And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2)

by Delilah Frost

  “You broke her heart.” It’s a statement not a question. And I can see, even though she has no idea what went on, Melody does know that much.

  “I did. In a way we broke each other’s hearts. I need to fix things. Will you help me?”

  Though I’m sure in reality it’s only a few seconds that pass, it still feels like a lifetime before Melody finally answers. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Convince Cecelia to speak to me. Just speak. If she still hates my very existence after, I’ll leave her alone forever. Will you do that?

  As I lay in bed hours later, watching shadows pass along the ceiling, hearing my neighbors fighting for the fifth time in the last few hours while knowing at any moment the police will probably be called to deal with another domestic violence issue, I feel my heart beat speed up. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I should feel hopeful or dejected.

  Melody and I had stood, staring at one another, my heart on my sleeve and her face a mask of indifference until her name was called.

  Turning, we both noticed bouncer Trey standing at the door, his eyes watching us, me. He might have been a fan of mine, but Melody hadn’t exactly been exuding an openness toward me and he was her protector. His loyalties were tied to her. At least at work. Though the more I regarded his look, the more I realized he carried a deeper devotion to the fiery red-head in front of me than just from a professional standpoint. I wondered idly what their history was or if there was no history, what the future held for them. I wouldn’t let myself think on those thoughts for long though, as I had bigger things to deal with.

  As we parted ways, Melody still hadn’t given me an answer.

  I’d watched her enter the restaurant, watched the door close behind her before walking home. And now, now I am stuck in limbo. It’s a hopeful but realistic limbo. Because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I’d told Melody about my fight. Told her it would be a long shot to get Celia to attend one again, but that I didn’t know how else to speak with her. I didn’t know how else to be in the same place with her and have it be realistic. I’d told Melody that I needed to fix things, or at the very least give us both the closure we deserved.

  With her ice blue eyes scrutinizing me, she’d just cocked her head and shouted toward the bouncer. “I’m coming. Tell Rina I’m not skipping out on her.” And then she walked away.

  A car passes by outside, music loud and bass thumping my meager furniture. I gaze around my room as the headlights make a pass across dirty walls. It’s barren. Empty of life and existence. It’s basically me personified. At least the me of today. Once upon a time, I had a room that had life to it, even in the midst of struggling to survive. Once upon a time I had a place that I wasn’t ashamed to live in. Now, I have nothing.

  I chose this place though.

  I chose this existence.

  I’d tossed my best friend away. Even if she has slept with every guy around, I never let her explain. I never let her even try to defend herself. I instantly accused and then threw her away. And for what? What did it solve? Nothing.

  “You stupid bitch!”

  “Don’t you call me a bitch, you worthless asshole!”

  My neighbors are fighting now. Their voices carry through the thin walls as insults pour from their angry lips.

  “You’re so pathetic. My mother was right about you.”

  “Yeah, well I should’ve listened to my father when he told me to hit and quit it with you. Fucking cunt.”

  “What did you call me? You limped dick motherfucker!”

  The banging, harsh and savage begins next. Pots, pans, chairs being tossed. A table turned over. The sound of glass breaking against the floor, the walls, and the sizzle of electricity singeing where it is discarded in a fit of rage.

  It’s always the same. Nearly always the same words. Insults and recriminations. Then untruths spoken for the sole purpose of hurting. And once the words have struck their cord, the destruction commences.

  Hysterics, vicious and uncontrolled bubble up like a life form.

  I remember when my neighbors moved in two months ago. How they appeared to be normal and happy. Their façade really only lasted so long though.

  The apartment had been empty for a few months. Given the location, most people didn’t stick around for long and if you did…well, if you stuck around here, you were one of two things: either a sad sack of shit without options, or you were doing shit that needed to be kept on the down low.

  Drug deals, arms deals, sex services. That’s what now inhabits the building I call home. It wasn’t even a year ago the place wasn’t so bad. I had people around me that weren’t into breaking the law on a regular basis. But no one cares about this area. No one cares about the people here. So the good ones got out while they could and the unsavory, the rejects against society stepped into their places.

  I would have checked out too if I had options. So I am the sad sack of shit. Because I don’t have options. I’m not winning fights. I work my job but I can’t afford to move to someplace nicer. I’d need a roommate to do so and I don’t trust anyone in this fucking city to think about doing that again.

  So I’m stuck. Stuck next to liars, thieves and cheats. Next to the dredge of the earth. I suppose given who I’ve become, the asshole I’ve allowed myself to become, I’ve earned this place, this life.

  Still, I remember when my neighbors moved in.

  I remember seeing them one evening. How I’d been dead tired from work, hearing rumours about possible promotions coming up for some of the guys and wanting so badly to have that for myself. I’d been with this company for a few years now. I did my job and I did it good. I was constantly looking to learn new things and I was hoping my boss, Davison would recommend me for a promotion. He’d been new to the company, a steal from a competing company and he seemed to like pushing us all. I’d wanted him to be impressed with me, to think I deserve more within the company.

  But I’d worried.

