I was going through an intense withdrawal episode.
It's been a week since that god awful black out I had unwittingly served myself up to. And yet, I would gladly do it again than this cold turkey shit.
Everything hurt. I was losing my mind. I've been shitting and vomiting uncontrollably. My clothes stuck to my body because of how much I was sweating. My head felt like it was going to explode. And don't get me started with the constant anxiety.
I was in hell. A massive, life-sucking hell dragging me to the core of the Earth and burying me alive.
Why I was doing to myself, I did not fucking know anymore but when Jude and I came home from Pennsylvania, I realized I had to stop. I couldn't keep doing it. Not to him. Not if it meant I had to watch him wallow in guilt. Not if it meant I had to keep calling him at unreasonable hours to pick me up at another state because I blacked out. No. Enough.
But why the hell did it have to be so hard to fucking stop?
My demons were rioting, constantly piercing me with ear-splitting screams and relentlessly driving me insane every hour of the day.
I couldn't. I can't. It was too much.
It's been so long since I lived. It's been so long since I was just Angel. I didn't know how to do it anymore. I didn't know how to live with myself.
I hated myself. I hated myself so much for being like this but I couldn't help it. They were suffocating me, tearing me apart inside out. I needed to make them go away. I needed to escape. I couldn't live. Not like this. It wasn't worth it.
Jude wasn't home. Even if he was, we didn't speak. We haven't uttered a word to each other since Pennsylvania. We barely looked at each other.
He left a note. He said he was attending a charity gala the Lastor Foundation was hosting at The Plaza. I remember. I was supposed to be there too. It was our duty to be there as our father's rightful heirs and ambassadors for the foundation. But I was too sick to go. Too fucked up.
I can't. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I would kill myself.
I picked up the phone and called Bo, Andrea, and Tristan, telling them to grab anyone that they could.
I was throwing a motherfucking party.
Three hours later, I was dressed in a skimpy little black dress and had strangers pouring into the apartment as loud party music blasted through the stereos while a flicker of colorful lights illuminated the dark space.
Tristan manned the door, making sure no one had cameras with them. Bo was set up in my bathroom, playing candy man for all these zombies.
I…
I was high. I was drunk. I was on Dynamite. Sniffing line after line while firing the ack ack gun.
I didn't know how much I've taken. How much I've drank. I didn't care. The misery wasn't there anymore. I didn't want to die. I was okay again.
I let them have their fill. I just sat on the couch that they had pushed up against the wall while holding a bottle of vodka.
Andrea arrived an hour ago with her posse of beautiful and pitiful toys who followed her around all the time, living off on the high of being with her and basing their self-worth on the amount of attention she would spare them.
It was toxic, the obvious fact that they hated Andrea but couldn't exist without her light casting over them while my best friend, the twitsted bitch that she was, got off on their narcissism and complete submission to her every whim.
She was worse than me in this regard. I manipulated people and situations to get what I wanted and played with people out of boredom but I never kept any of them unless it was for profit. She, on the other hand, gained some vicious enjoyment in dominating people and found satisfaction in breaking them in all the right places. One of her favorite games to play with her toys was ignoring them and throwing them away. And then, just as they had put their broken pieces back together and regained a sliver of the identity she had taken away, she would pull them back in and shower them with so much attention and affection that they would start worshiping her again, all the while hating her for making them love her. And then she would toss them aside and find another toy to play with while they went back to fixing themselves only for her to break them again.
She did it again and again, as if she was trying to prove that she could do to them what her parents used to always do to her. Loving her just enough that she would always be waiting for them at the door no matter how many times or how long they left her.
She caught me looking at her and gestured come hither with her finger, a sly grin on her lips while four men grinded against her in a perverted pissing contest. She was the light of the party. The lady of the night. Dancing in a pair of short shorts and a lace bra. Everyone wanted to be her and be with her.
I shook my head. I was satisfied with this. Just this.
I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back against the couch and pressing the back of my head against the wall, cradling the half empty bottle of vodka in my arms while a joint dangled between my lips. They could start a bloody massacre and I wouldn't bat an eye.
I felt the space beside me depress and I opened my eyes halfway to see an unfamiliar face, like most of the faces in this place right now, sitting beside me. The girl was grinning, visibly drunk and quite possibly high.
"Hi. I'm Camille," she said, holding out a hand. "I came with Andy? It's an honor to finally meet you, Angel. I'm such a huge fan. I used to go to all your performances. You're actually the reason why I became a musician," she rambled in a rush.
"Good for you," I muttered, looking away and taking a swig.
