Page 11 of Up In Smoke

I can’t seem to stop the word salad until he gets me to stand so he can pull up the bottom half of my ensemble and finally allow me to be decent again. As I cling to his side, he uses his free hand to yank back the bed covers and then gently lowers me down before tucking me in.

I should feel embarrassed at being treated like a small child, but all I feel it warm and shaky, like a baby bird being rolled back into the safety of its nest.

“Sleep?” I ask hopefully.

“Yeah,” Rico says heavily. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

Seeing as I’m basically unconscious already, I probably imagine what happens next. But as I slip back into the darkness,I swear he cradles the side of my face again like he did when he first arrived. Except now, I’m not covered in vomit. Go, me.

Drifting off this time is almost pleasant. At least I’m slightly less angry and alone compared to before. That’s something, I guess.

Who knows how long I’ve been out when I resurface again, groggy and needing to pee. At first, I’m completely disoriented. I know I’m at home, but whose voice is that?

Oh, yeah. Rico.

I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I still screw them shut tighter in humiliation. All my most recent events come flooding back to me in a tsunami. Getting groped, fired, and beaten up all in the space of an hour. The pills and the vodka. Not wanting to wake up but doing it anyway.

Then Rico. My angel.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t want to impress him. Even when I was living my best life out in Hollywood, whenever I came home, I always wanted to tell Adam all my best news and hoped that Rico might hear some of it as well. I was desperate for him to think I was cool, because that might negate the five-year age gap between us which seemed monumental to me back then. Maybe then I’d have a shot at kissing him. He was out as gay by then, so my hopes seemed plausible.

Of course age isn’t going to be what stops him from kissing me now. It would literally be everything else about my fucked-up life. But who am I kidding? I bet he’s married to some amazing guy, and they live in a house with a back yard and a dog and maybe even kids.

He was always so perfect. As I could never, ever attain such perfection, I tried for extraordinary instead.

Now I’m nothing more than a failure in every regard. A loser. Nothing.

Tears leak from my closed eyes, but I try and keep myself quiet. It sounds like Rico’s several feet away in what passes as my living room. I can just about hear his lowered voice, but I don’t want him to know I’m awake yet, and I certainly don’t want him aware that I’m crying.

Again.

“No, I agree. I think that’s the best plan,” he’s saying as I manage to calm myself somewhat. No one replies, so I assume he’s on the phone. “Yeah, we’re good to go. He doesn’t have much stuff at all. Adam, it’s bad.”

I sniff and wipe my eyes, trying to concentrate. My head still hurts, but I feel slightly less nauseous. My thoughts are also less riotous, allowing me to attempt to decipher what Rico’s talking to my brother about.

I might not seem in danger of throwing my guts up again right now, but my insides still roll with shame, picturing this place and the state I was in through an outsider’s eyes.

For so long, I’ve been holding on by the skin of my teeth, barely scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, and numbing my misery with anything I could get my hands on. Even now, before my hangover has properly settled in, I’m already wondering how I can get drunk or high next and how soon. If I go back to Four By Four and beg, maybe I could get my job back and work a shift tonight. Dom would serve me as soon as I arrived and TJ would probably take pity on me and my cracked ribs and spare me a line or two.

Then I remember Oakland’s look of disgust as he gave me that ultimatum. I doubt I’m getting back inside that club any time soon. But once my bruises fade, perhaps I can findsomewhere else. Even if it’s not dancing, I could do bar work, I’m sure.

What am I going to eat in the meantime? Let alone drink.

Fresh tears roll down my cheeks, and I’m so caught up in my own personal circle of hell, I don’t realize I’m no longer alone until the bed dips.

I gasp and hastily scrub my face, hating the look of pity Rico gives me. The porcupine barbs fly up again, and I scramble to sit up with a scowl. “What are you doing?” I spit out, the pain in my side from my sudden movement making me even more irritable.

He just sighs and turns his gaze to where his fingers are interlocked between his knees. “I was only checking if you were awake and wanted anything, Jesse. More water? Some food?”

“No one calls me Jesse anymore,” I say rather than admitting I don’t have any real food in my apartment. “It’s Jay.”

He licks his lips and looks at me again. “Okay, Jay. No worries. How are you feeling?”

I chew my lip, torn between wanting him to leave so I can stop feeling like a pathetic specimen in a petri dish and wanting him to stay until I fall asleep again. How can he make me feel safe but also frantic at the same time?

“You broke my door down,” I segue instead of talking about my messy feelings.

“Sorry about that,” he says, sounding like he means it. “I’ve fixed it as best I can for now and can pay for the actual repair. But Jesse—sorry, Jay—I was worried. Really worried. So was your brother. He still is. We don’t…we’ve decided…” He puffs out his cheeks then fixes me with a stern look that makes me want to melt and shrivel at the same time. “I don’t think you should stay here alone right now, and Adam agrees. I want you to come back to my place until you’re feeling better.”