Sick Like Me (Sick Like #1)

Chapter 19

NINETEEN

“You’re not seriously drinking at 11:30 in the morning, are you?” I heard my mother’s voice holding a jokingly warning tone to it come from the other end of the video chat from where she was propped up against my vanity through my phone screen, while I stood on the other side of the room checking out the contents of my wardrobe.

“It’s midday somewhere, mother,” I replied with a clipped edge to my tone before I pulled out a blue dress which was designed to be off the shoulder, with the bust being two pieces of fabric overlapping one another so the cut was low to show off as much cleavage as possible. The only redemption was the dress had white flowers to make it look summery. Surely no one would bat an eye at it, even if I did almost let a nip slip, I tried to reassure myself.

It was that dress, or the black one I wore to the work event. And sitting under the blasting sun in a beer garden dressed in all black sounded like a recipe for disaster. I wasn’t the kind of girl who had many dresses, I just had a few which often were themed around events such as Christmas, or very special occasions which next to never happened in my life .

“How is Peyton holding up?” My mother finally spoke up after she finished her berating after she had noticed the glass bottle of Desperados on the vanity. Her voice sounded a different manner of concerned for my friend, the girl she used to call her second daughter in our teenage years.

I was close to Peyton’s family, and she was close to mine. She was the sibling I never had, the second daughter my parents couldn’t push their arguments aside to conceive. But she didn’t have to be blood related for them to love her. They were firm believers that blood was not always thicker than water. A sentiment I believed in, but refused to say around certain members of my family for fear of their reactions.

“Well, as you would expect.” I began, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t imagine how she feels, being told by the man who she allowed into her and her daughter’s life to tell her he fell out of love with her,” I took my head as I walked over to my vanity, holding the dress up. “Think this looks good enough?”

“Babe, I don’t think anyone will care what you wear. In the end the both of you will end up drunk enough you could open a brewery with your blood,” I heard the familiar voice of Franki Cavanaugh sound from beside her.

I smiled at my stepfather’s voice, but said nothing as I laid my dress carefully on my bed, then I sat back in my uncomfortable desk chair which was meant to be a temporary thing for my vanity. I had gotten too lazy to buy a new one in all truth of the matter, but sitting on it reminded me I needed to finally scour Amazon for a good enough chair that matched the rest of the aesthetics of my bedroom, but was also designed to be durable and comfortable.

“I should go and get ready, I’ll talk to you guys later or something, yeah?” I picked up my phone when I realised the time and waved at the pair, rushing out goodbyes and I love yous before I ended the call.

I placed my phone back down, and the music that had been playing before the intrusion through the speaker in the corner of my room continued. I picked up my makeup brushes and my base products, then went about making myself look as good as my makeup skills would allow.

Once I was sure my face looked good enough—my eye bags and freckles covered with the faint touches of pink on my eyes, cheeks and lips—I then changed into my dress. It was long, so I didn’t have to worry about showing off too much leg. I just had to make sure not to move too much or for sure a tit was going to fall out.

But I was sure it would not be the first or last time Peyton would see my tits. Stefan was a different matter. If he saw any part of my body naked beyond my face, neck and arms, I was sure I would likely throw up my stomach on the spot and be the cause of him needing to start therapy.

I then made my way downstairs with my phone tight in my hand. I placed it on the console in the hallway as I reached down and slipped on some black sandals. I wasn’t sure if they even matched the outfit, but I was not about to wear boots in the blistering summer heat and I was positive that pink trainers would just make me look like a dickhead.

I stood once again, then I grabbed my phone and bag from the console. I made my way to the front door, not even bothering to give myself a final once over before I unlocked the door and slipped outside.

Perfect timing, I thought just as I noticed a taxi pull up down my driveway. I made my way down, smiling when the rear door opened to reveal the smiley face of Stefan Moore. “You ready to get going butty?” He asked, to which I nodded and rushed to lock my door before I stumbled my way in the uncomfortable sandals to the taxi.

