Poison Me Sweetly (25 page)

It's Friday.

My stomach cramps a bit painfully as I climb out of
bed. I guess I'm not too surprised since my stomach had been tied in knots when
I'd gone to bed last night. I don't bother taking a shower or even trying to
fix my messy hair. No one's going to see me today anyway. I opt to leave on my
black tank and gray shorts, and I walk to the kitchen to grab a couple bottles
of liquor. It'll be bourbon for breakfast today. I have two bottles in my hand,
and I'm about to leave the kitchen when I see him.

My heart freezes in my chest, and I swear it stops
beating briefly. Thankfully, my hands tighten on the bottles instead of
releasing them. He's sitting on the couch, because he always appears to me in a
laid back manner rather than looking confrontational.

“Hey,” Micah says lightly as his eyes flicker to the
bottles of alcohol gripped in my hand. His lip tightens ever so slightly in the
corner.

I want to run.

I want to scream.

I want to fucking hit him for giving up his life for
mine.

But he's not real.

My eyes shut, and I remind myself of what Caleb had
said. People sometimes hallucinate loved ones to help with their grief. I'm now
wishing I would have researched that as well. Maybe on Sunday, because tomorrow
my head will be hanging in my toilet all day. I calm my thoughts and remind
myself that none of this is real. He's not real. I'm also not going insane. I'm
struggling with my grief, that's all.

After I feel a bit more composed, my lashes lift and I
look at him. He's still sitting there, watching me. After a moment, I slowly
walk halfway to the living room so that I am closer, but yet not too close. My
eyes linger over his dark, slightly shaggy hair, and I feel the sting of tears
behind my eyes as I take in his familiar face. I miss him so much. I draw in a
deep breath and ask, “Why am I seeing you? How is this supposed to help me?”

He smiles sadly. “You need to accept I'm gone.”

“I have. You've been dead for three years,” I point
out bitterly.

“Accepting means moving on, Zoey. You're not doing
anything to move on. Or at least you haven't until recently.” His eyes soften,
and he looks pleased about something. “He's good for you.”

He's referring to Caleb, and I glare. “Caleb is not
good
for me.”

“Yes, he is,” Micah says simply. “You're just too
scared to admit it.”

“I don't want to talk about Caleb. I want to know why
you're here.”

“I'm here, because I love you. There is no moving on
for me until I know you'll be okay. And you're far from okay, Zoey. You're
standing on the precipice of death. You have been for a while now, and I can't
let you do it. It'll kill mom and dad. It'll hurt everyone that's grown to care
for you and love you.”

“I'm not suicidal,” I snap. “I know what's going on
now, okay! It's PTSD. So sue me for having thoughts of death. Big deal. I have
no intention of ever taking my own life. Why the hell are you even saying all
this?” I ask with frustration. “Dammit. I had my head on straight with this
stuff earlier. I understand now why I think some of these things, but that
doesn't mean I want to harm myself. How is seeing you supposed to help my
grieving process? This doesn't make sense! You're making me doubt it all, and I
thought I was getting somewhere.” I feel lost as I look at him with confusion.
“I thought you were supposed to help me...”

“I'm trying here, Zoey,” he says, his face darkening
with the weight of his gaze that pins me to where I stand. “But I can't get
through to you. It's as if everything I say sets you off in some way. I thought
staying away would maybe stabilize you for a bit, but you just keep doing
stupid stuff. Like going in the ocean. And that alcohol you've got in your
hands? That's not good for you! You're either going to turn into an alcoholic,
or it'll eat away your liver. Or you'll drink yourself to death. For once in
your life, do the smart thing and pick up the phone. Call one of your friends,
or call Caleb. Let them help. Please,” he pleads.

“I can't,” I whisper.

“Why?” he asks as he looks at me with dark, tormented
eyes. “It's okay to love again. They won't leave you. I would have never left
you, Zoey, if the accident hadn't happened.”

“It's not just you. It's mom and dad, too. They forgot
me,” I say weakly, feeling bitter from being cast aside so easily by people
that were supposed to love me, to be there for me, to protect me. How could
they do that to me?

