I couldn't sleep last night and so I spent the late hours cleaning the apartment, did the laundry, and even washed all the cars in the underground garage of the building to both distract and exhaust myself. It didn't work.
My demons were too restless, growing chaotic due to the lack of poison in my system and ransacking my fucking mind with no end. Jude had woken up early for his usual morning run and made breakfast when he got back. Neither of us spoke and I didn't acknowledge the fact that his knuckles were bruised while he pretended that he didn't hear me crying in the shower.
It was like every other day. A day full of pretension.
"Eat, Angel," he said when all I did was stare at the food he'd placed in front of me.
"The last time you said that I ended up vomiting blood, so I think I'll settle with coffee," I retorted, taking a sip of coffee, relishing in its heat as it made its way down to my empty stomach.
"You do know coffee with an empty stomach causes ulcer, right?"
I rolled my eyes at him and took a jab at the pancakes. I took a deep breath and put a slice of pancake in my mouth, chewing it slowly and chasing it with the coffee. I clutched the side of my stomach, wincing as the food slowly made its way through my digestive system.
"See, you already have ulcer," he said while he finished his plate. "Don't eat any more of that if it hurts. I'll make you some oatmeal instead," he said as he stood and walked towards the fridge.
He inspected it for a second before taking out the oatmeal and put it in a pan with fresh milk.
"Listen," he began while stirring the oatmeal around with a wooden spoon. "I can't take you to the hospital, I have a presentation and I can't miss it." I grinned and mentally did a backflip. "But Frederick works at the hospital and said he'll escort you for the tests."
I frowned at that. What?
He turned around to face me. "You have to take this seriously, Gel. No more pushing off. No more avoiding. We need to do this now before it's too late, okay?" he said, the concern apparent in his voice.
I turned my attention back to the pancake instead and started slicing it without the intention of eating anything.
"I'm serious. I promised you I'll always have your back, but you will have to let me help you," he said before turning back to the pan. "Now eat up and get ready. I already excused you for the day."
He took away my plate and placed the bowl of oatmeal in front of me before leaving the kitchen to answer his phone. I stared at the bowl, taking the spoon out of the sticky food. Ugh, no.
I stood, throwing the bowl in the bin before lighting up a cigarette.
* * *
I stared at the daunting building made of glass, a broad sign that said Lastor Medical Center emblazoned at the top. I wanted to burn it to the ground.
"Why can't I just go someplace else, I don't know, where no one knows my fucking name?"
"I already made the doctors examining you sign an NDA. Nothing will get out."
I sighed. "If they touch me-"
"It won't hurt, gel."
I pursed my lips, a hand coming to my abdomen where my scars were. "It will."
He placed a hand on my shoulder. "You'll be okay."
I nodded, letting out a harsh breath. "Just so you know, I'm not responsible for what I'll do to them if they piss me off."
He gave me a look of disapproval. "Unless you want to go back to prison, you won't do anything but be a cooperative patient."
"Why do you always have to bring that shit up?"
I slipped my baseball cap over my head and put on a pair of aviators before getting out of the car, approaching Frederick who stood waiting at the entrance of the hospital. He greeted me with a broad smile and a polite 'Good Morning'. I brushed past him and entered the hospital.
We went to the elevator and he told me how I was getting my blood tested, followed by an MRI, and then a visit to the gynecologist. And then a cardiologist. A physician. A nutritionist. And then an endoscopy. Basically, I was getting tested inside out by every existing specialist.
I kept telling myself that we were in public and if I stabbed him, I'd get arrested for attempted murder and Jude would get pissed and probably refuse to bail me out. Which would mean I'd be stuck in a jail cell suffering from all sorts of withdrawal symptoms because I doubt they'd let me shoot up on heroin in there.
With that in mind, I let all the doctors use me as their guinea pig and followed their direction without fret while muting all their diagnosis and suggestions on what I should do to build up my immune system. I just stared at the glass walls, admiring the view outside. It seemed like a nice day.