I felt the strap of leather that went around the place where my toes met my foot tighten and rub with every step, and I knew I would likely end up in blisters by the end of the night. But I had to push the thought aside—it was too late and I had already picked my poison.

We were going out to a restaurant cross pub for dinner, and then we were going to stay as long into the night as our bodies would allow us as we planned to down as many drinks as humanly possible.

We, being Stefan, Peyton and I.

A few nights ago, Peyton had messaged a simple, short text into our group chat.

Peyton: We broke up.

I would be lying if I said I was shocked. But the news still stung. Peyton had loved William with her whole heart—well, as much as she could. James had broken her down to have major trust issues in all of her future relationships. Some men couldn’t handle it, but William sat her down and talked her through all her anxieties—he assured her he was there to stay for not just herself, but Nova also.

Stefan: What? No way. What happened butty?

Peyton: He said he’s too busy with his work, and that he feels like we lost the spark and he has fallen out of love with me.

Me: Why didn’t he just suggest some ways to spice the relationship back up? Could bring the ‘spark’ back.

Peyton: Yeah… That’s what I suggested/asked too.

In the days following, surprisingly she kept her composure. Maybe it was because of Nova, or maybe it was because she suspected the breakup was coming, but I was proud of her for continuing her schedule with discipline, and keeping her head high as she let the world know that the breakup would not be the fucking end of her. And I knew Stefan was proud of her for that too.

I also didn’t notice the unusual sparkle behind his eyes as he shut the taxi door once I was inside, his eyes flickering to Peyton who sat pushed against the other car door. I felt my stomach drop, as I knew what that look meant. As it was the look I was sure Kota gave me when we parted ways the other night.

I tore my eyes away from the pair and stared out of the window beside me. I let out a sigh, hoping my eyes were playing cruel tricks on me.

The Silver Stag was situated close to the centre of the nearest city, however it was still far enough away that it was considered to be on the outskirts. So while the pub was bustling with activity, it wasn’t too much for me and my introverted self.

We walked to the open beer garden in the back and found a host stood behind a counter with a large smile on their face, wearing a white vest and black shorts covered by a wrap around apron on their waist.

“Do you have a reservation?” She asked, her smile bright and beautiful as her dark hair flowed in the wind.

“Yeah, we’re booked in under Summers, Peyton Summers,” Stefan replied when it was becoming apparent both Peyton and I were not about to speak up. While Peyton usually held her head high in public, she looked beyond her usual self. Slightly dazed, as if she wasn’t really there. While I hated public speaking, so there was no chance I would have said anything regardless.

The woman looked down at a phone looking device in her hand, then she tapped it with her long nail before she smiled. “I see you, let me take you to your table.”

The woman led us around the side of the building, where surprisingly sat a much larger space filled with tables, placed at least a meter apart where the patrons had plenty of space to themselves.

The woman led us to the centre, nearest to a tall tree with green leaves and small white budding flowers. The table was a dark wood, and looked to be recently stained, while there were four matching seats around it. Above us sat a navy umbrella, perfect to keep us shaded from the sun.

I sat down with my back to the building so I could watch the walking path on the opposite side, which was separated by a wooden fence and a drop, then a river.

Peyton sat opposite me, and Stefan chose to sit beside her. I placed my bag on the seat beside me, then instantly reached for the smallest of the menus sat atop a bigger one—a drinks menu.

“Oh, they sell Desperados here. Yummy,” I stated, placing the paper back down. I looked up, and found Stefan was looking at the drinks menu just as I had, however Peyton sat with her hands folded on top of her lap and her eyes stared at the table, but seemed to be staring through it—not registering the situation in some ways.

I was both thankful, and disheartened by the sight before me. Thankful, because Stefan was keeping his eyes to himself and was not making lover boy eyes at Peyton. That had sold it to me that whatever I saw in the car was just a part of my imagination and meant nothing. Disheartened, because Peyton looked so lost and empty, as if she wasn’t really there.

