Page 41 of Hate So Deep (Hate #4)

THEN

Lauren

An hour later, I’m chasing away the ache riding my chest but as the brutal burn of the alcohol makes its way down my esophagus, it lands in my stomach like a lead weight.

“One more drink. One more drink. One. More. Drink.” The world blurs before me as I grab the shot and toss it back.

Uh oh.

Stumbling away, I ignore the laughter that follows me down the hall before dropping to my knees beside the toilet and shoving my finger down my throat.

It tastes really fucking disgusting when it makes it’s way back up but I have a few minutes of peace before the nausea starts over again.

“Fuck,” I moan and drop my head to my arm. “Why did I take that last shot?”

“Because you can’t back down from a challenge,” Caro says before she grabs my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” I groan.

She pats my back before wrenching on my arm. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“How?”

Images of Mom’s cold, bitter stare rise in my head, but I push them away. I can’t deal with her disapproval and my roiling stomach at the same time.

The Starks aren’t like other people, Lauren. You would do well to remember that.

Of course, Buck goes out all the damn time and does whatever he wants but my brother is her fucking prince while most days, I feel like I’m the dog shit the staff forgot to pick up in the damn yard.

Besides, once I roll into bed, I know I’ll be reliving what Dirk said to me in that bathroom.

You’re not welcome here.

Ugh.

“Fucking asshole.” I mumble as I stagger behind Caro.

“Hm,” she hums.

The walk to the car is a blur and I roll my head against the seat while she drives before saying, “C’mon Caro. It’s not even midnight. Let’s go somewhere else.”

She glances at me sideways and mumbles, “Fine. No more drinks.”

“Yay,” I say, clapping my hands and she winces.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Okay, okay. Where are we going?”

Her lips curl into a smile and she pulls around into the farthest lane before turning on her blinker.

“I know just the place.”

“Fuck,” I mumble and roll over.

When the buzzing starts up again, I blink open one eye and glance around in a daze.

My reflection glares back at me from the mirror across the room and I shove my hair out of my face before leaning over the bed.

Mom.

Her name flashes across the screen and I pause. Why the hell is she calling me at—squinting at the clock on my dresser, I groan—five in the morning?

Shit.

Swallowing down the acidic bile rising in my throat, I swipe the damn phone off the floor and collapse onto my back.

I think I drank too much.

Yeah, I definitely drank too much.

Setting the phone aside, I stumble into the bathroom before falling in front of the toilet.

After retching, wretchedly, I might add, I drop to the floor and welcome the cool tile as it seeps into my heated skin.

My head feels like it’s about to pound right off my neck, my mouth is sour, and I can barely push myself up from the floor before slapping on the light.

I’m reaching for the drawer where my toothbrush and toothpaste live when I glance in the mirror and pause.

My long dark hair lays in a tangle around my head. It’s easy to see from my red ringed eyes that I’ve been drinking but that’s not what has me backing to the wall.

Nope.

Pulling at my shirt, I draw it over my head and drop it to the floor before staring at it.

What the hell happened last night and why is my shirt soaked in blood?

When my phone rings again, I glance at the caller ID and groan.

Why is she calling me from downstairs?

“Yeah,” I whisper, cringing when her sigh assaults my ears.

“Lauren, your brother is in the hospital. You need to come down here. Now.”