A few seconds later the door opens. I ignore the naked brunette trying to cover herself with her clothes by the door and immediately search for Kent. He’s on his back on the couch, naked as the day he was born, and his face is slack and his head has fallen to the side. A stream of puke trails down his cheek. He’s making gurgling noises and his chest is flapping rapidly in a strange way.
I drop my purse and rush around to his side of the couch. He’s choking on his own puke. I grab his shoulder and roll him onto his side with shaking hands. Throw up, the color of the hot wings he had at Oblivion and stinking of straight whiskey, come spewing out of his mouth. It dribbles down his chin and stains the beige couch cushion.
“We were having sex and he stopped moving.”
I hang my head as Kent continues to throw up, rubbing his back and ignoring the naked woman talking my ear off.
“We weren’t even doing anything kinky. I was on top because he was too drunk.”
Kent starts to shake as if he’s cold, but his skin is on fire. Panic floods my system. His hands shake and his eyes are unfocused. “Kent. Talk to me.” I ignore his puke and touch his cheek, patting it gently to get his attention.
His eyes attempt to focus but they can’t seem to settle on one specific spot before he gives up. He continues to vomit. I turn him on his side once more.
“Call 911,” I order.
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I gave him something. I’ll go to jail.”
“His life is worth more to me than your jail time.”
She grabs her panties and pulls them on. “Not to me. I’m not letting some hot loser ruin my life with his bullshit.” She starts putting on the rest of her clothes, and then she grabs her purse. “He had Ecstasy. Put him in the bathtub and make the water cold. Keep him cold.” She slams the door shut on her way out.
I stare down at Kent helplessly. Dread fills me. My purse is by the door. My cell is on the floor near it. I don’t want to leave him for five seconds.
“James!” I scream. “James!”
I realize James can’t hear me. He has no idea Kent is seizing right in front of me. The smells of puke and whiskey surround me like a nefarious cloud. I panic. I’m going to lose him. Kent will never wake up again. He’ll never know I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since he opened the door and invited me inside.
Snap out of it! I sniff my tears and grab his arm. He’s on fire. He needs cold water fast. I start to think of what I need to do, in order.
First, get Kent into the bathtub.
I try and pull him but he’s too heavy. He’s like an immovable muscled rock. His naked body lies there shaking uncontrollably. Puke streams out of his lips as if there are too many toxins in him to stop. I’ll have to pull him. I gently roll him until he falls onto the floor, cringing when he lands. Grabbing his arms, I begin to tug him across the living room, into the hall, and then to the bathroom. I know I’m not thinking straight. I can’t. All I see is the unfocused look in his eyes, as if Kent is drifting away from me forever. My heart grips in my chest and I pull on him harder.
When I get him to the bathroom I leave him lying on the rugs and turn the water on to fill the bathtub, making sure it’s ice cold. As I wait for it to fill I kneel down near Kent’s face and put my fingers in his mouth to make sure his throat isn’t blocked. I wipe his puke off on my work shirt and peel his eyelids apart.
“Kent,” I try and get his attention. “Kent, wake up.”
Nothing. His eyes have rolled into the back of his head. My stomach falls. “Kent!” I shout, smacking his face hard. Nothing. Not even a growl of pain. My own hands are shaking. “Wake up, baby. Please wake up. Kent, wake up for me.”
Each failed attempt is like a kick to the ribs. I can’t breathe. At least he is. I press my ear to his mouth and let his slow, labored breaths fan across my cheek. That’s a good sign in this horrible situation.
“Kent,” I attempt again, whispering and praying with all my might he’ll answer me.
Low in his throat I hear a groan.
Relief washes over me. I grab hold of his face, still unbearably handsome even covered in vomit and sweat. I wipe some of it away and then rinse my fingers in the ice cold water.
“I need your help. I’m not strong enough to lift you in the tub.”
