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“I’m fine,” I say, pushing open the door.
The place is dark when we step inside. The smell of stale food and something else, something familiar, makes my stomach roll. My hand flies to my face, covering my mouth and nose, willing my stomach to calm down. That’s when I see him.
“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no.”
My heart stops when I get to the middle of the room just enough to find Prescott lying on the floor, unconscious.
Nixon swears and pushes me away as he turns Prescott onto his back, leaning down so he can check if he’s breathing.
What if he’s not breathing?
“The asshole is still alive,” Nixon mutters. “Just unconscious in his own vomit.”
With that, he slaps him on the cheek. Hard.
The sound of skin connecting to skin snaps me out of the daze. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to wake him up. What does it look like I’m doing?” He slaps him again. “Wake up, you idiot.” He glances at me. “Sit down, Jade. I can’t have you passing out, too.”
Nixon grunts as he slips his arm around Prescott’s waist and helps raise him off the floor. Prescott groans, and relief slams into me, almost bringing me to my knees.
He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay.
I chant those words as I watch Nixon carry him into the bathroom before following after them. He goes straight into the small shower. After a few silent curses, the water turns on, and Prescott bellows at the cold water hitting him out of nowhere.
“What the fuck?”
“Since the nice way didn’t work, I figured this would have to do. You can thank me later for not leaving you to suffocate in your own puke.”
Nixon’s words are hard and unyielding.
I can still see it,see himlying down on that floor. Utterly unaware of what was going on. Would he be okay if Nixon hadn’t decided to check in on him? Would he still be alive?
Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a step back.
I have to get out of here.
Out, out, out.
The moment I’m in the living room, that horrible smell hits me once again. I barely make it to the sink before I start throwing up. My fingers grip the counter, knuckles white as I get everything out of me, a cold sweat coating my skin.
Only when I’m sure I’m done, do I turn on the faucet, letting the water wash away the puke, and splash some water on my face before I get down on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I’m about to place my head on my knees when something white catches my attention.
Bracing myself, I push upright and make my way to the middle of the room, sliding my hand under the coffee table and pulling it out. I know what it is even before I turn it to see the label.
“I’m going to find some dry clothes to change into,” Nixon says, startling me.
I grip the bottle tighter, looking up at him. “Sure thing.”
Nixon stops, those wary eyes of his that see more than they should, narrowing slightly. “Are you okay? No side effects? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, it’s just…” I inhale deeply. “I’m fine. Go change.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few.” He looks over his shoulder again before finally disappearing out into the hallway.
I unclasp my fingers, looking at the label on the bottle. It’s worn like the bottle has been used regularly for months.
Dammit, Prescott! You promised.