The tests and examinations lasted for almost four hours. I was moved to a private suite after the endoscopy test when Frederick walked in, carrying a tray in his hands. He gave me another compulsory smile as he approached me, placing the tray on the over-bed table and positioning it above my lap. I took a glance at the food. Mushroom soup. Tuna salad. Pasta. Yogurt. And a bottle of seltzer.
I wrinkled my nose and pushed the table aside. "I'm not hungry."
"It's lunch time."
"Didn't ask."
He pursed his lips, a look of annoyance flitting through his eyes. "You need to eat, Miss Lastor."
My ears rang at the name. Miss Lastor. It was like a fucking title reminding me that I was someone I absolutely loathed. That whatever I do, I will always be that. The perfect, beautiful, intelligent, and envied by many, Miss Lastor. It should be an honor, to be regarded so highly. But in all honesty, I'd rather be no one.
"Angel," I hissed, giving him a glare. "My name is Angel. Not Miss fucking Lastor."
He let out a suffering sigh. "Fine. You need to eat, Angel."
"I'm not hungry, Frederick."
"You're not getting out of here unless you eat."
I scoffed. "Like I give a shit."
"I have a feeling you do," he said, giving me a quick once over. "You're already showing symptoms of withdrawals and basing from the amount of drugs and alcohol found in your blood, I'm pretty sure you'd die if you cut yourself off immediately without proper care but not before suffering from an excruciating amount of pain, mentally and physically. If left untreated, it will result to severe damage to every organ system in your body, rendering you crippled and insane. By how severely malnourished you are, chances of survival would be low but with early treatment and commitment to sobriety on your behalf, you'll recover. Otherwise, death is inevitable."
"Is that a threat?"
He shrugged. "That's for you to decide."
He pushed the table back in place, taking out two pills from his pocket and placing them on the table.
"The fuck are those?"
"Pregabalin and Carisopodrol. They can help for nerve pain and muscle spasms."
"Well. aren't you sweet?" I muttered dryly.
He dragged a palm over his face, looking like he was running out of patience. "Look, you can take them or not. I don't care. It's your choice."
I snorted. "Man, you really need to work on your bedside manner. It's way too abrasive." I chuckled humorlessly and glanced at the pills, taking one between my fingers. "Soma. Ah, my first love. Highly addictive drug. I used to steal these from my mother's boudoir before I went hardcore. It has the same effect as heroin if you take four 350 milligrams simultaneously and chase it with your preferred cocktail, it's what she used to do. The high hits harder if you inject it directly to your blood stream though, it's what I used to do."
I popped the pill, taking a sip from the glass of water. I took the other pill between my fingers.
"Lyrica." I snorted. "I used to do homework for some epileptic senior in exhange for this shit when I was in seventh grade. Not as fun as the other pills but I like downers as much as the next junkie." I tossed it in my mouth, chasing it with the water. I looked up at him, smirking. "I've been an addict for a long time, sweetheart. These adorable little pills were my besties in middle school."
He looked pissed off. "You're hopeless."
I tilted my head, eyeing him in amusement. "You're a fast learner. I dig that."
He sighed. "Just eat, Angel. Please."
"Since you were sweet enough to give me my fix, I will."
I picked up the spoon and for the first time in what seemed like ages, I ate willingly. Frederick went to sit on the couch by the wall, watching me impassively as I ate in the slowest manner.
"I got the results," he suddenly said.
I paused, holding the spoon by my lips. "You don't have to tell me anything. I know."
"Know what?"
I shrugged. "I know I'm dying."
"Essentially, you're supposed to be dead by the state your body is currently in," he said, dragging a hand through his hair. "Can I ask you something?"
A small smile played on my lips. "I'd rather you don't, since I'm pretty much drugged up. I don't want to say something you're not supposed to know."
"I'm surprised the sedatives actually work on you since you've built up a pretty high tolerance to drugs."
"I've been really nice today, sweetheart," I said, rolling my eyes. "Don't make me ruin it."