Micah flinches, and he cautiously rises to his feet,
but he doesn't move closer. “They messed up. We all mess up at one point or
another, because no one's perfect, Zoey. They've been wanting to reach out to
you for a long time now. They love you.”

“No...” I say faintly as I shake my head. “I don't
think they do. They loved you more. When you died, it's like they died with
you. I wasn't worth comforting. I was invisible to them. I lost all of you.”

His eyes fill with tears. “That's not what happened,
Zoey. Grief has it all twisted up in your mind.”

A tear trickles down my cheek, and I lift one my
hands, rubbing the tear away with the back of one hand since I'm still holding
the bottles. “I don't get it. I don't understand why my mind is doing this to
me,” I say out loud to myself. Why is it tormenting me? Especially today of all
days.

“Your mind has nothing to do with why I'm here, Zoey. I'm
real.”

I look up sharply as anger suddenly flares to life
within me. “You're not real!” I rage at him. “You're my stupid mind playing
tricks on me. It wants me to go back to believing I'm insane. Maybe I'm too far
gone to be fixed,” I say as I drop my head in defeat. I press the back of my
hand against my damp forehead as I continue holding onto the stupid bottles of
liquor. I'm shaking like a leaf, and I wonder if I'm having a real mental
breakdown.

“Zoey—” 

I abruptly spin around and stalk to my bedroom,
because I can't do this anymore. Today is not the day to try to get answers out
of my own subconscious.

Nausea happens to be the very first thing that greets
me as I come back to consciousness. My stomach is so twisted up that I feel my
throat twitching with the need to heave. Any kind of movement will surely make
the acid in my stomach swell up into my throat, so I lie still and simply
breathe slowly. The pain in my head has me thinking my head might just fall off
if I dare move it a centimeter. It's the rawness in my throat and the odd
burning sensation I feel within my chest that are new to me. So are the two
male bodies I'm resting between. I'm stretched out on my side with a male body
pressed against my front. I can feel someone behind me, but they aren't pressed
against me as intimately as the first one. But I can still feel the heat
radiating off of whoever it is. The only relief I feel over this realization is
the fact that the one in front of me is fully dressed. I can feel his jean clad
legs tangled against my bare ones.

I must have made a sound, because the warm hand on my
hip tightens slightly. “Zoey?”

Caleb? As I become more aware of my surroundings, I
realize Caleb is the owner of the male body pressed against my front, my body
recognizing his. Plus, I recognize his scent.

“She awake?” I hear Ace ask from behind me.

I'm in bed with Caleb and Ace? Did I get really
trashed at a party last night or something? Suddenly, I remember. Micah's
anniversary. This time a whimper does escape my throat, and someone brushes a
stray strand of hair off my forehead.

“Yeah,” Caleb murmurs to Ace. Then I hear, “Time to
wake up, Zoey.”

I try to shift against him, wanting to tell him to
leave me alone—but the movement sends my stomach into a rolling mass of nausea.

“Got a garbage right here,” Ace says quickly.

My world spins slightly as someone draws me up into a
sitting position, and I start dry heaving into whatever is pressed beneath my chin.
The world is spinning too fast, and I keep my eyes shut as I violently gag and
retch, but nothing comes up. Dang, it hurts real
bad
,
and my stomach is cramping painfully. Between the dizziness, nausea, and
pounding in my head, I want to crawl under a rock and die.

“Her stomach's finally empty,” I hear Caleb say, his
breath brushing against my ear as he holds me from behind.

“Thank the fuck for that,” Ace replies flatly.

I don't ever recall feeling this ill in my life. When
my stomach settles slightly, I let my head fall back onto Caleb's shoulder. My
back is resting against his chest, and I can feel one of his arms wrapped
around my waist, while the other is holding my hair back away from my face. A
soft whimper escapes me, because I feel like I'm riding a merry-go-round.

“That bad, eh?” Caleb asks me softly.

I feel like if I open my mouth to answer, I'm going to
end up dry heaving again. I ignore him and fight back the ever present
queasiness that's taken over my stomach.

“You need to drink some water. It'll help.”

I feel something cold press against my cheek, and I
turn my head away from it. “No,” I say hoarsely. If I drink it, I'll throw it
up. I'm sure of it.

