Page 3

Indy

Four pills hit like a freight train.

They kicked in with a sweeping sensation that would have toppled me if I wasn’t already lying down.

Sully went to bed an hour ago, and I was alone, hugging Loren’s sweater around myself while I sprawled on the living room floor.

The lights put polka dots on the ceiling.

Leopard spots glowing yellow on the white plaster.

I’d started counting them, then lost track and started again, again, again.

Then the spots turned into shooting stars.

I could hear myself breathing.

And the city three floors below was never quiet, so I heard it, too.

Cars rumbled, horns honked, and rain pattered the window at about 2:00 AM when I was still awake.

Not dreaming.

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 to remember .

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’d taken 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 was all over 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 the toilet 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.”

She stood, and I missed the comfort immediately.

I peered up at her as she went to the sink and filled one of the mouthwash cups with tap water.

Her pajamas were cute.

The satin top with a swing hem and matching shorts were a departure from her typically bohemian style.

I needed to get some like that.

They were soft.

In another blink, she was back.

I grabbed the paper cup with trembling hands and emptied it.

The drink washed the tang of bile off my tongue and soothed my raw throat.

I wanted more but, before I could ask, Sully was hugging me again, and I was clinging to her.

Despite my stomach roiling, my eyes leaking hot tears, and my muscles aching, I still wanted spray paint and a blind grab into Chaz’s coat pocket drugstore.

I needed Sully to know that.

Even though she hadn’t asked.

“I-I thought it would help,” I stammered.

Her hand moved over my back in soothing circles.

“I don’t think that much wine helps anyone, sweetheart.”

My features contorted in a frown.

I’d hoped she would infer so I wouldn’t have to spell it out.

Coming clean was almost as hard as staying that way.

Snuffling a breath, I pulled back from her while keeping my gaze low.

“Not the wine,” I said, then swallowed.

“I… I’ve been trying to remember. Pills usually help. But they didn’t.”

“You’re using? Right now?”

My head wobbled through a nod.

Her face fell, and I couldn’t bear to see it.

I tucked my chin into my chest, wadded myself into the oversized sweater, and wished I could disappear.

Sully’s voice was gentle as she continued.

“We really need to get you a sponsor. Someone who understands?—”

“Nobody wants to sponsor me,” I argued.

“I’m too sick.”

She sat back and took my clammy hands to hold between us.

The tile was cold beneath me along with the porcelain tub behind me, making her fingers the sole tether to warmth.

“Hon, that’s not true,” she said.

“You’ve been going to meetings?—”

“High,” I cut in angrily.

But I was mad at myself, not her.

“I’ve been going to meetings high as fuck, and those people…” I shook my head.

“They don’t get it.”

Sully sighed, and I fixed my eyes on hers.

Her dreads were bound in a thick ponytail, and her face was bare of even the scant makeup she wore to work.

She had an honest face; I’d thought that since I met her.

Well, since we’d been reintroduced.

I trusted her.

“I need to remember, Sully,” I said.

“I have to.”

Her lips pressed a thin line.

“What do the drugs have to do with that?”

It was my turn to heave a breath.

I pulled my hands free to scrub one over my chapped cheeks.

“I see him,” I said.

There was no need to explain who “him” was.

“I trip, and I see him, and I miss him, and it’s stupid because he was only here for a few weeks, but he’s been here forever.” I thumped a finger against my temple, sparking fresh tears I had to muscle past to grit out, “He should be here now.”

Sagging back, I tipped my head against the glass shower door.

The corners of my vision blurred as I fixed my gaze on the plastic vent fan cover and remembered how all this started.

How clever I’d felt hiding my first batch of X in the Airstream’s bathroom, and how devastated Loren had been when he found them.

Like he expected better from me.

He shouldn’t have.

Sully rubbed my knee.

“Indy?”

I straightened to meet her gaze and found it fraught with indecision.

“I have an idea,” she began, “but I don’t know if it’s a good one.”

“I’m open to bad ideas,” I mumbled.

She glanced aside, pondering.

“Do you remember the memory charm we tried a month ago?”

It sounded vaguely familiar but, the harder I thought about it, the more my thoughts buzzed like static.

After a moment, I shook my head.

She hummed a somber sound.

“It didn’t work, but I think I know why. I think you’ve lived too much life to contain it all.”

Squinting made pain pinball between my temples, but it also prompted her to continue.

“Phoenix lore dates to ancient times. You could be hundreds of years old. Been through scores of reincarnations…”

Considering how often I felt like my life began five months ago, it was hard to fathom.

“But I look good for my age,” I quipped.

“Damn good.” Her smile was fleeting.

“It just might be too much for your mind to contain. Does that make sense?”

Yes and no, but I thought I got the gist of it.

Some people had selective hearing; I had selective memory.

Or a very short-term one.

Regardless, it made me wonder.

“What if I only remembered a bit?” I asked.

“The important parts. Like a highlight reel.”

She shifted to sit on the rug with her hands in her lap.

“What are the important parts?”

I held her gaze.

“You know.”

The man who haunted my sleepless thoughts.

The person the voice in my head insisted was my mate.

My soul knew him even if I didn’t.

And that felt pretty damn important.

Sully did know, though, and she didn’t ask anything else before glancing over her shoulder toward the living area and the arcane library housed there.

“I’m not sure I can make it that specific,” she said, then frowned.

“To even attempt it, we would need something of Loren’s, and he isn’t here.”

I waited for another suggestion, an even worse idea, but only quiet ensued.

The bubble of hope had swelled till it burst. Buildup.

Letdown. Again.

A lump formed in my throat, and I struggled to swallow past it.

Struggled to breathe with exhaustion setting in and despair so profound it felt all-consuming.

Loren was sad. Because of me.

Because of this. Because we were doomed from the start.

He knew it, and I was rapidly arriving at the same conclusion.

I curled my shoulders inward and wrapped the sweater around myself until it was as snug as a straitjacket.

With the worn sleeve cuffs wadded in my fists, realization dawned.

“This!”

Sully jumped as I shrugged free of the garment and held it out.

“This is his.” I gave the sweater a shake.

“Can you use it?”

She pinched a the fabric between her fingers and rolled it back and forth.

“Hair or blood would be better,” she said.

“More stable. But I can try.”

I shoved to standing, then dipped my head in a nod that nearly staggered me before I made it upright.

Sully caught my arm to steady me, and I fixed her with wide-eyed expectation.

“Now?” I asked.

Her lips twisted as she hugged the sweater to her chest. “ You need to be stable, too. It didn’t go well last time…”

Still gripping my forearm, Sully allowed herself to be dragged along as I barreled out of the bathroom and into the living area.

I made it to the nearest book lying open on the floor and stooped to pick it up, then thrust it at her. “ Now , Sully.”