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Is this life any better?
But what can I do to change it?
Maybe I could try to track down my father and ask him for help. But how would I even go about doing that? All I know about him is his name and the fact that he was as obsessed with the stars as I am. And really, it'd probably only lead to more disappointment. If he wanted to find me he could have over the years.
Disappointment drowns me. How did things get so bad? How could I let things get so bad? How can I fix this? Make things better?
Removing the bottle from my face, I glance out the window and at the stars, just like I used to do all the time when I was younger. When I had dreams. Hope. When I thought my father would come back and save me, but he never did, and now no one can save me.
I'm damned.
Ruined.
Wrecked.
Forever.
So instead of searching for answers in the stars, I pop the cap off the beer.
And search for answers at the bottom of the bottle.
Chapter 18
Not quite rock bottom, but close.
Tristan
Where am I? I don't know. I don't know anything other than the world is spinning. Or maybe it's me that's spinning.
"Tristan, can you hear me?" a woman asks as everything continues to spin and spin.
Round and round.
Out of control.
Just like me.
"What... Who's there?" I moan.
"Baby, look at me," she purrs. "Are you coming back?"
After blinking several times, my surroundings come into focus. A leaky ceiling is the first thing I see before I feel the pain.
"Where am I?" I mutter, cringing as the aching radiates through my head, like my skull is cracked.
"At your house, silly," she giggles.
I rotate my throbbing head. An older woman is sitting on the floor with her shoes and shirt off. She has greasy brown hair, an overly thin body, and sunken-in eyes that I don't recognize.
"Who are you?" I croak, my throat dry as hell.
"That doesn't really matter, does it?" she says then reaches for a shiny object that's on the floor in front of her feet.
I realize it's a spoon and the last several, very blurry months come crashing back to me. I'm in my room in an apartment in Vegas where I've been living for months. I live here with Quinton and a few other people, spending all my time doing and dealing drugs. I'm sprawled out on the floor, and in serious pain, because I screwed over the wrong person and they punched me in the side of the head so hard I think I got a concussion. But instead of going to the hospital, I dragged my ass back to my room because I can't afford a doctor nor do I care enough to fix myself.
I also remember all the other drugs I do.
The asshole I am.
The people I've hurt.
The loneliness.
The self-hatred.
Why did I have to wake up?
"You ready for this?" the woman asks as she positions a lighter below the spoon. "It'll take all the pain away and then you can pay me for it later." She bites her chapped lip as she says it, her glazed eyes drifting from my chest to the top of my jeans.
I think about the path I've taken. About my past or lack of one. I think about my life.
"And how exactly am I going to pay you?" I ask, even though I know it doesn't really matter. That regardless of the cost, I'll do it--always do.
She grins at me with her yellow teeth. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle with you."
I have no attraction to this woman at all. Don't care about her. Only about what she's going to give me, which might make me the worst and shittiest person in the world--might make me... well, me.
When no reason to decline her offer comes to mind, I say, "All right, let's do this." Then I stare at the dripping ceiling as I extend my arm toward her and my addiction.
Moments later, I feel the sting as the needle pierces my flesh.
Then I drift in and out of reality as the woman kisses me, touches me, uses me to please herself. I'm barely coherent by the time she leaves my room. Feeling hollow and dead inside, disgusted with myself, there's nothing left to do, but sink.
Deep into the darkness.
Toward rock bottom.
Not quite reaching it.
But knowing it has to be close.
Present day...
Chapter 19
The no wrecking rules.
Tristan
After that night in the alleyway, I never expected to see Avery again. I'd taken off with big plans of getting high so I could forget all about her. And forget who I was. Instead, I never made it that far and that hesitancy gave Avery just enough time to find me again. She, I'm discovering, is my weakness... strength to drugs.
I'm not sure what to think about the fact that she made the effort to track me down, what it means, other than she's the only person who's ever really looked for me before.
My parents once tried to find me while I was living in Vegas. I thought it was because they cared, but when they'd gotten me home after my overdose, I discovered it was because my mother was having a meltdown, and my father thought me being there would help her. Fix me, and he thought he could fix her. He was wrong. My mom needs more help than just a temporarily mended son. She needs... What she thinks she needs is Ryder back, but that's not ever going to happen.
"So what are you thinking?" Avery asks me from across the table.
She brought me to a restaurant where the tables are outside beneath a canopy. A Pink Floyd song is playing from the stereo and the air smells like salt and sunshine. The freshness of it seems to help my killer headache, caused by binge drinking and thoughts of what's going to happen if my neighbors come looking for the drugs.