“Babe, you are in all sorts of trouble. Drink the damn
water,” Ace orders.

My hand lifts to flip him off, but I'm betting it's
weaving around since I feel like I'm spinning. A warm hand settles over my fist
and gently forces it back down to rest near my hip.

“She's dizzy,” Caleb says with a sigh.

“Good. I hope she feels like shit.”

What crawled up his ass and died? “Fuck you,” I
grumble to Ace.

“You already did,” Ace taunts.

Caleb's chest rises and falls behind me as he sighs.
“Ace, you're not making this any better. If you can't be nice, go in the other
room,” he says simply.

“That's the point. I want her miserable after what
she's put us through,” Ace says darkly.

I feel Caleb's body tense. “I get you're pissed. So am
I. But she's not up to defending herself right now. Either shut up or get out.”

There's a long moment of tense silence. I feel someone
ease off of the mattress beside me, and the sound of footsteps walking away
reaches my ears. What's going on? What did I do? Fucking A!!! If the damn world
would stop spinning, maybe I could try to make sense of all this.

Caleb sighs again, his lips brushing my temple. Then I
feel him gently easing me back down onto the mattress, and I groan. “Sleep it
off. We'll talk later,” he soothes as he rubs my back in rhythmic circles. It
doesn't take much for me to drift off.

When I wake up again, I still feel like all sorts of
shit. But at least the room isn't spinning as badly as it had been the last
time. I'm also still in Caleb's arms. Even though my head is throbbing, and I
feel sicker than a dog, I take a moment to enjoy the feel of my body pressed
against his. Like earlier, my bare legs are tucked between his jean-clad ones.
He has an arm wrapped a bit protectively around my waist while our chests
touch, and my head is tucked close to his shoulder. He always smells so good. I
can't resist moving a little closer, my hips pressing against his. I feel his
hand lift, then fabric gently eases down over the curve of my ass, as if he's
covering it to preserve my modesty. Modesty I don't have. Why am I naked beneath
what feels like a large tee shirt anyway?

“You awake?” Caleb asks softly.

“Ugh,” is what comes out of my mouth. Why does this
hangover seem so much worse than the others before it? Someone shifts on the
other side of me, and I instinctively tense up.

“It's Jeremy,” Caleb explains.

Jeremy? Ace earlier and now him? It dawns on me that I
had to have done something incredibly stupid if they all are hovering over me
like they are. I lick my dry lips and try to pry my eyelashes apart. I brace
myself for bright light, but instead, I find that the room seems to be in
semi-darkness. At least from what I can see on the outskirts of my vision since
Caleb's chest happens to be blocking most of the room. I carefully ease away
from Caleb, and I turn onto my back, fighting back the urge to gag.

“She need the garbage?” Jeremy asks.

“Zoey, you going to throw up?”

“
Shhh
!” I hiss, my voice
slightly rough as it escapes my raw throat. “Don't talk about it and maybe I
won't,” I whisper, too sick to talk louder. I blink and see the familiar four
bed posts pointing at the ceiling. “Why am I in Ace's bed?”

Caleb leans over so his face is above mine. “Thirsty?”

“No.”

“You've been out for twenty-four-hours,
Zo
. You're probably dehydrated,” Jeremy points out.

My eyes slide to him and I frown. “Why are you here?”

His brown eyes glower at me. “Maybe you should be
asking why
you’re
here instead.”

“Water first,” Caleb interjects. He peers down at me.
“Jeremy's not kidding. You need to drink it.”

I carefully rise up onto my elbows and ease into a
sitting position, my head throbbing like a bitch. A soft curse escapes my lips
as I clutch my head in my hands. I can feel someone tugging on the hem of my
shirt to cover my nudity. The shirt had risen when I'd sat up, and I'm not
wearing panties. I can't help but snort. “You've all seen what I've got, so no
point in worrying over it,” I say dryly.

“That's what I told him in the shower,” Jeremy muses.

Shower? What shower? My eyes pop open, and I drop my
hands to squint at Jeremy. “What's going on?” I wish I could see their faces
more clearly.

Caleb pushes a cold water bottle into my hands.
“Drink.”

