into a standing position. Steadying myself before taking the steps to get to the kitchen, I hold the phone down at my side. “What the fuck is the time?”
“It’s just past eight in the morning here, so uhm, about eleven in the evening your time. You sound like you were asleep. I wouldn’t have called if I knew that you’d be in bed.”
There’s more to that statement than I care for, and she knows it. She’s been silently pushing for more out of this thing we have going on ever since we flew to Scotland together. In actuality, she might have been pushing for more before that, but I didn’t take note of it. Right now, though, that little push was her way of telling me that she wants to know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to play pretend when I don’t want to change. She’d have to break my fucking bed before I decide to tie myself down to one woman again.
“Yeah, well, I just passed out. Are you at work? Wade needs to let you come in later. It’s far too early for you.”
“I just got here, and there’s a message from you on his office number.”
I frown, not remembering what the hell I said or when I even called. “There is?”
“Yes. If that’s how you feel, then please don’t play dumb.”
“Play dumb? When the fuck does it say that I called?”
She pauses for a beat too long. “About two and a half hours ago.”
I go into the refrigerator and uncap a bottle of water, throwing half of it back before I pull open a cabinet stocked with my store-bought drugs. After popping four mind-numbing headache pills, I answer her. “Would you mind enlightening me as to what I said?”
“Why? Were you drunk? You sure didn’t sound drunk.”
Fuck me backward and in every other direction that this woman can think of. She’s been so damned persistent about knowing more each time we talk, and the more she asks, the less I give her. How can a woman not take note of the pattern?
“No, Addy, I wasn’t. I was—”
I cut myself off because I know that she does not favor my use of recreational drugs. She’s part of the reason that tonight was my last jaunt with them. No, I’m not kicking the habit for her per se. I’m kicking it because of her influence.
“You were high,” she says with a heavy sigh.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, actually. How about I forward you the message and you can call me back once you’re done listening to yourself ramble on and on?”
I frown and slide my hand down the side of my face. “Go for it.”
“Goodbye, Liam,” she murmurs before she hangs up and I set the phone down on the counter, watching the light dim and then turn off, providing my head with a much-needed reprieve. I attempt to remember calling Wade, but nothing surfaces. Why the fuck would I call his office phone instead of his cell?
My phone pings, the noise further exacerbating my headache. I slide my finger to play the message that Addy sent me to listen to. I hit play and keep it on speaker, placing one hand on either side of the counter and ducking my head down between my arms to keep the nausea at bay for as long as possible. I don’t get migraines too often, but this one is going to be a heavy hitter.
My voice comes over the speakerphone, and I cringe at my obvious stupor.
“Hey fucker,” I say and it’s followed by a pause, “I’ll be flying into Chicago tomorrow at some point. I haven’t told Isla or Addison yet. Wait, that’s wrong, it’s got to be wrong. The last Addison that I nailed must have been at that frat party where you fucked our little Isla.”
I chuckle before speaking again. “Adriana, yeah, there we go. That’s the right kind of pussy that I’m talking about. Fuck, she’s got a pussy that I’d sing to, but let me tell you, she’s fucking relentless. She understands where I stand regarding relationships, but she’s going to keep pushing me but passively. Passive-aggressively. You know, she reminds me of Chloe. Maybe too much, and no, not in the physical way because let’s be honest here . . . we know who that thought will lead me to.”
I hear myself whistle, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’d be the someone who she wants me to be. She’s not Chloe, and she never will be, so she needs to quit pushing her shit on me, ya know? For fuck’s sake, she’s just trying too damn hard. Wade? You there, you asshole? Hello?”
The line goes silent for a while before I’m able to hear a rustling around, and then I hang up, ending the message that was supposed to be for Wade.
Fuck.
My phone chimes again with an email alert, but I ignore it and dial Addy instead. She must answer because it stops ringing on the second ring. “Adriana?”
She chooses to remain silent.
“I don’t remember calling or saying any of that. I apologize.”
“I can’t do this any longer,” she says so softly that it rips at something inside of me, something that should have died off a long time ago.