He shrugged, getting to his feet. "Fine. I'll call Jude and talk to him instead."
"Do that and I'll tear your fucking life apart, you prick."
He didn't seem scared. On the contrary, he seemed more annoyed.
"Let's get things straight, Miss Lastor. I'm not afraid of you," he said, approaching the bed. "So do us both a favor and cut the crap. Or else I will tell Jude how his precious little Angel probably has six months to live if she doesn't get her shit together."
I wanted to hit him. I would have already if the fucking sedatives in my system didn't fuck up with my coordination.
"Why do you even care?"
"Let's just say I didn't become a doctor to watch people die."
"So you want to help me, is that it? To save me?" I scoffed. "Don't fucking bother."
"I won't, besides it's obvious you'd rather die than let someone help you. What I just can't understand is why someone who is as brilliant as you would do something as stupid as this-" He gestured a hand at me. "- to herself."
I rolled my eyes. "You make it sound so terrible."
"You're committing suicide, Angel. Granted, a rather slow and painful one."
I chuckled. "Suicide is such a strong word. I'd rather call it euthanasia."
"Is that supposed to be funny?"
"How is a death wish funny?"
He looked at me. Really looked at me. As if he looked close enough, he'd understand what was wrong with me. I let him look because honestly, I've been trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me for a long time now.
"You've been planning this, haven't you?" he said, his voice quiet.
I tilted my head. "You think I've just been getting a kick out of being miserable?"
He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why would you do such a thing?"
I laughed weakly, lowering my head and staring at the soup as I moved my spoon around the bowl. "I don't think you're entitled to an answer to that." I pushed the table away, looking back to him. "I want to go now."
"You haven't finished your food yet."
Without looking at the tray, I picked up the bowl of soup and flung it across the room, hitting the large flat screen TV and splitting it.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled out, going to the TV and inspecting the damage.
I smiled. "I have no idea but if you don't get me out of here, you might just find out."
"You're insane."
"And you're pissing me off. Trust me when I say, you do not want to be around me when I'm pissed off."
He discharged me almost immediately and didn't argue when I refused to be put in a wheelchair. He drove in silence and I appreciated it, even though it only made me focus on the cravings that were getting worse by the minute. I tried not to let it show, keeping myself still to avoid attracting his attention.
"You okay?" he suddenly asked.
I let out an irritated sigh. "Yes."
"You're shaking," he said, nodding at my hands. I glanced at them, seeing my fingers trembling. I curled my hands into fists. "And I can hear you grinding your teeth." I bit my tongue. "Look at me." He grasped my chin, making me look at him. I slapped his hand away. "You're going through withdrawal."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," he said, shaking his head. "The symptoms are showing faster than I thought. I'm taking you back to the hospital before you-"
"For fuck sake, will you stop this crap?" I snapped. "I don't need your fake sympathy, okay? I don't need you to force a smile for me. I don't need you to spit out a diagnosis every five minutes. I don't need anything from you but to take me home. So how about you do that and stop acting like you give a shit, yeah?"
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Fine. I'm done trying to be nice to you. It's obviously useless."
"Ex-"
"I'm not done," he bit out, tightening his grip around the steering wheel. He shook his head, laughing for some reason. "You know, I feel sorry for you. I really do. You keep running away from your life by ruining it. You can't even go on a full day being sober without falling apart. You think you're so tough, but you're not. You're the weakest person I've ever met, Angel, and I genuinely feel sorry for you, and for your brother, who you treat like shit. I feel sorry for him for caring about you so much."
I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off again.
"You think nothing can break you because you have those things when in reality it's causing you to fall apart. I know people like you. You do things without thinking about the consequences because you believe there aren't any and you manipulate people because you don't know any other way to communicate. You're wasting your life away and you may pretend that you don't care, but I know you do. You're just too fucked up to do the right thing."
"Shut up," I hissed.
He scoffed. "You can't even handle the truth, that's how weak you are."