“Hey,” I whispered softly, reaching my hand out to gently brush my fingertips along her arm. She snapped her eyes up and blinked in surprise, then she forced a small smile. “Are you okay? We can go back to mine, chill in the garden—” I began, but she rushed to hold her hand up as she shut me down.

“No way, I’m excited to be here. It’s nice to be out in the sun and having some time away from Nova and that empty house. It fucking sucks without him being there, even though he was barely around half the time as of late.” She picked up the drink menu and scanned over it lazily, then placed it back down.

“I’m just going to get San Franciscos all night I think,” She hummed to herself before she picked up the food menu.

I looked at Stefan, to find him looking right back at me. We shared a look, a mutual look of concern and understanding. But we let it go as we picked up our own food menus.

I wanted to let her know I was there for her, but a part of me knew even if I didn’t say it, she could feel it. We were just like that sometimes—we could communicate without saying any words to one another. I found peace with her, even during our silences.

I let my eyes looked over the organised rows of food, and decided on a simple bruschetta for starters, a ‘dirty hot dog’ (that consisted of smothering the sausage in mince sauce and cheese) for my main, and I couldn’t help but eye up the tiramisu for dessert.

It didn’t take a waitress long to come over to our table. We all settled for the same drink as Peyton—it sounded delicious on paper and so we thought why not. The drinks came much quicker than our food, however the wait wasn’t necessarily long.

I picked up the orange and yellow drink, sipping it slowly to savour the fresh taste. However Peyton seemed to have other things on her mind as she downed the drink in several long gulps through the small black straws we were provided.

I smiled faintly, she had always had the terrible habit of drinking her alcohol too fast. But then again, she was a mother and she was free of her child for the next three nights, so she could afford to get drunk and let loose for once.

“How are things with you and your girlfriend?” Peyton asked as she placed her empty glass down and gathered our menus to place them opposite the empty seat, so we would have all the space in the world to place our dishes across the table.

Stefan pushed his lips together, then took a deep breath in through his nose. He closed his eyes for a second, then pushed a breath out through his nose in an attempt at a sigh. He leant back against his chair in a carefree manner, then threw his arm around the back of Peyton’s chair .

“She’s been cheating on me,” He began, then let out a small laugh before he continued. “With my own sister.”

My lips parted in surprise. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make a joke or not. But the smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes revealed all I needed to know. He was serious.

So maybe what I saw in the car was real, a voice in the back of my head taunted me.

“Why is it when my love life seems to start looking up yours goes to shit?” I asked, hoping to ease the awkward tension that had come over us.

But the attempts were short lived when within no time, our starters joined the table.

We fell into silence, choosing to scoff our food and drinks down until the buzz took over.

Around six San Francisco cocktails, three j?ger bombs and two double vodka and cokes later, and Peyton, Stefan and I found ourselves in the main section of the pub, where the bar and dance floor sat, while the sun began to set and the locals pooled in for their nightly drinks.

The music thumped loudly, some rock music from the 80s or 90s that I was sure my dad would have liked. I swayed my body regardless of not being the biggest fan of the music. Peyton joined me, while Stefan kept the alcohol running through our veins.

I could already sense the dehydrating forming, my mouth dry and my brain thudding in the back of my head. But I could ignore those things. They were matters that tomorrow’s Ashton would have to deal with.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, are you okay here on your own? Shall I go get Stefan?” I shouted over the loud music. We had been fucking stupid and chosen to dance right by the speakers. I knew she needed it though. The louder the noise, the less her brain had to think about—as if it was numbing her thoughts.

The thought of leaving her alone—drunk—scared me. But Stefan was nearby after all, and if what I had seen earlier in the day was true, then I knew he would have his eyes glued onto her all night.

“I’ll be fine. Go piss girl,” I heard her laugh, the sound barely there over the thumping of the music. I grabbed her lower arm, squeezing it gently to let her know I would be back quickly. Then I rushed off the dance floor in search of a bathroom.