“You don’t mean that. I was fucked out of my mind—”
She cuts me off before I am able to spew out another excuse. “No. You might not have been sober, but your words sounded truthful. I’m sorry that I remind you of her, but knowing how you truly feel . . . I’m sorry. I can’t be your side piece any longer.”
“You’ve never been a side piece.”
“No? It sure has felt like it for years now. I should have realized that you wouldn’t want anything more when you brought Isla into the equation. I was simply blinded by the charm you used to have. I need to go—Mr. Brass just walked in. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll ensure that he gets your message.”
“Shit, Adriana, don’t—”
“Goodbye, Liam.”
The phone beeps once, informing me that the call has indeed ended. I form a fist and slam my bare knuckles against the marble countertop, welcoming the sting that cracks around each one of them.
My gut is telling me to call her again and apologize, but my mind refuses to let that happen. If I do follow through and call her, then I’m allowing her into more than just my bed. I’m risking more than just my dick’s happiness here; I do not want nor need more than what we’ve been doing. Either path will lead me to a dark place, and I will regret doing one or the other without a doubt. The thought of letting her down and pushing her away makes me drop my head in dissatisfaction with myself, but I quickly remind myself that it’s better that it happens now before our hookup goes beyond what I want it to be. Although, I’m beginning to realize that it’s gone well past that point for her.
I push myself up and off of the kitchen countertop and trash the now-empty bottle of water before retiring to my bedroom for the evening. Each step I take up to my bedroom seems to intensify the jarring and brutal daggers in my head. I crash on the bed without undressing or pulling the covers down as my body seizes in pain. The phantom pain festers, and I want to fucking perish underneath its pervasive hold.
The next morning goes by in a rush as I’m herded through security lines at the Sydney Airport until I’m on board and headed in the direction of Los Angeles. A lingering headache doesn’t help either as the jet engines roar to life. I may be free of the gnarled claws of a migraine, but the agony brought on by every person’s voice reminds me just how much I wish I was sitting on the tarmac alone. Flights like these make me grateful for my own jet, but when it’s out for maintenance, I don’t have any other choice but to fly with the rest of society.
As soon as we’re in the air, I push my seat back and hit play on my phone to drown out the soft hum of the plane as well as the two women who have not shut up beside me in first class.
I’ll have to endure some level of discomfort, and right now, I’m choosing something that I have control over rather than their fucking cackling.
It’s the same shit, just on a different level, and I need to keep the headache contained before I get swallowed whole
by its bitter pangs of unmedicated perdition.
I force my eyes to shut and focus on the soothing guitar riff that’s passing through my headphones before sleep attempts to take me.
Fuck the turmoil of my yesterdays.
Fuck those almighty tomorrows that I think may bring me something to live for.
As of this moment I decide that I will live for each day and enjoy it as it comes and is given to me. Silver platter or not, I’ll breathe life into myself once again. Regardless of the ragged struggle that I’ll need to brutally confront, I know that there’s something beyond the clouds of pain to live for. I just have to find it for myself.
Incidentally, I’m not someone who needs saving any more than I need a drink. I don’t need nor do I want a knight in shining armor, but as a woman, I do need a few things. The only things I’m certain about in life are orgasms and whiskey, and right about now, I could use one of each.
I’m not afraid to tell it like it is, and I’ve been called a total bitch because of it, but it doesn’t bother me. I understand that words are more powerful than we assume them to be, and as much as they seemed to have controlled my life, I won’t play the victim for another second. The majority of the time, I have to remind myself to dust myself off and don the crown to remember who I am.
My life seems to be a revolving door of sorts, nowadays, of whiskey, men, orgasms, and repeat. I don’t mind it, but I’d like a little bit more out of life at some point . . . not right now, though. Today and every day to come, I see myself exactly where I am. I’m content, and I don’t plan on changing the way I live my life anytime soon. Yes, I’m selfish and a bitch, but I’ve been living a life that belongs to me and only me. It’s honestly the first time in my life that I’ve felt more than the drowning emotions of depression. After years of being in a medicated coma of sorts, I’ve managed to wean myself off of it for the first time. Today is day one without the slightest dose, and I’m excited to see how it goes.
Intertwined (Redemption #2) Page 3