He gives me another soft unrecognizable groan. But when I try and nudge him toward the bathtub he won’t budge. I get as far as propping him up against the tub before I give up. I grab a towel and dip the whole thing into the water, gently draping the soaking cloth over his chest first. He jerks from the cold temperature. This isn’t about comforting him. I have to save his damn life. I try and peel his eyes back and find they’re not in the back of his head. They’re worse. At least before I couldn’t see the nothingness in his gaze. This way it’s like staring into an empty vessel. He’s nothing like the sexy, confident man I met the day I came looking for a room for rent. This man is naked, covered in puke, and so completely out of if I start to cry again. I can’t help it.
No one should ever look that empty.
Whatever Kent ran from this is where he was running to. Alcohol and drugs with an endless void stretched out before him that would inevitably leave him empty.
I dunk the towel back into the water, repeating this process for hours. I run the towel over his face, his back, and his legs. When I get to his penis I bite my lip and carefully take off the condom that’s still attached to him, dropping it in the trash before continuing to cool him down. I refill the bath twice, making sure it’s as cold as possible, and I drench his entire body from it until his skin feels like its normal temperature.
Still, my adrenaline pumps. I lean against his side and rest my head on his chest and shoulder, breathing in the smell of nothing on his skin. “Kent?”
He’s as silent as the inside of the apartment. I peel his eyes back and meet the black nothingness. He’s still in there. He just has to wake up. I need him to wake up. To make sure his temperature doesn’t get a chance to elevate again, I repeat the process once more, drenching him.
As I’m near his thighs he starts to stir. I drop the towel and crawl back to his face. “Kent? Answer me!”
“Mmm,” he groans.
And then he opens his eyes.
I fall forward and press my face to his chest in relief. But my relief is short lived when I feel warm, foul-smelling liquid hit the back of my skull. I rise slowly. I don’t bother looking at him. I know he’s out once more. I peel my clothes off, unworried about being naked in front of him in his comatose state, and stand with my feet in the ice cold water as the warm water of the shower washes away the puke dripping down my neck and back. My senses are returning.
And my anxiety is making me ill.
Once I’m puke free I run to my bedroom naked, put on some clothes, and then risk leaving Kent for a few minutes to go into James’s bedroom. He’s fast asleep, twisted in his sheets and snoring. I walk over and nudge him. I don’t mean to do it roughly, but I fear his unresponsive reaction as much as I fear Kent’s.
He stares up at me in confusion.
“Get up. I need help with Kent. He won’t wake up.”
He isn’t reading my lips. He can’t hear me and due to his confusion he can only stare. Frustrated, I grab his hand and pull him out of bed, dragging him into the bathroom where Kent is slumped over against the tub.
James sighs.
I concur.
I stand in front of James and completely break down. “Don’t cry,” he begs. His arms pull me to his chest and I cry against him. The nothingness in Kent’s eyes haunts me.
I lean away after I’m done crying and find him watching my mouth intently, waiting for me to speak. “Help me get him to my bedroom? I know he won’t want me in his. I refuse to leave him alone right now.”
“He won’t,” he agrees. “Not even now. Grab his feet. I’ll get his shoulders.”
I reach down and grab Kent�
�s ankles, trying and failing not to stare at his penis. I feel bad for him. So incredibly bad. Fresh tears moisten my eyes. James and I struggle to carry him into my bedroom. We gently set him on my bed and then James stands back, holds up a finger, and disappears. I sit on the edge of the bed and hold Kent’s foot like it’s his hand, interweaving my fingers between his long toes.
James returns with a pair of shorts. He doesn’t ask for help and I don’t watch. When he’s done Kent is no longer naked.
He pats my shoulder on the way out.
I wonder how often James has seen Kent shitfaced, passed-out drunk in order for him to be nonchalant about it.
I don’t plan on sleeping at all. I crawl to the top of the bed near Kent’s head and snuggle against him, watching his mouth in case he starts to puke again.
As I stare I trace his still features. His jaw is covered in stubble, fair hairs poking out of his skin. I lean over and run my lips over his cheek, kissing his face as he sleeps. Slowly I trace the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and the indents in his cheeks that sink sometimes when he smiles. I miss his smile so much. I wonder if I ever got to see a real one I earned. I deserve one after tonight.