I wasn't lying to Avery when I said I have no idea how I got the bag of crystal, but I know enough about myself to understand I could have easily stolen it or promised to do something very bad in order to get it.
I glance down at the menu then back up at her. "That I'm not really a fan of seafood."
She smiles as she reaches across the table and flips over the page of the menu. "Then check this section out." She taps her finger on a heading that reads: For the non-seafood lover.
I can't help smiling. "Seriously?" I scan over the menu. "Chicken. Hamburgers. Fries. Okay, that I can totally handle."
"You should try the burrito," she says. "It's the magical cure for a hangover. I promise after one bite, you'll be happy and smiling."
"But I'm already smiling because of you," I reply. "So wouldn't that make you the magical cure to my hangover?" What the fuck is wrong with me?
She stares at me, unimpressed. "Are you really going to keep that up?"
"Keep what up?"
"That charming, pretty boy, flirty thing."
"I honestly didn't even realize I was doing it." Well, kind of.
"Sure you didn't," she says doubtfully yet she's grinning.
I grin back at her, feeling so much better than I did this morning. I have no clue how that's possible. I've been so upset since I kissed her because it felt like so much more than a kiss to me.
I wanted it to be more.
Then came that thing I'm all too familiar with.
Rejection.
And sober, I can't handle it.
Sober, I can't handle much of anything.
Avery's smile abruptly vanishes, and I feel my own dissipating. But before she can say anything, the waitress interrupts us to jot down our orders. I decide on the chicken, while Avery choses the hamburger and she divulges that she hates seafood too. The waitress jots down the order then turns to leave. She gets two steps away from the table before Avery's attention locks on me.
"All right, we need to set some ground rules." She shuts the menu that's in front of her and folds her arms on top of it.
"Ground rules?" I ask as I reach for my glass of water.
She nods. "Yep, for us being friends."
I restrain a smile. "So we're friends?"
She points a finger at me, all serious and getting down to business. "Yes and this is very important, so pay attention."
I'm trying not to laugh at her, but it's really fucking hard because she looks so sexy being bossy. "All right, I'm all ears."
"Good." She begins to count down on her fingers. "The first and most important rule to our friendship is that what happened in the alleyway can never happen again."
"You mean the kiss?" I aim to sound joking, but my displeasure shows.
"Don't look at me like that," she says with a deep sigh. "It has to be done in order for me to do this."
"But what is this?" My lips wrap around the straw, and I sip my ice water before setting the glass back down. "Because I'm not sure I understand why you're here sitting with me when you really don't want to be."
"No, I want to be. I really, really do. In fact, I think it might be imperative that you and I become good friends." She pauses. "I just can't..."
"Make out with me in dark alleyways," I finish for her, stirring the ice in the cup with the straw.
She frees a trapped breath, nodding. "Yeah, there's that." She starts counting down on her fingers again. "And then there's the no wearing your shirt thing and being all sweaty."
I pick at the piece of gauze on my hand, chuckling. "So are you saying that my sweaty, shirtlessness turns you on too much?"
She nods, her honesty astounding me. "It really, really does."
I protect my eyes from the sun with my hand as I slump back in the chair. "But it's super hot here."
"I know." Her fingers enfold around the dewy glass of water and she picks it up. "How about you just keep your distance whenever you have your shirt off?"
"I guess I could do that," I reply unenthusiastically, unable to stop staring at her mouth as she drinks from the straw. "But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"It's clear that I'm attracted to you, so how are you going to prevent that?"
She rolls her eyes, but she's unmistakably amused and flattered. "You just let me worry about that."
"What are you going to do? Shave your head and wear sweat pants every day? Because I hate to break it to you, but you'd probably still be attractive."
She traces her tongue across her teeth, stifling a smile. "Rule number two," she says, sidetracking the conversation, "no more flirting."
I snort a laugh. "That is never going to happen. It's part of who I am."
She crosses her legs and squares her shoulders. "Well, you're just going to have to find someone else to do that with."
"Sorry, I can't." I give an unapologetic shrug. "I'm fine with rule one but rule two is never going to work."
She sighs, but it's unclear if it's a defeated sigh or an annoyed one. "And rule number three, no drugs or drinking."
I deliberate what she's said, wondering if I can do it and if I even want to. "I'm not sure I can do that, either."
"Then I guess we can't be friends."
"Right now, you're putting a lot of faith in the fact that you assume I want to be friends with you."