  I’ve been so distracted by all things Cecelia that I felt like I might have let my work slip a little. I was gung-ho. I was diligent. And then I was terrified. As long as I wasn’t fired, I supposed that’d be a win.

  As I reached my front door, my body worn out from working a twelve-hour day and knowing I planned to enter my name to fight later in the night, the door next to my apartment opened.

  My first impression of the guy was that he looked just like Frankie and Brock. Bulging muscles. No neck. Red eyes that seemed more wild than sane. I instantly imagined he used steroids. He seemed unnatural in his look. He seemed unnatural in his mannerisms. And knowing and having seen what drugs do to people, I didn’t feel like I was too far off.

  Considering the fights I hear, especially the reference to his “tiny dick” every now and then, I’m pretty sure I’m right.

  As for her…she’s tall. Has jet-black hair and dead eyes. I think once upon a time she had been pretty. Once upon a time, she might have been friendly even. Now though, now her face is cold. And worse, it’s covered in sores. Open sores. While I can’t say for certain he’s hooked on the roids, because other than an unnatural muscle build, there’s no actual proof, I can say she’s more than definitely a meth head.

  It’s a disaster cocktail all wrapped up in a tiny apartment.

  One hopped up on steroids and the other a fucking tweaker.

  I may have popped pills, and was stupid enough to use cocaine, but never would I ever get lost with meth. Battery acid? Really? No thank you.

  A bang hits the wall, followed by more glass breaking. Before I can wonder how they can still have shit to bust apart, I hear, “Go ahead and call the cops. Those pigs don’t care about your useless ass.”

  Yanking my headphones off the floor beside me and shoving them roughly into my ears, I scroll through the music I have on my iPod searching for something to tune the fight out. I settle on my go-to artist. Tech N9ne has always been a favorite of mine since I was introduced to him years ago by a
ccident. After hearing him playing over the speakers at one of the clubs Celia had worked at, I was hooked. And many of his songs settle into the mood I’m residing in. Whether they’re aggressive or angry, pensive and questioning, or even emotional. It’s cliché, I know, but his shit speaks to me.

  Fortunately, it also helps tune out jackasses fighting next door.

  Upping the volume, I let the first cords of Actin Like You Know wash over me. MacKenzie’s voice breaks my heart and her words, they make me think.

  I think about and remember the moment Cecelia walked away from me. I remember the way she was fury and brutality and not all of it was directed at Hayley in that moment. Even the time her father publicly humiliated her, degraded her and wished her to have never been born, had I ever seen her look so severe.

  I close my eyes at the thought.

  It was because of me. Because of my actions. My words.

  I had made her this way.

  I can’t help but think about how disappointed Ben would be in me. How, even after going to rehab and being labeled as an addict he’d never thought of turning his back on me. Not even when I tried turning mine on him in leaving Houston. But if he knew how things have gone with Celia…I don’t want to deal with that disappointment.

  Opening my eyes, I take a look around my bedroom. It’s rundown. Like the whole building has become. Like I have become.

  I can’t dwell on my misfortune though. I can’t dwell on what’s happened because I can’t change it. It solves nothing, for one thing. And two…well, two, I need to be positive that I can fix it.

  All I can do at this point is hope Melody has chosen to help me. Help me so I can finally resolve everything with Cecelia.

  FOUR

  I don’t remember being this nervous ever in my life.

  Not the first time my parents discovered my drinking. Not my trip to the hospital that ended with my extended stay in rehab. I wasn’t this nervous the first time I kissed Cecelia or the first time we made love and I was absolutely terrified I was going to suck or she’d hate it.

  I wasn’t this nervous before the first hit of coke I took, knowing all my hard work in rehab was about to be literally sniffed away. And I definitely wasn’t this nervous the first time I showed up for a fight, even though I had no real experience and desperation was the only thing keeping me afloat. None of that made me as nervous as I feel right now though.

  Leaning against the side of a dilapidated building that I think once held apartments before it started falling apart, I try to calm my racing heart and slow my breathing before I make myself pass out. It’s been four days since I spoke with Melody.

  Four days of unknowns. Four days of uncertainty.

  I haven’t been back to Coco’s knowing I won’t see Cecelia there. She’s switched shifts and though Melody might help me, she won’t divulge the shift change time. She tells me she doesn’t want me to ambush Cecelia again, that she is skittish enough without seeing me again. That she doesn’t understand what I want, which explains Melody’s hesitance with me, and that she thinks I’m trying to mess with her, possibly dig the hurt deeper. Melody tells me the last conversation they’d had that involved me had Celia very ready to bolt the state of Illinois just to avoid having to deal with my presence. While I was on the verge of a complete meltdown at this revelation, Melody touched my arm and informed me it was Cecelia’s emotions, her broken heart talking and not her logic. Truthfully speaking, she has nowhere to go. And though she makes good tips, she isn’t living a life of luxury where she can pick up and leave without a second thought.

  It was a brief respite from a breakdown but I had to hold onto it. Because I knew it was my fault for it and I had to deal with it. Especially since Melody might be helping me out.

  So here I stand, watching the guys begin pouring in, watching how they all look at me like I’m some kind of pariah they can’t trust. Even though they are not blameless in this mess, I’m the one at fault. That’s fine. They can hate me all they want. As long as I can make Celia stop hating me, that’s all that matters to me.