I manage to shoot him an irritated look before I do as
he asks, tentatively taking a sip of the ice cold water. Surprisingly enough,
it feels good on my raw throat, and I take several small sips before I hand it
back to him. My hair is in my face, so I shove it behind my ear, but it pops
right back out in my face. I grab a strand and study it. It's all kinky and
kinda
stiff. Like I slept with it wet or something.

“How did I get here?” I ask with puzzlement. Last
thing I remember, I'd been drinking in my own bedroom.

“I got this Jeremy,” Caleb says quietly.

My eyes shift from him to Jeremy, who looks a bit
torn. He nods. “All right. We'll be in the living room.” He leans over and
plants a kiss on my forehead before climbing off the bed and walking out of the
room. I stare after him. Suddenly the lamp next to the bed is turned on, and I
wince, putting a hand over my eyes as I squint.

“What do you remember about yesterday?” Caleb asks.

My hand drops and I study him. He looks grim. “Um...”
Shit. I skipped my classes to drink myself into oblivion. Looks like I
succeeded, because I have no clue how I ended up in Ace's bed of all places. “I
threw myself a little party,” I murmur as I bite my lower lip and wait.

This earns me a disapproving look. “Little party,
huh?”

“How do you guys know? I mean...”

“I had a bad feeling yesterday and sent you a text,
just to check in with you, make sure all was well. You didn't reply, and I just
figured I'd see you on campus. I didn't see you coming out of your Biology
class, so I asked Ace if he'd seen you. He said he hadn't, but you had an exam
that day, so you'd be there sooner or later for whichever class you had your
exam in. When you didn't show, I just had the worst feeling. I left campus and
came back to the apartments. I found your car in the lot, but you weren't
answering your door, so I called Jeremy. He booked it over here, and we entered
your apartment with the spare key they keep for you. We found you on your bed,
choking on your own vomit,” he says darkly.

“What?” I ask faintly. Had I heard him correctly?

“If I hadn't gotten worried and wanted to check up on you,
you'd be dead,” he says flatly, his blue eyes accusing. “Your place was loaded
with vomit. Jeremy and I got you out of there and brought you here. We cleaned
you up and watched over you, while Ace and AJ cleaned your apartment.”

The color drains from my face. “I was really choking?”
I ask softly.

“Yeah.”

My eyes close as I draw in a shuddering breath. When
will my stupidity ever end? All I wanted was to escape Micah's anniversary, not
drink myself to death. I can't help but wince as I realize I truly do need
help.

“Talk to me, Zoey. Why would you do that? Why did you
have all that liquor in your apartment? What set you off?”

Much to my horror, tears suddenly fill my eyes. I try
to look away so I can hide them, but Caleb's hand reaches out and he catches my
chin, his blue eyes holding my gaze captive. “Stop running from me.
Talk
to me.”

“Yesterday was the anniversary of Micah's death!” I
blurt out.

He stares at me for a long moment before his eyes
shut. I watch as he draws in a breath, then his eyes slowly open as he frames
my face with both his hands. He leans forward to rest his forehead against my
own while his eyes search mine. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asks softly.

“I don't know. I usually spend it alone.”

“Why spend it alone if you don't have to, Zoey? I
would have come over and spent the day with you. If you couldn't have handled
it sober, I would have at least kept an eye on you so that you didn't develop
alcohol poisoning or choke to death. Is it that difficult for you to ask for
help?”

“Yeah, it is,” I admit softly.

He sighs and pulls his forehead away from mine before
he draws me into his arms. “You scared the shit out of us.”

“I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I just
wanted to clock out for a bit.”

“Yeah, well, you succeeded with that part of your
plan. We need to get some food in you.”

Nausea swells within my gut, and I grimace against
him. “No food. I feel really, really sick right now. I'll just throw it right
back up.”

“We'll wait a little bit then, I guess,” he says
reluctantly. “AJ's gone already, but Ace and Jeremy are in the living room. Ace
is going to let into you. As much as you hate getting your ass handed to you, I
am asking you to just let him have at it, okay? He was shocked and scared when
he came home and found you unconscious while we were trying to clean you up. He
needs to vent, and it's not to punish you, it's because he loves you,” he says
lightly.

“I hear you,” I say with a sigh.