She laughed a high and drunken laugh. I wanted to throw her off the roof top.
"You're funny," she said, giggling. "I love your hair, by the way." She touched my hair, twirling a lock in her finger. "It's so soft and pretty. What product do you use?"
"First of all, never touch me without permission," I spat, yanking her arm and flinging it aside. "Second, just because you're Andy's friend, doesn't mean I'm your friend. Third." I shoved her to the floor. "Fuck off."
"What the hell?"
"Cam!" I heard Andrea call as she approached us, glaring at the girl. "What did you do?"
"I just said said hi and she pushed me!" the pathetic bitch cried hysterically.
"Didn't I tell you not to bother her?" Andrea sighed, glancing at me. "Sorry. She's kinda obsessed with you."
I rolled my eyes. "Just get her away from me."
She pulled the girl up by the arm and dragged her away. I was about to get up and go to the bathroom for another fix when I heard someone scream my least favorite word.
"COPS! COPS!" the voice boomed, repeating the word over and over like a mantra.
I nearly pissed myself.
Everything happened in a flash. Everyone scrambled like ants, running out of the place while cursing and screaming the words 'cops', and, 'oh my god'. Bo emerged from my room, looking like he had just died and gone to hell, carrying his suitcase filled with drugs. He ran for it, disappearing into the crowd. I ran too. Sprinting to the door. Too bad I didn't make it there because someone pulled me back, shoving me up against the wall, the bottle of vodka dropping on the floor.
"Don't fucking move."
In the haze of my high and drunken mind, the voice came with a name. It was the self-righteous asshole who seemed to think it was his life's mission to force himself into my goddamn life.
"What the fu-" I didn't get to say the curse. He put a hand on my mouth, deliberately silencing me.
"Out! Cops are coming!" Rick yelled and I didn't know if I should be pissed or impressed because his trick did wonders.
Within under a minute, the place was empty. I might have heard Andrea call out my name along with a 'Bye, bitch!'.
He pushed himself off me, striding towards the door and slamming it shut. With a click, he locked it. It took a few seconds to get my brain up and running.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" I screeched.
His glare settled on me. He looked like he was going to kill me.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he fired back.
He strode towards me and I didn't know why but he was scaring the shit out of me. He had horns on his head and his eyeballs were literally on fire.
I fucked myself up again.
I felt his hand on my chin, tilting my head back to look up at him. "You're high." He paused, sniffing once. "And drunk," he added in disdain.
I saw fumes come out of his nostrils while his hair flowed along the steam surrounding him, growing inch by inch and making him look like the devil with the bright red flames in his eyes.
"Wha-what are… you doing here?" I stammered, trying to get a grip on reality because this shit was scaring the crap out of me.
"You brother called me. He said you were at it again. The concierge told him you were throwing some crazy ass party and your neighbors were threatening to call the cops."
I screwed my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get my head together because being high on four different drugs was not helping my situation.
"You better get your shit together, Miss Lastor," I heard him sneer and I opened my eyes, my sight of him not as terrifying as before. "He sounded really pissed. He's on his way back right now."
I muttered a curse and closed my eyes again, leaning against the wall and letting myself slide down to the floor. I reached for my bottle of vodka but he kicked it out of my reach. I groaned, banging the back of my head against the wall.
Why won't they leave me alone? I was finally okay. I didn't want to die anymore. I wasn't in pain. Why won't they let me go?
My frustration turned into rage. My high was reaching its peak. I had no control anymore.
I sprung to my feet, pushing him aside and grabbing my bottle along the way as I headed for my room. I slammed the door shut, leaning against it as I downed the bottle. I choked on it but I went on, the vodka spilling out of my mouth and showering me. And then I shut off. I blacked out as a surge of rage coursed through me, threatening to take over me. I embraced it with open arms.
I trashed my room. Screaming the house down like a maniac. Every piece of furniture and object came crashing against the wall. Ripped to pieces as I released my restraints and let my rage devour me whole. I didn't know how long I went on but it felt pretty fucking long and I barely registered anything but I was faintly aware I was bleeding. Where? I did not fucking know.
The door was suddenly kicked open but I ignored it. I just sat on the edge of my bed. The mattress was thrown over one side of the wall, the foam spilling out like guts that had been ripped out. How I did that, I did not want to fucking know.
"Are you done?" a voice behind me said. I remembered it as my brother's voice. When he got here, I did not fucking know either. "Get up," he ordered.
I didn't.
"Get up. I'm taking you to rehab."
A laugh suddenly burst out of me. A hysterical, empty, and bitter laugh. I sounded deranged.