  I take in a deep breath, feeling my lungs tighten as Brees walks up with his weathered down hat he uses to draw from. I slip my name in and close my eyes to calm down.

  And then I jump.

  “Chace, you look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

  Clutching my chest, feeling my already racing heart speed up, I slug Stretch in the arm. “Jesus Christ, fucker. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry,” he laughs and it’s the first time he’s spoken to me, in a friendly manner since Celia nearly killed Hayley. “What are you doing over here? I see you’re entering tonight.”

  Though I’ve shown every fight night, I’ve not always entered. I scout the guys looking to fight and know I have to pick my matches carefully. I’m not the fighter I was six months ago. My ability is fragile. My emotions, my head gets too much in the way and I can’t win for trying. So I have to be cautious. But tonight is different. Not only are the guys different tonight, thankfully, a new batch coming through trying to prove their long-term worth as the older guys bow out for the night, no doubt for some party, but tonight I have something to prove and not just to myself. “Yeah, I’m entering.” My voice is more confident than I feel but hold onto it.

  “Good to hear, man. Maybe things will start turning around for you.” I look at his bearded face and see sincerity. I’m confused for a moment as to what his deal is until I focus on his line of sight. “If I lose, I’ll be rooting for you, man.”

  He walks off before I can get another word in. But it doesn’t matter. Because my focus is not on Stretch anymore. No, my entire being is centered on the girl modestly dressed in black slacks and t-shirt, hair pulled tight into a ponytail, with skin beautifully golden, even under the streetlights standing next to an identically dressed, bright flash of red hair and pale skin. Melody came through for me.

  I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. It’s not the weight of everything, not the weight of everything being resolved and better, but it gives me some relief to see Cecelia standing in my presence once again. I won’t mess this opportunity up. I can’t.

  My breath is short as I walk toward the two women. I see Melody’s eyes are wide, their ice blue skirting all over the backdrop. It’s clear she’s never been to one of these fights before. It’s also clear by the way she’s holding onto Celia’s hand, and not for the sake of keeping Celia present, that though she may not have a whole lot of money, this part of town is not her scene. She’s scared shitless and despite the tough girl act she put up to me during our chat, she is so completely out of her element. She’s no doubt close to shitting herself.

  I owe her big time.

  “Hello,” I say softly as my feet come to a stop in front of both girls. While Celia will barely look at me, Melody is having no trouble meeting my eyes.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she asks in a half screech, half whisper. “When you said you fought, shit. I thought you meant at some club or something. What the hell is this?”

  “This is where I fight. At least on Fridays. Saturday fights are always in a different place,” I answer knowing that’s not really what she was after.

  “But this is…this is illegal!”

  “It is definitely not law-abiding, I’ll give you that.” I’m trying to catch Celia’s eyes, but she either keeps them stuck to the ground, or she’s glancing at Melody, watching her have a meltdown.

  “I can’t believe this is what you do. Oh my God.” She looks close to hyperventilating before turning her attention on Cecelia. “You knew about this? You knew this is what he does? How could you not tell me?”

  “It’s not exactly something you talk about,” Celia whispers. “I doubt you’d have believed me anyhow.”

  “Probably not, but motherfucker! This is dangerous, Cece. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

  Cecelia just rolls her eyes. It confirms what I’d be thinking. Though she probably has not
had the best life, Melody really has been sheltered from much of the world around her.

  “It is dangerous. But it’s the world we know. Not everyone is comfortable with it.”

  My words stop Melody and her eyes widen. I think she gets it. I think she realizes there’s a real reason no one talks about this type of thing. I think she realizes for all she knows about Cecelia, she hasn’t even cracked the top layer.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  I look to my right and see Stretch, a ridiculous smile plastered on his bearded face.

  “Nice to see you again, Cecelia. See the knuckles have healed up nicely,” he tells her with a wink. She smiles at him, seemingly shy or embarrassed and so unlike the woman I’ve come to know. But he doesn’t dwell on her. “Who is this beautiful lady you all are monopolizing? Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you ‘round these parts.”

  I choke back a laugh at the level of schmooze Stretch is trying to lay upon Melody. Especially since she looks like she ate something foul. “Uh, right. Melody, this is Stretch. Stretch, this is Cecelia’s coworker, Melody.”

  “Stretch?” she asks with her nose scrunched up.

  “Nickname. Was the tallest kid in my seventh grade class by a damn foot. Besides, it’s better than the Alfred Weatherhall I was bestowed by my deadbeat parents.”

  I frown realizing I never knew this information about Stretch before. A person I’ve let into my home, let into pieces of my personal life. I suddenly feel so self-absorbed that I know very little about most of the people I come into contact with on a regular basis. But I think about that and know life has taught me not to get close to people. There’s a reason for distance.

  Even still. The nickname makes sense. I can see Stretch being tall and lanky as a kid. Trying to grow into his limbs, but not quite getting there. I can’t for the life of me figure out his birth name though. A family name perhaps? And what of the deadbeat comment?