The mere mention of food had my stomach revolting. Dropping my phone, I flew off my bed and grabbed the door handle to open it, but I didn’t make it. Instead, I re-enacted the scene from The Exorcist on my door and wall. Seeing it, smelling it, made me want to vomit again. And I did. The hardwood floors in my bedroom made cleanup easy, but it also meant when the throw up hit the floor, it splattered everywhere, and that included on me. The radius had to be at least seven feet to the side of me, travelling up my wall at least three feet…maybe more.
The bile began to raise again. Yanking the door open, I slipped on the vomit covering the floor, stubbed my big toe, and skidded into my bathroom, where I finally made contact with a vessel made for stuff like this instead of my walls and floors. My mother was completely forgotten as I emptied my stomach of anything and everything…and that included the burning bile that ate at my throat, making it sore.
Nothing was left, but I still heaved, making it feel as if my innards were going to be the next thing I expelled. I sat there, on my bathroom floor, holding onto my toilet as if it were my lifeline. Nothing else mattered. Even on the morning that I woke up to the sounds of Chad leaving, I hadn’t felt this bad. If dying was an option, I would gladly volunteer. That was how sick I felt.
Fuck tequila.
Fuck alcohol in general.
Fuck Chad.
It wasn’t like this was a one-sided emotional vindictiveness; we both hated each other equally. Equal rights, equal hate. We were at least fair about our feelings for each other.
My thoughts made me giggle and then groan from the nausea and pain caused by the jiggling my stomach endured. Dropping my head to the toilet seat, I closed my eyes and drifted out of consciousness.
“Rayne! Rayne, you have to wake up, baby,” I heard my mom’s urgent voice calling out to me.
“Mom?” I mumbled, my words slurred from lethargy.
“Yes, baby. It’s Mom.”
“What’re you doing here?” I frowned, but refused to open my eyes.
“What do you mean what am I doing here?” Uh oh. She used the mom tone. “Did you really think I was going to sit at home while my only daughter dropped her phone and left me sitting there for God knows how long? Of course not. Do you know how worried I was? You could have been dying for all I knew! Choking on your own vomit or something worse!”
Great. Leave it to a mother to imagine the worst. I still refused to open my eyes, but I rubbed my forehead against the toilet seat I still used as my pillow. “Sorry.”
“Well, you should be sorry,” she snapped at me. A concerned and scared mother made for a woman with a short fuse and bad attitude.
“I am,” I said to placate her as I breathed through my nose in an attempt to stave off another bought of sickness.
Candy Sampson was not a woman anyone should take lightly, even if her name made her sound more sweet than sour. She always got her way and knew how to talk people out of their money at the charity events she organized. In her mid-fifties, she looked young for her age and could easily pass for someone in their mid-forties. Her black hair was dyed to hide the grey in an effort to remain younger longer, but I could remember when I was a little girl and it was natural.
Bryan had her skin coloring and hazel eyes, but had my father’s brown hair; while I got my ivory skin and blue eyes from my dad, and my midnight hair from my mother. My brother and I were a good mix of our parents.
After she and my dad divorced, my mom changed her name back to Candy Whitney, adopting her maiden name again. She said that since her kids were older, it shouldn’t matter.
But she didn’t only change her last name, she joined a gym. Mom had always been fit, maintaining a healthy lifestyle, she could still fit into a size 8; and she stressed to both my brother and I that exercising kept her stress level down, stating that if she didn’t have that outlet, we would have driven her to drink. Fine, whatever, but my mother received some sort of brain transplant or something because she joined the freaking gym. The woman who hated using equipment others had previously sweated on, had joined a gym. A place where she met people who invited her to mixers and parties.
I was all for my mother meeting new people, but seeing her dating and drinking something stronger than wine, weirded me out. In all my years, the only thing I had ever seen her sip was one glass of wine. Recently, I watched her down a martini and ask for another. Candy Whitney didn’t do hard liquor.