The sun rises as I wait for him to wake. It creeps over the top of my curtains and bathes us both in golden sunshine. It makes his hair look white and his eyelashes translucent. He’s so beautiful, I think, breathless by the sight of him. I delicately touch his eyelashes, parting them as I brush across them like a fan. I run my fingers through his hair as the sun sucks the color from it. It’s still wet from his sweat. I touch his chest and then his armpit, checking to see if he’s hot again. Finding he’s cold, I bring my sheets up to cover us both.
At seven thirty my eyelids start to drift. I try and fight them. Kent needs me. But I’m drained.
I’m awoken by groaning. My eyes flash open. Kent is rolling around in my bed, my sheets twisted around his feet as sweat slicks his chest and arms. I check the clock. It’s two in the afternoon. I fear what’s coming and go in search of a bucket. I find one under the kitchen sink. When I return, I set the bucket down and crawl to him.
I gently tap his cheek. “Kent?”
His eyes flash open. He lets out a huge stink-filled breath ripe of puke and whiskey and touches his chest as if his heart is going to pound out of it. “Raina?” he groans, his voice gruff and scratchy.
This crazy relief slams into me. I press my forehead against his and kiss his nose. “Yeah, Kent. It’s me.”
“I’m going to puke.”
I quickly grab the bucket and hold it out to him. Almost immediately he retches into it. I think I see a tear in his eye but it could be the strain of puking. His body bends inward on itself as he continues to get rid of the whiskey in his system. He’s contorted in pain and all I can do is rub his back.
Finally, he pushes the bucket away and falls onto his back. “Raina,” he whimpers, shaking, “it hurts.”
I curl up against him and rub his chest soothingly. “I’m sorry it hurts. Next time don’t be an idiot and drink an entire bottle of whiskey, you jackass.”
“Next time don’t ignore me.”
He’s still drunk. I can hear it in his voice. After last night I don’t deserve this. “What I do or don’t do cannot be used as an excuse to get this messed up. You were gone. I was so scared!” I scream at him, smacking his chest. “What were you thinking?”
He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Why were you scared?”
I gape at him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“You. The last thing I remember is watching you dance with that dipshit the way you danced with me. It was happening all over again.”
He isn’t making sense. “You don’t remember drinking an entire bottle of whiskey, bringing a girl back here, her giving you Ecstasy, and then you overdosing?”
“I overdosed?” He groans. “Shit. Rain, I’m trying to listen to you right now, really I am, but all I hear is ahh.”
“You were choking on your own vomit!” I smack his chest again harder. “You overdosed. What were you thinking taking Ecstasy? With her,” I add bitterly. “Why do you have to include these random women? She left you alone when you needed help. She won’t even take care of you and yet you wanted her? I stay with you all night and all I get is a pity hump in the bathroom and an accusation when you wake up?” I’m seething. My fears are coming out as anger. “All I’m good for is this bullshit—getting you laid and wiping your puke out of my hair.” My chest rises rapidly as I expel my emotions. His eyes are wide as he listens. But at least he’s finally listening. “Go to your own room, Kent. Now that I know you’re better I want you out of here. I can’t even look at you right now. What about a thank you? ‘Thank you, Raina, for not letting me suffocate last night, or overheat, or for not once leaving me alone like my date did.’ How about any of that? Get out.”
“I’m sorry.” He reaches for me but I knock his hand away. “Thank you for taking care of me. Of course I’m grateful. I feel like I want to crawl into a hole and never come back out. I’m so fucking ashamed I can’t even look at you. I puked on you?” He closes his eyes and then peeks at me. “There was so much wrong with what you said, by the way. Let’s start over.”
“I don’t want to start over. I’m too exhausted to start over. I want to go back to sleep. Could you go to your bedroom and leave me alone?” I lie back down to reinstate my point. I can’t even look at him.