She arches her brow. "Don't you?"
I dither. "Maybe."
She examines her fingernails. "Well, it's your choice." She appears unconcerned but if I look close enough I can almost see a wall around her, put there to protect herself. Why can I see it? Maybe I do the same thing.
"No, I want to be your friend," I tell her guardedly. "But I have to ask... Why all the rules all the time? I mean, you're making these rules now and then there's the no guys rule."
Her hand lowers to the table. "Because they'll keep me from getting wrecked again."
My jaw practically hits my knees at the honesty her words carry.
"Look." She leans forward. "You saw the little fight between Conner and me and you know we divorced two years ago. Well, he also got arrested a little over two years ago, so I'm sure you can put two and two together as to why."
Sadly, I can. The fact that Conner almost hit her that night probably means that he used to beat her and that's why they're divorced now.
"Okay, I get it. But can I just ask why?" I ask. "Why would you want to help me after the stuff that you've been through? It seems so much easier just to walk away?"
"Walking away isn't always as easy as it sounds. And I'm helping you because I need to. Not just for you but for me. You remind me so much of myself, lost and confused"--she lifts her shoulder and shrugs like she really doesn't understand it herself--"and in need of some help."
"And what do you need, Avery? Who helps you?"
Her hazel eyes reflect in the sunlight as she stares up at the sky. "I'm still trying to figure that out." A haunting look fills her expression and when she glances back at me all I see is pain. So much agony.
But before I can ask her about it, the waitress delivers our mozzarella sticks. The interruption is kind of an icebreaker and then our conversation drifts back to mundane things.
"I used to work here," Avery tells me as she dunks a mozzarella stick into the bowl of marinara sauce. "As a waitress."
"How long ago was that?" I pluck a mozzarella stick from the plate between us.
"A couple of years ago." Her tongue glides out of her mouth and she licks the marinara off the mozzarella stick.
The sight of her tongue making that movement makes me go rock hard, and I have to adjust.
"I bet you made a good waitress. You have good people skills." And a fucking body that probably makes every guy want to tip her generously.
"I did okay." She pops the mozzarella stick into her mouth then cleans off her fingers on a napkin. "It's definitely not what I want to do with my life, though."
"And bartending is?" I bite the mozzarella stick.
She shakes her head. "No way. Benny's a decent boss but I hate the environment... and some of the stuff I have to do."
"Then why do you do it?"
"Flexible hours. Pays well." She shrugs. "Benny lets me do his books too, so it should help when I graduate. At least I hope it does."
"Books?" I stuff the rest of the mozzarella stick into my mouth. "Like illegal booking?"
She laughs, nearly choking on her food. "No, books as in his records and payroll and stuff." She picks at the napkin. "It's my major--accounting."
"Awe, the boring major." I give her a lopsided grin when her gaze darts up and her eyes narrow at me. "Hey, you said it first."
"Yeah, you're right." The hardness in her eyes diminishes. "I'm getting a minor in astronomy though, for fun."
"You like the stars?"
She presses her lips together and nods. "Yeah, kind of." Her eyes light up, revealing a deep love. "Well, a lot actually," she admits. "Probably way more than is healthy."
"So do you know all the constellations?" My gaze floats to the sky even though it's broad daylight.
"Well, not all of them," she explains. "That's nearly impossible."
"So why don't you do that?" My gaze resides on her. "Do something in Astronomy? If you like it so much."
She sweeps the shredded napkin aside. "Sometimes there's more to life than just loving what you do. Sometimes you have to do things in order to make it through life."
"Yeah, but you only live once, right? And why not do something that makes you happy?"
"It's more complicated than that," she says, scratching her head, giving me a glimpse of the cross and Survivor tattoo on her forearm. "What about you?"
I don't like where this conversation is going. "What about me?"
She props her elbows on the table. "What do you want to do with your life?"
I reach for a mozzarella stick to busy myself and hush the emotions stirring inside me. "Drift."
She's unamused. "I'm being serious, Tristan."
"So am I." I stuff the entire mozzarella stick into my mouth then give her my best grin. "I've always wanted to be a drifter."
"Fine, don't tell me." Her shoulders hunch as she slouches back in the seat. "But everyone wants to be something, Tristan. Now,
whether they do that is a whole different story, but everyone wants something."
I want you. "You might be overestimating the human race."
"Nah, I know you want something and sooner or later, you'll discover it yourself if you haven't already, and then you'll tell me."
"You seem so sure of yourself," I say smugly. "And so sure of my trust in you."