I looked around with frantic movements of my head, my phone held tight in my hand for the fear it would either be stolen, or I would place it down somewhere unknowingly and lose it.

My eyes found a chalk board sign hanging from the wooden beams on the ceiling, then I nodded to myself as I undertook my new mission.

I followed the signs, pushing my way past people who were too ignorant to notice my presence. And within no time, I began to find a break in the crowd and came to my freedom.

A hallway sat off of the large open space where the main dance floor and bar area stood. I walked down the hallway, a few other people walking in and out of doors down it. I made my way to the one I noticed some women walking out of, then made my way to it.

I checked the sign, and once I was sure it read WOMEN , I pushed the door open and stumbled inside. My feet were numb—hell, my whole fucking body was. But it was as if somehow I still knew my feet were in pain.

I was thankful to find most of the stalls in the bathroom were empty, and so I rushed to the farthest end and pushed it open before I ran inside and locked it behind me. I pulled my dress up and my underwear down before I sat down on the toilet seat and relieved myself .

I unlocked my phone and opened my messaging app, finding no response to the message I sent three nights ago.

Me: Good evening.

I even added a full stop to show I was annoyed at his lack of conversation, but nothing. Crickets. If you looked hard enough at the chat, I believed you would even see moths begin to form from all the dust coating the messages.

I went to type a message, a passive aggressive one that wanted to wish him well and to fuck off. But all reason had gone from my systems, and I thought why settle for a text, you should call him .

I knew sober Ashton would go fucking insane if she knew what I was about to do, but she wasn’t in control. The vodka running through my veins was.

So I clicked his profile photo in the app which then opened his contact on my phone.

Without a second thought, I pressed the phone button and the line began to ring. I placed my phone to my ear, half expecting him not to answer and for me to drunkenly babble at his voicemail.

But after four rings, the line went silent before I heard his deep voice speak from the other end. “Hello?” He sounded tired and confused, but hearing his voice wasn’t enough to soothe the fire that was burning through me at the irritation from the lack of contact from him.

“You know I fucking hate your guts, right?” I spat, very much aware that I was likely slurring and sounded much less threatening than I intended to.

“Ashton?” He asked, and I heard the ruffle of fabric as I assumed he sat up in bed. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I was surprised he was in bed. He could handle his day to day life with very minimal sleep—a superpower I wished I could share.

“You suck,” I mumbled, and sniffled a little harder than I intended. Only then did I notice I was crying. Where the fuck had my tears come from? I wasn’t usually one to cry while drunk—I was usually a very happy and loving drunk person.

But I guess the Kota-addiction changed that. It seemed to change me in ways I was unable to see until it was too late.

“Are you drunk? Where are you?” He shot the question after the first, without giving me any time to respond. But unlike him, I was a queen at multitasking.

I placed my phone on top of the metal toilet roll holder and then stood after ensuring I was dry and clean. I spoke towards my phone as I pulled my underwear up, and the bottom part of my dress down. “Yes, I’m drunk. And I’m out at a pub with my friends.”

I picked the phone back up and pressed the button on top of the toilet, then the water flushed down. I turned to the door of the cubical and unlocked the door before I walked out to the sinks.

I placed my phone in a way where it was wedged between my shoulder and my cheek as I tilted my head so I could still hear him. I turned the tap, pushing my hands under the ice cold water.

“Tell me exactly where you are,” He spoke, his voice stern and much more awake sounding than previously.

“Why should I? You’re not my owner,” I spat back, then I had to metaphorically bite my tongue to make sure I didn’t reveal too much to him. I had to keep strong, I had to show him he had less control over me than I first let him believe.

“Tell me where you are Ashton or I swear to fucking God, I will hunt you down,” He warned, and with the serious edge to his tone, I knew better than to keep fucking around. He hated when I didn’t follow his orders—like a control freak.