“I’m so sorry. You have to believe me.” With a shaking hand he reaches over and runs his knuckles down my cheek tenderly. “Thank you for taking care of me. I didn’t deserve it.”
I nod once, trying with every ounce of self-control I possess not to cry. “Just go.”
“I don’t want to go.” He lies back down. “I don’t sleep in bed with girls, but since this isn’t my bed I don’t think it counts. I don’t want to leave you like this. I really scared you, didn’t I?”
His question is my undoing. The stressors of the past night come out of me in one painful rush. I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Oh, Kent. I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up again. You scared the hell out of me.”
My sobs rip me apart. At one point I don’t know why I’m crying. He’s fine. He’s safe. The nothingness is gone from his eyes. But I can still see it, and I know if I stayed out and never came home and drank with Sam like she wanted Kent would be gone.
His date would’ve left him to choke on the couch with a condom on and nothing in his eyes.
The idea sends a rocket of fear through me. I cling to him harder and sob. We both sink down on my bed as I snuggle against him, little sobs bubbling up when I think about him seizing, or burning up, or how he doesn’t think this is a big deal because he doesn’t remember any of it. To him it didn’t happen. For me it’s what almost happened.
He doesn’t talk while I cry. He rubs my back and kisses my hair. When sleep finds me I’m grateful. I dream of nothingness and black spaces. When I wake up we have shifted. We’re almost spooning, except his legs are thrown over my legs and I feel trapped.
When I try to move his body tightens around me. I refuse to like it. I refuse to feel his hard chest against my back or his strong arms holding me to him. Kent is everything I cannot have, for good reasons that have been shown countless times, and some of my own reasons, which don’t matter whether they’re good or not. Reasons rarely have to be good. Their practical impact on our decision making doesn’t change suddenly because they make more sense.
Kent is wrong for me. I need to get away from him. These are all the reasons that matter to me right now.
“Willow,” Kent whispers in his sleep, nuzzling my neck. “I miss sleeping with you.”
I freeze. He thinks I’m another girl? Who the hell is Willow? I elbow him in his stomach.
He groans and wakes up. When he sees it’s me he closes his eyes again and holds me tighter. “Raina,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck. “I like sleeping with you.”
/>
“Get off me.” I make my voice firm. “Get out of my bed.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re so mad I have a feeling you’ll leave forever if I get out of this bed right now. I’m not risking that.”
“What does it matter if I leave forever? I’m nothing to you but a wing-woman. We barely know each other.”
He’s quiet for a long time. When he answers his voice is gruff. “It would matter to me. It would matter a lot.”
Oh, please, don’t lay it too thick. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Listen to me.” He grabs my chin and forces my face inches from his. Our eyes connect. I stare into them, relishing the emotion burning in them like oil set on fire. The nothingness is gone. “I’m sorry I put you through that last night. I’m sorry you had to see me like that again. I’m sorry you had to take care of me, and I’m sorry I can’t say the right things or do the right things. I’m sorry, I promise I am. I’m sorry for hooking up with you in the bathroom, and I’m sorry you think I didn’t want more. But most of all I’m sorry I scared you. How many different ways do I have to say it to you?”
I stare, trapped in his fiery gaze, as his words leave their mark on me. I try to look away but he grips my face harder, preventing me from separating the connection. I need a break, because that buzzing is back, and Kent Nicholson is lying half naked in my bed and I missed his eyes so much last night. Reaching up, I trace his chapped lips. “What were you trying to forget last night?”
“You really want to know?”
“I deserve to know.”
“I was trying to forget you.” He holds my gaze, daring me to ask him why.
For some reason his words make me shiver. I swallow hard and lean forward instinctively. “It worked.”
He smiles sadly. “Why do you think I do it? When I get wasted I’m nothing. Nothing can’t remember, can it? I like not being able to think. Thinking always leads to remembering. That’s something I try not to do as much as possible.”
“Who exactly are you trying so hard to forget?” It isn’t me. It can’t be. I’ve only been here a short time and he’s been doing this for longer.
My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) Page 11