by Claire Adams
"Nate?"
Fuck.
"Go back to bed, Abby," I growled from the ground.
"Nate, what's going on?" she asked.
"I said go back to bed. Leave me alone." She came up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.
"Nate, come back to bed," she said putting her hand back on my shoulder.
"Where's my kit?" I asked her.
"Your what?"
"My kit, Abby, don't play dumb. Did you take it? So I couldn't shoot up? That how you plan on helping me?" I demanded.
"Nate, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Tell me," I demanded.
"I don't know where it is," she insisted. She looked at my face, touching my cheek. I flinched away. "Have you been throwing up?" she asked. I ignored her question and tried to get up. "Nate," she called.
"Fuck off, Abby. Unless you're helping me find my kit, I don't want to hear it," I said.
I got up and left the room feeling bad for talking to her like that, but maybe she'd leave. She'd leave, and I wouldn't have to feel like a disgusting degenerate shoving the needle into my shoulder because my hands would be shaking too hard to get a vein without missing.
I got back out to the bedroom, starting with the bed. I ripped the covers off, throwing the pillows on the ground. I threw the cupboards open checking inside.
I was getting frustrated. I started on the couch, pulling all the cushions up. One of them caught the lamp on the second nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor.
"Nate!" I looked up seeing Abby in the bathroom doorway. The bathroom light was on behind her, so she looked like a ghost or something, like she wasn't really there. She came up to me. "Nate, stop," she said, taking the cushion I was holding from my hand. "You have to calm down," she said.
"Where's my shit?"
"You can't give up now, Nate; you've managed not to use the whole day," she said, putting her hands on my arms.
"Yeah, now we know my fucking limit."
"If you give up now, you'll have to start again from scratch," she said.
I was nauseated, and my heart was racing so fast I thought it was about to stop. Starting again from scratch meant not feeling like this right now, and recovery or not, I wanted to stop feeling like I was about to die.
"I can't fucking do it, Abby," I said.
"I said I was going to help you."
"The only way you could do that is helping me find a vein that isn't fucking dead," I snapped. I saw her flinch a little. I was being an ass. I knew that, but I couldn't fucking do it. If I showed her it was useless to try and help me, she wouldn't have to waste her time trying to do it. She wouldn't have to fucking watch this anymore.
"I'm not leaving you alone, Nate," she said.
"Well, maybe you should," I said, knowing I was pushing her away. In the dim light from the bathroom, her eyes became glassy. She was crying. She shook her head. Shit. Leave, goddamnit. Leave me alone. Why wasn't she letting me destroy my life in peace?
"I know you're struggling right now, but this is the worst of it. It will get easier. All you have to do is ride it out. I said I'd be here for you, and I meant it," she said.
I sighed, feeling my body sag. I wanted to believe her. I really wanted to let her help me, but I didn't know what to do when someone was trying to look after me.
"Come on," she said. She took one of my hands and pulled me after her. I resisted a little, but let her do it. We went back into the bathroom. The shower was on, making the small room foggy and warm.
I watched her pull my t-shirt off and slide her hands under the waistband of my boxer briefs so they could slide down, too. "Come on," she prompted gently again. I followed her into the shower. The water was sort of hot, hotter than I would usually have it, but it felt good because I was hurting so bad.
I turned my face up into the stream. It felt good. Abby was running her hands over my shoulders and chest. We stayed there a while before she stopped the water, and we went back to the room. She had put a robe on, and I was in a towel. I let her lead me to the bed and make me lay back on the bed. I still wanted to shoot up, but I wasn’t feeling as nauseated. I was feeling sort of tired. The room was dark, but I could still see her moving around.
"Wait here," she said, getting off the bed.
"Don't leave," I said quickly. I started getting up off the bed.
"Stop moving," she said. She sat on the bed behind me, letting me rest my head on her lap. She ran a hand through my wet hair. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," I grumbled, looking up at her dark silhouette. She was stroking my hair. It felt nice.
“What can I get for you?” she asked.
“Heroin,” I said.
“What else?” she urged. I sighed. She wasn’t going to let me do it.
“Why are you still here?” I thought, saying it out loud. She didn’t say anything, and her hand slowed down a little in my hair. She moved a little under me, and I was scared she was actually going to leave.
I hadn’t meant it. I was just pissed, sick, and tired. People gave me what I wanted when I asked them to, but not her. Her kindness was throwing me for a loop. I didn’t know what to do when someone was nice to me without any real reason to be and didn’t have to be.
She didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything, either. I don’t know when it happened, but I must have fallen asleep because I woke up. Abby was gone. I sat up, I was groggy and sort of tired, but the pain from the night before was mostly gone, and I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up. I started getting up when I stopped, seeing a piece of paper with my name on it, handwritten.
I sat down to read the note.
Nate, I had to leave for work. I didn’t want to wake you. You did great last night; call me at the front desk when you wake up. Abby.
She stayed, I thought. Why was she even still talking to me? I remembered what I had said to her. I would have punched myself in the face if I was her. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I owed her an apology. And a thank you.
