Page 7

Maybe I took the wrong drugs. There was a wealth of options in Chaz’s coat pocket inventory. The club would be open and hopping this time of night. I could walk there. It was several blocks, but I knew the way. Or I could call a cab… My funds were low. I needed to sell something. To paint.

Evander painted. He had a whole rattle can rainbow in Central Park, ready to unleash color and fumes.

I sniffed the air of Sully’s apartment but found only the faint aromas of nag champa and sage. She smoke cleansed the place weekly. Should have cleansed me, too. Banish the bad energy filling up my insides. Anger, and fear, and desperation crammed into my useless, useless brain.

I needed toremember.

A name. Just one. It couldn’t be that hard.

But, when I closed my eyes and thought so hard it made my temples throb, I saw Loren. Quiet, somber Loren by my side. Not speaking. Not telling me a damn thing.

“You know how he is,”Sully had said.

I didn’t know nearly enough.

Lolling my head aside, I saw the empty wine bottle toppled beside me. An enemy defeated. I reached over with an unsteady hand and gave it a spin. The rolling sound of glass on wood wormed into my brain. I snickered, then spun it again. Faster.

It glinted in the light, flashing like a strobe. Like the club. I could go down there. I could walk.

I needed money.

I needed art.

I needed paint I could huff because it was cheaper than drugs.

The drugstore was open all night. I could go there and get enough spray paint to graffiti Sully’s entire apartment. She would understand. She might even like it. Creative expression. A means to an end. It might help me remember some bitch demon’s name.

Rolling over tossed me like laundry in the dryer. Tumbling, tumbling, till I was flat on my belly and stretched across the hardwoods. All I could see were open books and those dumb floor cushions because Sully didn’t believe in proper furniture. Even her dining table was low to the ground so we had to sit cross-legged on more floor cushions to fit underneath it. I’dtaken to eating my meals at the kitchen island. It had barstools, at least.

Putting pressure on my stomach brought a surge of unwanted sensations. Namely, the slosh of too much rosé trying to drown a single hot dog.

I gagged, then pushed up on weak arms. And why? I’d taken uppers, not muscle relaxers.

Another rush of nausea surged in my throat, and my mouth began to water.

I was definitely gonna lose it.

The scramble to Sully’s bathroom happened in a blur. The apartment was one bed one bath, which put the restroom in close proximity to where Sully was snoozing. I had the presence of mind to kick the door shut before I crawled to the toilet and damn near dove into it.

Sweat, tears, snot, and vomit poured out of me. It was a gagging, strangling sort of sickness that wrung my body out with heave after agonized heave. My rambling thoughts went quiet, and I knew there would be no dreaming now. I was painfully awake, choking and eventually sobbing, head down in the toilet bowl.

The bathroom door opened, and Sully peeked in because of-fucking-course she did. And what a sight I was. Soaked with perspiration and shivering while hugging the toilet I hoped like hell she’d cleaned recently because I wasallover it.

My eyes were bleary with tears, and I battled hiccups and a runny nose as I slumped onto the tile beside the tub enclosure and looked up at her. Ashamed. Not quite sober. Not willing to lie about it if she asked.

“Indy?”

Sully pushed into the bathroom and knelt on the chindi rug. I usually liked all its colors and lumpy texture, but now it was a muddle that confused my fatigued mind. She glanced at thetoilet I’d forgotten to flush and grimaced before pressing the lever. The swishing, rushing sound overpowered whatever she said next.

Her lips moved as she reached for the toilet paper roll and tore off a long strip to offer me.

I took the paper and used it to wipe my cheeks and nose. My temples throbbed.

Wadding the tissue, I pitched it into the toilet bowl before a fresh wave of sorrow swept over me. This was the kind of wallowing I’d told Travis I preferred to do alone. But Sully crowded in wearing every shade of sympathy, undeterred by me shaking my head till my brain ached.

I meant to push her off, but my limp noodle arms hung at my sides while she hugged me. Sniffling, shaking, I leaned into her. It might have been the first good thing I’d felt in weeks.

“Oh, honey,” she murmured. I could hear her now. “Let me get you some water.”