Drinking, liquor…bleh. Not something I wanted to think about at the moment. I moaned in pain.
“Baby? Are you okay?” my mother asked, placing a cold wet rag on the back of my neck. Miraculously, it somehow helped.
Was I okay? Hell no! I didn’t think I would ever be okay again. I felt Death was coming to claim me, and he could have me. I know most people suffering from a severe hangover would say something similar, but I spoke the truth. He could take me away to the other side and I would not complain one iota. I would be happy basking in the afterlife.
“What if you end up with a bad afterlife?” she asked.
Had I said that out loud?
“Yes.”
“That too?” I moaned.
“Yes.”
“Fuck me.”
“I’m your mother. I don’t think it would be appropriate, and besides, you’re not my type.”
Everything came screeching to a halt. My southern, debutante, high society, snooty mother who hated to hear or say the words dick, fuck, or sex, had just made a sex joke. The world was about to implode and we were all going to die. “Is the world ending? Has Chicken Little announced the sky is falling?”
“Don’t sass me, Rayne Whitney Sampson.”
I cringed at the use of my full name. Most people liked the name Whitney, not me. It was my mother’s maiden name and I wasn’t fond of my mother’s parents, or anyone on that side of the family. Bryan got along well with them, but not me. They creeped me out. Focusing on the matter at hand, I did what any self-respecting daughter would do. I “sassed” her. “What? You were the one that made the sex joke.”
“You are not funny.”
I opened my eyes a sliver and looked up. My mother was standing next to me, with her back straight, and her hands on her hips. Her irritated expression made me want to laugh, but I dared not try it. “That’s not true. You always laughed at my knock-knock jokes.”
“You were seven. Everyone laughs for seven-year-olds.”
“Ouch.”
She gasped, and instantly appeared next to me. “Are you all right? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“What? No, no hospital.”
“Then at least let me get you out of here and onto your couch.”
“Bed.”
“No.”
“Bed.”
“Stop acting like you’re three and remember you are now a grown ass adult.”
“You said ass. Mom, I’m shocked,” I teased.
“You threw up everywhere in your room and in front of the door,” she said, ignoring my comment. “I’m going to have to clean up the mess before you can go back in there.”
How had I forgotten that little tidbit of information? She was right. I couldn’t go back to bed. I had no choice but to lay down in the living room. “’Kay. Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course, dear. That’s why I’m here. Now, up you go.” She helped me to stand, guided me into the living room while I walked unsteadily using her and the wall as a crutch, and then she helped to gently settle me onto the couch. If she hadn’t come, I would probably have stayed in the bathroom and allowed the vomit to sit there, drying, stinking up my house.
“You’re lucky there’s a nice breeze today. I’m going to open up the windows and let this place air out and then I’ll start cleaning. Do you need anything?”
If she wanted to baby me, I would let her. “Soup?” This woman could make a meal out of anything; she loved to cook. And she passed down that love to me. When I bought my apartment, I gutted the old kitchen and
created my dream kitchen on a smaller scale. It ate up some of my square footage from the once larger dining room, but it was worth it, and since it was only me, a two person table was sufficient.
“I’ll get it started after I open the windows.” Her smile lit up the room. Sometimes I forgot how much she liked to be needed. A pang jolted my heart. Ever since they announced their separation and divorce, I had distanced myself from my parents. It was time to stop.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome,” she said softly and brushed the back of her fingers across my cheek. In those two words, I knew I had been forgiven.
Chapter 10
Chad
I had been sitting in my living room with the T.V. blaring some sports show that I couldn’t care less about at the moment, staring at my phone all morning. I would pick it up to call Rayne, only to set it down again. In the end, I chickened out and called her mother. And maybe it had been a good idea to call her, since it turned out Candy had plans with her daughter this morning. That said, I still felt guilty.