I looked for my phone to check the time before calling the front desk. The room was clean, I noticed; she must have arranged that, too. Already too much, I thought. I needed to start paying her or something. She probably wouldn’t take it, though, because that was the kind of person she was.
Too good for me. That might have been true, but if she had seen me last night and still wasn’t done with me, I wasn’t letting her go. I sat on the couch with the phone and called the front desk.
"Good afternoon. Thank you for calling Four Seasons Lanai, you're speaking to Abby. How may I help you?" she said picking the phone up.
“What did you tell housekeeping after they found my room trashed two days in a row?” I asked, smirking.
“Mr. Stone, I trust you’re fine this morning. How can I help you?” she said.
“What did I tell you about calling me that?” I said, laughing at her professional work voice.
“Yes sir, I can certainly make arrangements to take you around the island today. Come to the front desk when you are ready to leave.” I stopped. The fuck was she talking about? “Is there anywhere specific you would like to visit?” she asked.
Oh, of course, someone must have been listening to her. Her boss was probably there, and she wanted to make him think I was asking her to take me out again.
“Is your boss there? Let me talk to him,” I taunted her, smirking.
“We can definitely make the trip there and back before sundown,” she said, answering a question I hadn’t asked her. This was so funny. I didn’t know she had a sneaky streak in her.
“Is this your way of making me leave my suite again? Let’s go back to that beach we went to yesterday and fuck in the sunset again,” I said. I heard her giggle a little before clearing her throat.
“One hour? Of course, sir. Everything will be arranged,” she said before hanging up. One hour. More than enough time to shoot up before I have to leave, I thoug
ht. I still felt a little sick, and I had time. If I took just a little, she probably wouldn’t even be able to tell I was high.
I’d made it through last night, though. It would have been a shame to throw that away. How about it, I thought, do this one thing for once that you can be proud of yourself for. I put the phone down and in an hour was downstairs ready for my day with Abby.
Chapter Eighteen
Abby
"I could have sworn that we were sitting right here just last week as you told me how much you wished you didn't have to be the one who was, and I quote, ‘babysitting Nate Stone,’" Makani said to me as I hung the phone up.
I shot her an apologetic glance. I wasn't going to hear the end of this, and I knew it. She had managed to squeeze what had happened the night before out of me, and I knew I'd have something else to tell her when I saw her again that night. Provided we did actually see each other. Nate had gone from barely leaving his suite to completely monopolizing my time.
The thing was, I wasn't even mad about it. Part of the performance had been for Joseph's sake, to make him believe that I was going above and beyond as a proud member of the Four Seasons staff to accommodate a special guest. The other part had been for Nate, but mostly for me. I wanted to spend more time with him.
If I put the sex aside and just focused on Nate as a person, I liked him a lot. Last night had scared me, and his words had hurt, but I couldn't get over how it felt to watch him fight and win against something that loomed so large in his life.
He had fought, and he hadn’t given up, no matter how hard it had gotten. I could only imagine how hard it had been for him. He could have chosen the easy way out, staying sick, but he hadn’t, and that was extremely commendable. That right there told me about the kind of person that he was and the strength that he had even when he was suffering. Guess there was something to my fangirl crush, after all.
"Are you about to tell me something about being careful and not letting him get to me because this can't be permanent?" I asked her.
"Looks like I don't have to because you've already thought about it," Makani smirked. "I was about to say you owe me for all the hours you've made me man this desk alone." I smiled.
"Can I repay you in gratitude and goodwill?" I tried.
"How much of my rent can I pay with that?" she joked.
"How about a full play-by-play of what happens today?"
"That's more like it. Go have fun," she said. "Your choice of partner could have been better, but you deserve to relax a little."
"Thanks, Makani," I said. I started for the back to get changed.
"Oh, Abby," she called.
"Yeah?"
"He is a guest, and he is going to leave. Just don't let yourself think that that day isn't going to come," she cautioned.
I nodded and went to the changing room. I wasn't going to forget. I knew that. I wouldn't have gotten myself into being his tour guide today if I had forgotten. This was...
It was a lot of things. I cared about Nate, and I wanted to help him with his addiction; and that meant the less time he had alone to think about using, the better. I was sure he didn't have sex with all his tour guides, but I didn't have sex with all the guests. We had something, a connection or whatever, but it didn't have to make things complicated.
Maybe we'd talk about it today. No, we definitely had to talk about it.
I got into a pair of shorts and halter top before making my way up to Nate's suite. I knocked on the door. We had just been on the phone, and he sounded like he was okay, not like last night. Still, I was nervous which Nate was about to come to the door. He pulled it open. He wasn't dressed. He was still in the same thing he had been wearing when I had left him: a towel. He ran a hand through his wet hair.
"Abby."
"Are you ready, Mr. Stone?" I asked, looking pointedly at the towel. Clearly, he wasn't. He opened the door wider letting me walk in.
"Thanks for telling your boss you wanted to take me out today," he said. "Listen. About last night… I was a mess."
"Mm-hmm, I was there. I remember," I said smiling. I wasn't mad, but he looked apologetic.
"I'm really sorry about what I said to you. I can't even say I was loaded or anything. I was an asshole last night."
"Don't apologize."