I let out a frustrated breath through my nose, then I turned the tap off once all the suds had washed from my skin. I turned to the hand dryer, shoving my hands under it as I shouted into the phone, “The Silver Stag.”

The line felt silent, and I was sure I heard something along the lines of a mumbled, “When I get my hands on you…” But before I could ask him to repeat himself over the deafening hum of the dryer, the line beeped to signal the call had been ended.

I pulled my left hand away from the dryer and pulled my phone from the wedge I had made. I frowned, the screen confirming the line had ended. I sighed, then pulled my other hand free before I left the bathroom.

I followed the way I had entered until I found myself home on the dance floor once again. I moved my body to the music with much less enthusiasm, the thought of Kota coming to the bar more than enough to start to sober me up.

I pushed my way past small groups and dancing hooligans until I found Peyton, a new drink in her hand. Her eyes were closed as she drunkenly swayed to the music, and at her ease of demeanour, I felt my own body relax.

He wasn’t going to come here, no fucking chance, I cursed myself to stop thinking up imaginary scenarios. He could barely bring himself to answer my texts, bear in mind to hunt me down and drag me from some pub. I didn’t doubt the next time we saw one another, he would expect it to end in him getting his dick wet.

As Peyton seemed to notice a shadow cross her face from the lights moving around erratically above, her eyes opened in a flash. Her lips turned up into a smile when she noticed it was me, and she threw her hands up in the air, even splashing some of her drink on herself and the ground.

“Ashton!” She yelled excitedly, as if she hadn’t spent all day with me.

“Peyton!” I yelled back, mimicking her actions and tone before I threw my head back to the ceiling, closed my eyes and swayed my body to the music with no care in the world.

In half an hour, I was starting to lose counts of how many shots Stefan had bought us. I took them without a second guess, to get the buzz back under my skin. And sure enough, the room became blurry and I could barely walk in a straight line.

“Maybe we should go home now!” Stefan shouted over the music to both Peyton and I. Peyton looked exhausted, and nodded her head in agreement. I sighed, wanting to stay out a little longer. I was usually a homebody, but with how free I felt, it was something I wanted to embrace for as long as I possibly could.

I felt hands gently grab my sides from behind, and I wanted to snap my head to check out who dared to touch me. But as I tried to turn my head, faces became blurry and I felt my stomach churn.

I closed my eyes, believing it to be Stefan the likely culprit. “Let’s get you home,” The voice almost whispered into my ear, deeper than I remembered Stefan sounding.

I allowed him to lead me through the dance floor, to the table where I heard clanging of metal. A few seconds later, I felt the person lead me further through the pub to the front doors.

Within no time, I felt the cold air hit my skin and shivered. I opened my eyes to attempt to see if a taxi had arrived for us yet, but the second I did, the dizzy and nautious feeling came over me again so I closed my eyes and hoped Stefan and Peyton were sober enough to hunt down a taxi for us all.

I heard what sounded to be exchanging of words, whispers and mumbles which almost started to sound like they were beginning to turn into an argument, but then within no time I heard the soft thuds of doors shutting.

The hands on me led me on some gravel path, then I felt them lean me against their side as they grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. I smelt a familiar scent, but I couldn’t place where I had smelt it before. Then I was manoeuvred to sit in a leather seat that felt beyond luxe for a taxi.

I kept my eyes closed, even as I felt my bag land on top of my lap. Then I heard the door beside me close before the crunching of faint footsteps. Another door opened and closed, then the engine of the car purred to life before I felt it moving.

I leant my head against the window, refusing to open my eyes. “I feel so sick,” I mumbled.

“Don’t you dare throw up inside of my car, or I’m going to charge you for a valet,” The voice sounded both close, yet distant at the same time.

I assumed it was the taxi driver, warning Stefan about how he planned to treat us if either Peyton or I made a mess.

“I won’t throw up, I promise,” I attempted to hold my hand up with my pinky finger extended, but my body felt heavy as I felt sleep was begging to settle in and take me over into it’s warm embrace.