How did Rayne feel? She had been beyond intoxicated. Part of me didn’t care, but the human part, the compassionate part that shouldn’t exist around her, did care. I told myself that all of it was part of the plan, because I had fully intended to get her drunk and blackmail her, to bend her to my will, but…those mumbled words. “Stop. Please.” They still haunted me.
A pounding at my door interrupted my focus. “Just a second,” I called out. I was suffering slightly from a headache—probably from dealing with Rayne the night before—so it took me a moment to unlock the door and open it. I was dragging ass today. “Emma?”
“Hey. Are you going to let us in or stand there like a statue, which in turn makes me stand here all day too?” she quipped as she leaned against the doorjamb, her cane shaking slightly. Bryan stood behind her with an arm wrapped around her waist to support her if she lost her balance.
I could remember a time when she hated depending on people, and she still did, however, she knew Bryan needed to do certain things for his own peace of mind, and for that reason she accepted his help, adding to the level of respect I had for her.
Taking a step back, I opened the door wider to allow them entry. “What are you two doing here? I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”
She stopped in front of me and gave me a small one-armed hug before pulling back. “Tomorrow? No, we came back a couple of days ago. I wish we could have stayed in Dublin a little longer, but Bryan has to report for duty on Monday.” Emma’s smile had the power to make my breath catch and to brighten up the room to an almost blinding level. Her eyes ran over me and then she asked, “Are you all right? You look a little tired.”
“You’re one to talk. You look exhausted.”
Bryan pulled her away from me and helped her to the couch. He sat her at one end, next to an armrest, and then took his place on her left, effectively blocking her from me. The way he crossed his arms, his scowl, demanded I back off. And I wanted to laugh. Did he really think I wanted her now? Well, I did, but anyone could see how much Emma loved Bryan, and I would never try to come between that. “I told her to rest some more, but she wanted to grab a bite to eat, then convinced me that since we were nearby, we should stop in and see you.”
“How was the trip?” I asked as I sat down on the far end of the sectional, as far away from them as possible.
“Really good. We didn’t get to do everything we wanted to because I couldn’t climb or walk everywhere,” She frowned, her eyes showing both her disappointment and her frustration with her physical limitations. Continuing, she said, “But we were able to get in a lot of sightseeing around Dublin and the countryside. I have to say, he planned my dream honeymoon.” Her eyes traveled to her new husband, and my heart clenched.
Plastering on a fake smile, I told her, “If he did any less, he doesn’t deserve you.” I winked to reiterate my faked happiness. I couldn’t help the small tug that still wanted her for myself.
“I have to agree,” she snickered.
“Hey now. Can you please not talk about me like I’m not sitting here with you?” Bryan grumbled, but the smile on his face undermined the annoyance in his voice.
Emma patted his knee to placate him before leaning over and giving him a small kiss. Bryan’s eyes, his whole expression, filled with love for his wife. I was both jealous and happy for them. Here I had all the women I could ever possibly want, enough to have a different woman each day of any given month; all I had to do was snap my fingers and they would come running. And I loved to please them, but sometimes I dreamed of more.
How she handled her husband, and the way he was thoroughly wrapped around her finger, made me laugh. And when I noticed their stares, the ones that clearly said, he’s lost his marbles, I shook my head. “You two really are perfect for each other.” My heart still longed for her, but eventually that would go away and I would meet someone new. Until then, there were plenty of fish in the sea to keep me company.
“Thank you…I think,” Bryan’s started to say, hesitating.
“So why did you come all the way over here? Your apartment is at least 25 minutes away,” I pried.
“You look like shit,” Emma announced suddenly.
“And here I thought I was a ray of sunshine,” I commented, lifting a brow.
“Out drinking last night?” She didn’t let my remark throw her off the scent.
“As a matter of fact, I was.”
She smirked crookedly. “New girl or one of your harem?”
“My harem?”
“You know you have one.”