"I mean it, Abby. I-"
"Really, Nate. If I were mad, I wouldn't have asked to see you again today. Just forget about it. If you're really sorry, what you need to work on for me is getting up closer to sunrise than sunset," I said walking into the bedroom. "Have you eaten already?"
"I want to make it up to you," he said. I walked to the couch finding the clothes I had left there for him before I had left that morning. Same as the day before: dark jeans and a long sleeve shirt. We really needed to do something about that. He looked crazy walking around in seventy-degree weather dressed like the Grim Reaper.
"Then hurry up and get dressed. We're losing daylight," I said, giving him the clothes. He took the clothes, coming closer to me.
"Thank you," he said. He kissed me lightly before walking over to the bed and starting to get dressed.
I left the room that time. We were probably past that kind of modesty, but I liked to think that I was at least trying to be professional. He was done quickly, and we were on the road again, right after grabbing a swimsuit for him from the gift shop. The place we were going today didn't have swimmable waters, but I couldn't take him to another beach dressed in his mourning gear.
He didn't ask me where we were going when we got on the road. He just let me take him. I kept glancing over at him as I drove, just to make sure he was all right. The night before had been...interesting. I had read up on what withdrawal did to people so I knew that even though he was sitting there, looking fairly comfortable, he was most likely very uneasy.
Had he done anything when I was gone? I wondered. Had he used at all?
I didn't like thinking that he had done that when I was gone, especially since he had managed to get through the night. But if he had, well, today was another day.
We got to the beach and into our swimsuits. He had been really opposed to getting the swimsuit, but I managed to finally convince him, telling him that he was embarrassing me. He wasn’t, I had only been teasing, but it had worked. He had let me pick it, and I had only gone with a pair of board shorts because getting him a speedo would have just been taking advantage of him.
He'd get a lot of stares in whatever he was wearing. I had seen him naked before, but he wore the hell out of the board shorts. I had gotten him a blue pair because that had been the darkest color they had. They sat pretty low on his hips.
He was in great shape, muscular but not in that weird, gross way that bodybuilders were. Tall and built. Wide, broad shoulders, but trim in the waist and hips. He was lean, and his tattoos were dark on his lightly tanned skin.
He had the kind of body men tried to build in the gym. I noticed both women and men checking him out. Not going to lie, it made me feel a little proud that he was there with me. It wasn’t a date or anything, and we weren’t together, but we weren’t just a tour guide and tourist anymore. We had passed beyond that, for sure, but I wasn’t sure as to what.
The beach was smaller here than at the resort. We were at Shipwreck Beach, named after the famous WWII ship that had wrecked off its shore. It was more of a lookout than a beach where people came to lounge, but it was a pretty cool sight to see. It was almost fully above water, and the elements hadn’t completely laid waste to it.
There were ruins of ancient civilizations on the island, and even though the ship was nowhere near as old, it fit the ruggedness and historic feel that the island had. I looked over at Nate as we walked the trail to the sand.
"There, isn't that better? Now you blend right in."
He smiled wryly. "I looked like an asshole, I know. I wasn't wearing it because I thought it was comfortable," he said, raising his left arm. His track scars. Of course. "Think anyone will believe me if I say t
hey're mosquito bites?" he asked me, sarcastically. I had a scar I wasn't proud of either, but the difference was I hadn't given my scar to myself.
"Nobody's going to be paying close enough attention to notice," I reassured him.
"Doesn't matter if they see them; I know they're there."
"Are you going to wear long sleeves your whole life?" I asked.
"I've been thinking about getting them covered, the whole arm," he said. “I would have already, but my tattoo guy would never forgive me for shooting dope into his artwork."
"I'm sure we can head somewhere with fewer people; come on," I encouraged him.
“Can't take me anywhere, huh?” he said, jokingly.
“Not even when you let me,” I shot back. He chuckled.
“Come this way,” I said, walking away from the rest of the people on the beach. The beach wasn’t that big, but people were concentrated around the wreck viewpoint, which was a raised, rocky area close to the water’s edge.
Further away, on the sand, we wouldn’t get the best view, but his comfort was more important than an old, rusty boat. "There it is," I told him, pointing towards the ship from where we were.
"How old is it?"
"It wrecked during the Second World War. The wind makes the water between here and Molokai, which is the island you can see over behind it, really choppy. There are a lot of reefs, too. Many more ships possibly went down here."
"Huh, you guys must have a lot of ghosts," he quipped. I laughed.
"Maybe a few," I said, looking out at the wreck. "I hope they're friendly."
"What, like Casper?"
"Yeah," I said. "Like Casper. They've been hanging out here since the war, and they just want to see what's changed. See if they can make new friends."
"You know Casper is the ghost of a dead kid, don't you?" he said. I was about to say that he wasn’t when I thought about it.
"That's so dark," I laughed.
"It's true," he said, smirking. I smiled at the thought of him enjoying cartoons. He probably had as a child. It was sort of nice. It was humanizing, thinking about him in more and different contexts. He was an entire person; I had to remember that. This Nate, the one who was just a guy on vacation had all but completely replaced the image I had had of him as a celebrity in a band.