What the fuck?
My head throbbed, and my mouth was drier than the desert.
“What...” my voice sounded like a scratched record.
The nurse gave me a cool stare then explained, “You’re physically fine. I’ll get the officer that brought you in.”
Officer?
I stared at my wrist, at the cool metal holding me captive to the hospital bed.
Handcuffs.
Then I remembered.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, fuck indeed,” said a cheerful voice as a cop stood at the end of my bed. “I’m Officer Merton, and you were involved in a crash with a parked car.”
I squinted at him. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. You are under arrest on suspicion of driving under the influence.”
Holy fuck. My entire body ached as I tried to sit up, but it was hard being cuffed to the bed.
“We would like to ask you for a blood test, sir.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bed, shame burning my cheeks.
“Sure.” What was the point in arguing now? They’d have found the whiskey bottle, seen the state of me…
The officer nodded and disappeared before coming back in with the same nurse from earlier. She took a blood draw from my uncuffed arm, avoiding my gaze the entire time. She must think I was a fucking shambles of a man. A drunken criminal.
The officer stared out the window, humming to himself. His wedding band glinted smugly, reminding me that I’d truly fucked up. I stared down at my own, having decided not to take it off. Not now, not ever.
“We called your emergency contact,” the nurse told me, pressing a band-aid to my skin.
“My wife?” My stomach dropped. “She knows?”
“She knows you’re here, yes. All done.” The nurse turned to the officer. “I’ll just get his discharge papers.”
The officer nodded, then gazed at me. “Your wife is gonna be so pissed, huh?”
I rested back on the bed, wishing it could absorb me into it and relieve me of this shit.
“You have no idea.”
17
LILA
“Icouldn’t wearthat!” I stared at the slinky red dress Vanessa was holding up, my eyes wide. “Need I remind you how old I am?”
Vanessa glared at me. “What? I don’t care how old you are, it’s how old you feel. You’d look great in this.”
“My husband may have cheated on me, but I’m not turning into a one-dollar tramp because of it,” I retorted. “And I'm sorry, but where would I even wear that? To the garden? Taking out the trash?”
Even saying those words still hurt me. Victor had cheated on me, and no matter what I did, no matter how many trucks I torched or bitches I slapped, I still loved the bones of that man. I couldn’t help it; I’d loved him since the moment I’d laid eyes on him.