I laughed raucously. My head was starting to pound, but I couldn’t seem to find it in me to care. “I wouldn’t say it’s one of the ‘harem’ as you call it.”
“Oh, new girl?”
Emma always found my dating life interesting, and I knew part of it was because she was hoping I would mend my playboy ways and settle down with one woman. Normally I told her, ‘Why have one when I can have many?’ She’d get frustrated with my answer and either leave me alone, or lecture me. Today, I didn’t feel like playing our normal game. “I wouldn’t say that either. And before you get your hopes up, there’s no way in hell this is going anywhere.”
“How do you know that until—”
“I know. This girl is different and she’s not my type. If anything, she needs a personality transplant.”
“Chad,” she whined.
“What?”
“Honey, maybe he isn’t the settling down type,” Bryan chimed in.
I didn’t know why, but hearing that from him hurt more than it should have. I used to think I wasn’t the “settling down type” before I met Emma, but I had changed because of her. Or something inside me had changed. I wanted to find someone who could make me happy, someone I could confide in, and someone I wanted to be loyal to instead of sleeping around with countless women. I hadn’t found the one yet, but that was probably a good thing. I didn’t want to explain what I was doing with Rayne to anyone, especially not someone I was involved with. I shuddered imagining that conversation.
Then again, maybe he was right. I was 31 and hadn’t found anyone yet, and kind of liked the way women adored me—or at least convinced myself I loved it. I might (sort of) want that one person to share my life with at the moment, but maybe it wasn’t in the cards for me.
For now, I needed to focus on Rayne and only Rayne. On what she has done to loved ones and the fact she was a stereotypical mean girl. Once she was out of the way and living in some nunnery in Antarctica, then I could think about my future further.
“Chad?” Emma’s voice cut through my murderous thoughts.
“Huh?” She was looking at me expectantly. Had I missed something? “What?”
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Bryan guffawed. “Man, you have it bad.”
“Bad?” What did I have “bad?” Confusion consumed me in that moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
With an elbow to her laughing husband’s, Emma calmly explained, “I asked you who the girl was and why you thought it wouldn’t work out. You zoned out on me and I had to call your name a couple of times before you answered.”
“Oh, really? Sorry about that.”
“And the girl?”
“No way in fucking hell.”
Bryan jerked his chin up and asked, “Then who was it?”
“No one,” I said. If I wanted to live long enough to make sure Rayne got hers in the end, I could not, would not, tell her overprotective brother about any of my intentions toward his sister…or the fact I had slept with her.
“If it’s no one, then you could tell us who it is. Unless you don’t remember.”
“Sort of,” I lied.
Bryan laughed some more and Emma elbowed him again. Her glare could melt the paint from my walls, but I refused to break down and spill my secrets.
“Same old Chad,” Bryan snorted.
Maybe I was the same, but I’d like to think I had evolved somewhat. If it made him feel better to think that though, then that was fine with me. Whatever he needed to calm the fuck down and let me hang out periodically with his wife.
“Chad, you’re better than this,” Emma chastised.
Maybe, but maybe not. I was doing this for her and didn’t care what she thought about me at the moment. Okay, that was a lie, I cared; however, I refused to allow myself to give in.
“It’s time you stopped with the man whoring and started to get serious about your relationships. You’ve been in at least one, so I know you can do it.”
Now she sounded like a freaking cheerleader, and I thought that was fucking hilarious. “Man whore? Really?”
“She’s kind of right,” Bryan defended his wife.
In that, I found the perfect reason not to find someone. Bryan was completely and utterly pussy whipped. All Emma had to do was crook her finger and he came running. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be a man’s man, maybe with someone beside me. Yes, the parade of endless faces was beginning to suck, and yet, I didn’t want to be so wrapped that I no longer owned a set of balls. It was sick and slightly pathetic. Why the fuck did I sort of envy him then? Oh hell no!
Redeemed: Book Two of the Love Seekers Series Page 5