I felt the car turn and accelerate several times throughout the drive, which made the drive feel as if I was being transported for miles, spanning the length of hours. But then I felt the car stop and the engine shut off.

I heard a door open and shut again, then I felt the familiar hands from earlier touch me gently once the door beside me was open again. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” The male voice whispered.

I groaned, but allowed them to lead me to the front door. I leant against the wall beside my door, and tried to dig through my bag for my keys with no luck. I couldn’t grab any items, my hand feeling weak.

I felt a warm, strong hand slide into the bag along with mine, then I felt the fingers grip something before the hand slid back out of my bag. There was a jangle noise, which I assumed to be my eyes, then I heard the door handle as the door was thrown open.

“I should probably help you up the stairs,” The voice mumbled, seemingly more so to himself than to me.

The hands gently reached for me again, pulling my hair from my face before they led me inside. I heard the front door shut behind us, then the person led me to where I knew my stairs began.

I heard the person whisper instructions into my ear, telling me to take each step one at a time as their hand rested on top of mine to keep me holding onto the banister. Once I felt the turn in the stairs, I knew we weren’t far.

The person led me down the hallway for barely a few steps, then they stopped. “Which one is yours, damn it,” The voice whispered.

“Pink with green leaves green on the bedding,” I mumbled.

Stefan had visited my house before. He had even slept in one of my spare bedrooms. So why he was asking which room was mine was beyond me—confused me. But it had been some months since then, and so I assumed he must had just forgotten the layout of my house.

The hands led me to the direction of the bedroom I signalled was mine, then I felt the scent of my perfume drifting through the air to confirm it was indeed my bedroom.

The warm hands gently turned me to sit me on the edge of my bed. The second my arse hit the memory foam mattress, I leant back and laid down on the bed despite my feet still being planted to the floor.

I heard a loud sigh, then I felt the warm fingers gently glide around my ankles. The fingers fiddled with the leather strap on my ankle before the sandal on my right foot felt as it slid off of my skin, then the same happened to the sandal on my left foot.

“Come on, get up so we can get you into some pyjamas and tuck you up," The voice continued to whisper softly, like a calming lullaby.

I forced my body to sit, everything feeling heavy. I forced myself to stand, almost stumbling over my discarded sandals which I then kicked out of my way. I felt myself swaying, but managed to open my eyes before I pointed to the bottom drawer of the wardrobe nearest to me. “They’re in there. Shorts and vest top, please. It’s so warm,” I mumbled, half asleep, and half dizzy from all the vodka.

I heard ruffling, then the drawer opened. I heard fabric being moved around, then I felt a presence before me, shoving the pyjamas at me. I sighed, then turned to drop them on top of the bed.

I kept my back to the person, no care in the world as I pulled my dress off. I knew Stefan wouldn’t ogle my mostly naked body. He had probably turned away already, I reasoned.

I threw the dress somewhere on the floor beside me, then I picked up the vest top and slipped that on over my head first. Then I picked the shorts up and almost stumbled before I managed to slip my legs into each hole.

I was sure when I felt myself being stumble, that I heard the other person in the room try to make their way to me, but I stopped myself before I needed their assistance.

As they had prompted earlier, I walked to the side of my bed and threw off the duvet before I used my knee to lean against the bed, then I turned my body and flipped so I landed on my back. I then turned to lie on my left side, the side I knew was the best side to sleep on when you felt sick—something about your stomach being lower making you less likely to throw up.

I closed my eyes, not even caring to bid the person goodbye. Stefan could crash in the guest bedroom, and Peyton could take another. I didn’t care.

I felt gentle fingertips ghost along the exposed skin on the bottom of my back, then I felt the weight of my duvet as the person covered my body. I hummed, enjoying the feeling. Before I could ask them to lock the front door, sleep overcame me.

I hoped they had pulled my key out of the front door, was my last thought before my mind went blank.