"I said shut up!"
I reached for him, grabbing him by the collar while simultaneously taking me knife out from my jacket. The car made an abrupt stop in the middle of the road and he stared wide eyed at me. I didn't know what he saw as he looked at me but I could so clearly see the fear in his eyes. It only pissed me off even more because what the fuck was I to do now, knowing this idiot could never survive me despite all his bravado. I was fucked up but I had principles. I may prey on the weak, but I'd never unleash myself on those who couldn't even defend themselves.
I was shaking. Barely contained rage begging to be let out and I wanted to. So much. It was driving me crazy.
"Why are you hurting me?" I asked, my grip on the knife tight as I held it to his throat.
He swallowed hard, holding his palms up. "Angel, calm down. Don't do anything you'll regret."
I shook my head. "Why?"
"Just calm down and put the knife away."
"Why?!"
"Because you're dying and you don't care!" His eyes blazed with fury, as if it angered him that I didn't care about my wretched life. "You could be so much more than what you're letting yourself be but you don't even care. A lot of people would kill just to have the same opportunities as you and you're wasting it. You think killing yourself will make the pain you're feeling better but it won't. You'll just pass it on to someone else and that's not fair to anyone involved."
"And why do you care?"
"Because I see that you hate being like this."
"I do."
"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"
"I already did. I failed." I pushed myself off him, tucking my knife away and facing front. "Take me home. Now."
He let out a large breath before wordlessly starting the car. When we finally reached my apartment building, I wasted no time and ran inside, furiously pressing the elevator button. The receptionist looked at me and then at Rick who somehow managed to get to me before the elevator flew open. I got in and punched in the code for the penthouse while Rick stood quietly behind me. When the elevator doors closed, I saw my reflection. My eyes were puffy and my face was all red. I hadn't realized that I've been crying and it pissed me off.
The elevator pinged and I strode towards the front door, kicking it open. I ran for my room and slammed the door shut. Seeing my pitiful reflection on the mirror hanging on the back of the door was the last straw for me.
I let out a scream, ripping it off and smashing it against the floor but then I was left with the sight of a hundred versions of myself. I dropped to my knees, hitting the floor, wanting to get rid of my reflection as I broke the mirror into pieces. The shards were piercing through my skin, digging into my knuckles. The burst of pain at every hit a laid only made me hit harder.
I was suddenly pulled back and thrown on the bed. I screamed louder, trying to kick Frederick off me but he held me down.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said, pulling me into his arms.
"Fuck off!" I screamed, trashing against him. "Let me go!"
"I'm not going to hurt you, just calm down," he said, shifting to sit and pulling me up with him. "Please, just calm down."
"Get off me! Leave me alone!" I yelled, trying to push him off me but he wouldn't give.
"Stop it! You're hurting yourself!" he bit out.
I reared my arm back, hitting him in the jaw with my elbow. He muttered a curse and let me go as he clutched his jaw. I staggered to my feet, running to the bathroom and slamming the door shut. I grabbed the wooden chair by the sink and wedged it under the doorknob. I rushed to the sink, crouching and reaching underneath the porcelain, feeling for the bag of coke I taped there for emergency. I felt it on my palm and ripped it off.
My fingers shook as I poured the white powder on the sink. I didn't even care that it was too much. I just took it. All of it. Shoving it up my nose. Rubbing it against my gums. Feeding the demons that made normalcy my worst nightmare.
I dropped to my knees as I felt the drug enter my system, lifting the heaviness inside me that's been dragging me down all day and numbing me. I closed my eyes, feeling tears roll down my cheeks.
"We're okay," I told myself, pressing my forehead against the edge of the sink. "We're okay now."
I opened my eyes, my gaze landing on the bag of cocaine in my blood stained hands and I hated it. I hated how I couldn't go on a full day sober without falling apart. I hated that I was weak. I hated that all I did was hurt my brother. I hated everything. What I hated more was that I couldn't stop.
