Page 35 of To Her

There had been a pause, and I'd held my breath, terrified he'd hang up, that he'd finally had enough of my chaos.

"Put the driver on," he'd said instead, his voice calm and steady.

I'd handed my phone to the driver, who'd had a brief conversation with Con before handing it back to me.

"He's taking you to my place," Con had said. "I'll be waiting outside. Just stay in the car until you get here, okay?"

"Okay," I'd whispered, relief washing over me in a wave so powerful it had left me dizzy.

"And, Geri? It's going to be okay."

I'd wanted to believe him, but the darkness had been closing in, my consciousness slipping away despite my best efforts to stay awake. The last thing I'd remembered was the gentle sway of the car as it had turned a corner, and then nothing.

Consciousness had returned slowly, painfully, like swimming up from the bottom of a murky lake.

My head had felt like it was being split open with an axe, my mouth dry as sandpaper, my stomach rolling with nausea.

I'd become aware of softness beneath me—a bed, not my own—and the gentle sound of breathing nearby.

I'd forced my eyes open, wincing at the light streaming through unfamiliar curtains. The room had come into focus gradually—minimalist decor, neutral colours, a bookshelf filled with titles I couldn't make out from the bed. And there, in an armchair pulled up beside the bed, Con.

He'd been asleep, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he'd been there for hours. He'd looked thinner than I remembered, his cheekbones more pronounced, but still undeniably Con—the man I'd run from, the man I'd called in my darkest hour.

I'd shifted slightly, trying to sit up, and realized with a jolt of panic that I was naked beneath the sheets. My clothes were nowhere to be seen, and my memory of the previous night ended abruptly at the Taxi ride.

The movement had roused Con, his eyes fluttering open, focusing on me with a mixture of relief and wariness.

"You're awake," he'd said simply, his voice rough with sleep.

"What happened?" I'd croaked, clutching the sheet to my chest, suddenly, intensely vulnerable. "Why am I naked? Did we...?"

He'd shaken his head quickly, understanding my unfinished question. "No. God, no. You were in no state to consent to anything, and I'm not that kind of man."

Relief had washed over me, followed immediately by shame. Of course Con wouldn't take advantage of me. The fact that I'd even considered it said more about the company I'd been keeping lately than it did about him.

"You don't remember?" he'd asked, studying my face.

I'd shaken my head, immediately regretting the movement as pain had lanced through my skull. "Last thing I remember is being in the taxi… Calling you."

He'd sighed, running a hand through his hair—longer now than when I'd last seen him, curling slightly at the ends.

"You passed out in the car. When you got here, the driver helped me get you inside, but as soon as we got you to the bathroom, you started throwing up.

A lot. All over yourself, the floor, everywhere. "

I'd closed my eyes, mortification burning through me. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he'd said, his voice gentle. "It happens. Anyway, you were covered in vomit, so I had to get you cleaned up. I tried to keep you as covered as possible, but... well, there was a lot of vomit."

The mental image had been humiliating—Con stripping off my soiled clothes, cleaning me up, putting me to bed like a child. And yet, there had been something deeply touching about it too—that he would do that for me, after everything.

"Why did you stay in the chair?" I'd asked, noticing the blanket that had fallen to the floor beside it, evidence of his night-long vigil.

"I was worried you might throw up again in your sleep," he'd explained. "Didn't want you to choke. It happens more often than you'd think."

The matter-of-fact way he'd said it had made my heart ache. He'd stayed up all night, watching over me, making sure I was safe. After I'd run from him, ignored his messages, cut him out of my life without explanation.

"Thank you," I'd whispered, the words wholly inadequate for what I was feeling.

He'd nodded, his expression unreadable. "Your clothes are in the wash. Should be done soon. There's water and painkillers on the nightstand. You should drink as much as you can keep down."

I'd reached for the glass with shaking hands, downing the pills gratefully. "What time is it?"

"Just past noon," he'd replied, standing up and stretching, his joints popping audibly. "I'll give you some privacy to get dressed once your clothes are dry. There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet if you want to freshen up."

He'd moved toward the door, his back to me, and I'd been struck by how formal he was being, how careful to maintain distance between us. It had hurt, but I'd understood it. I'd hurt him, and now he was protecting himself.

"Con," I'd called as he'd reached the doorway. He'd paused but hadn't turned around. "I really am sorry. Not just for last night, but for... everything."

He'd been silent for a long moment, his shoulders tense. "I know," he'd finally said, so quietly I'd almost missed it. Then he'd left, closing the door softly behind him.

I'd sat there in his bed, naked and hungover and more ashamed than I'd ever been in my life.

The past months had flashed before my eyes—the drinking, the drugs, the meaningless sex, the bridges burned, the people hurt.

All of it in service of what? Avoiding pain? Creating distance? Punishing myself?

For the first time in months, I'd allowed myself to really feel the weight of what I'd done, of who I'd become. And it had been crushing.

I'd made it to the bathroom just in time, emptying the meagre contents of my stomach into the toilet, tears streaming down my face as I'd heaved and sobbed, the physical purge mirroring the emotional one.

When I'd finally finished, I'd rinsed my mouth and stared at my reflection in the mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, a ghost of the person I used to be. And in that moment, I'd made a decision.

I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep running, couldn't keep destroying myself and hurting the people who cared about me. Something had to change.