I staggered to my feet, slowly making my way to the shower and letting myself slide down to the floor as cold jets of water doused me. And I closed my eyes because at least for a while, I was okay.
* * * *
Frederick was sitting on the couch, holding an icepack to his jaw. I had assumed he left but like an idiot, he was here. Watching a sitcom on TV while eating a sandwich.
I was craving for a drink. I didn't have the patience to deal with this wanna-be saint shitting on my parade. I've tolerated him long enough.
I squared my shoulders, closing my eyes briefly as I schooled my face into a mask. Like a switch, I became the fragile and vulnerable girl that men couldn't resist but want to cherish and protect. I hated playing this trick but from my encounters with this guy, being aggressive and throwing threats at him did jack shit.
I sighed, entering the living room and sitting next to him. He didn't honor me with a reaction.
"I have anger management issues," I began, my voice soft and reluctant. "I tend to have violent outbursts when I get overwhelmed. I was ordered by the court to attend anger management classes but it did jack shit. I'm still pissed at the world."
"You were ordered by the court?" he muttered in confusion.
I nodded, sighing. "It was on the conditions of my probation."
"You were on probation?"
I grimaced. "For arson. I, uh, burned a tree in Central Park."
"You did what?"
I sighed. "It was my best friend's idea, I only helped."
He was giving me an odd look. "Wow. You're really crazy, huh?"
I bit my tongue from making a bitter remark. "Yeah." I pursed my lips, warily looking up at him. "Are you... are you gonna sue me?"
His brows furrowed. "What?"
I let out a harsh breath, raking my hands through my hair, feigning frustration. "I just completed my probation two weeks ago and I worked really hard on that, you know? But the judge warned me that if I offended within this year, he won't let me off on probation anymore. It would be jail time. The only reason I got a light sentence for trying to burn down the church was because my father pulled the Lastor card."
"Wait, you said you burned a tree in Central Park."
"Yeah, after I tried to burn down a church. The whole Central Park fiasco was after I was released."
"Released as in you went to prison?"
I frowned. "Yeah. About three years ago. It was all over the news. Where the hell have you been?"
"Germany and I didn't own a TV. Why did you burn down a church?"
"I didn't. The cops got there before I lit the match."
"Oh, that totally makes a difference."
"It does in court." I sighed. "We're getting off topic." I looked at him to seal the deal. "I get that you're probably pissed at me and you have every reason to be. I shouldn't have hit you or pulled a knife on you. But can you... can you not go to court about this? I'm going to med school and my record is shitty enough as it is. If-"
"Angel." He held my shoulder. "Relax. I'm not suing you."
Jackpot.
I frowned, seeing the darkening bruise on his jaw. "Fuck. I'm sorry," I whispered, touching it. "Did I break it?"
He gave me a wry smile. "No."
I let out a harsh breath, turning away. "Jude's gonna be really pissed at me."
"It was my fault. I shouldn't have said those things."
I shook my head. "But you were right. I am fucked up. So fucked up that I can't even go sober for a day without losing my shit."
"Hey..." He placed a hand on my knee. "It's going to be okay. You'll get through this. Just be strong."
What a fucking diot.
I shook my head, leaning back and looking at him. "Thanks."
He frowned. "For what?"
"I don't know. For being nice enough to not send me to prison?"
He chuckled. "Well, you owe me for this."
"Fair enough." I stood, stretching. "I'm gonna work on my thesis. Lock up when you leave."
"Oh, Jude didn't tell you? I'm supposed to watch over you to make sure you recover well from the tests."
Fucking Jude.
I forced a smile. "Okay. Feel at home." I headed for my room, pausing as I was about to go up the stairs and turning to look at him. "Frederick?"
"Please, call me Rick."
"Don't tell Jude about the results," I said, giving him a firm look. "I don't want to worry him anymore."
He frowned. "He needs to know, Angel."
I smiled solemnly. "He already does but unless he sees it written on paper, it's not real. At least for him."