"I said get up!"
I stopped laughing and just stared at my hands. They were covered with cuts and blood again. But still, I couldn't feel anything.
"Why won't you give up, Jude? You know it's hopeless. I'm gone. I'm never coming back. See for yourself." I gestured at the room. "Everything is broken. Nothing's left. Just an empty space filled with broken things that can never be put back together the same way again. Even if you try, you'll just hurt yourself, cut yourself. Bleed yourself dry. It's a waste of time. All of this is worthless. It's better to throw them away. Just like me. This is me. I...." I paused, chuckling weakly. "I'm worthless."
He'd probably have everything replaced by tomorrow but unfortunately, he couldn't replace me with a brand new Angel. A perfect Angel. A sweet, charming Angel. A sober and mentally stable Angel. The Angel he wanted me to be.
I sighed, turning to look at the door as he stood there, his face unreadable. He was wearing a sleek white tuxedo, his hair perfectly coiffed to the back. He looked... perfect. He's always been perfect.
"I tried fixing everything. I did. I wanted to make things better. For you. But I can't do it. I can't be fixed. I've ruined myself too much."
I stood, approaching him. I reached for him, gripping the lapels of his jacket as I pressed my forehead against his chest, tears burning my eyes.
"I'm so tired. I'm only alive because of you. Please, give me your blessing to end this already. I can't do it anymore. I'm begging you, please let me die. Please. Please. Please."
My knees gave out and I clutched his leg, crying and pleading for him to let me end my suffering. I didn't want to live for him anymore.
"I promised you three things when you allowed me to be in your life again," he said. "That I would protect you, care for you, and never leave you alone again. In return, all I asked was for you to live for me." He cupped my chin, tipping my head back and making me look up at him. "You're in pain. I see that. I feel it. But no matter how much you beg, I will never grant you death."
He turned and walked away. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to hurt myself. Rip myself apart. But I had nothing. My strength was gone. I was just tired of existing, of living, of escaping. I was so fucking tired. Simple as that.
Rick came in, carefully stepping around the debris that filled the room as he made his way towards me, carrying what seemed to be a first aid kit in his hand and I wondered if this guy was actually serious right now. I didn't have the strength to ask.
He helped me off the floor and sat me on the bed. He didn't say anything and neither did I. He just tended to the cuts that riddled my hands, arms, knees. Everywhere. I didn't know how I got them. I didn't care. Caring was too tiring and I wondered why he bothered to care for me at all.
After that, he went to take the mattress and placed it back on the bed frame. He grabbed a pillow and my torn duvet. He tucked me in and went to sit by the window while I laid there, unable to sleep because my demons were raging, screaming. I did my best to ignore them.
"I saw the gun," he said after an eternity of silence. "I saw everything."
He brought his gaze to me, looking away from the moon that he had been fixated on.
"You tried to kill yourself that day."
"Yes."
"You should have woken me up."
"You should have just stayed away."
I got up and went to my bathroom, not caring how much of a mess it was. I just went to the shower and sat on the floor, letting the cold freezing water rain down on me, wishing it could numb the pain that I could never escape from. All the while, I felt empty as the void inside me festered.
* * *
I sat in the living room, staring at the sandwich our housekeeper, Mrs. Roberts, had made for me. She had come in with a group of men following behind her, carrying what seemed to be new furniture to replace my ruined bedroom. They had finished the job in record time under Mrs. Roberts' commands and now, she was folding my clothes as she sat beside me while humming a tune.
She had told me Jude left early in the morning to meet with his personal trainer, which meant he'd gone to meet with the shrink he's been secretly seeing for the past five years.
I found out about it on his birthday last year. The guy was there and I noticed them talking at some corner. At first, I thought he was Jude's lover because well, it was no secret that our society has been suspecting that my brother was gay for a long time now since he was never seen with a woman and actively ignored the desperate bachelorettes that often flocked his way. But then after a little digging, I found out his name was Dr. Francis Rosenburg. A decorated professional with an hourly rate of five hundred fucking dollars. He had a private practice over in Trenton and has been married for twenty years with three children and a pet Doberman. He also liked to go fishing on Sundays.
I heard the elevator ping outside and strained my ears to listen as footsteps approached the front door before it was opened. Jude walked in, complete with the get up as if he really had just come back from a grueling work out. He went to the kitchen and I got up, following him.
I didn't say anything as I entered and just leaned against the doorway, watching him as he brewed a pot of coffee. I caught him glance at me from the corner of his eye.
"What do you want for dinner?" he asked, taking out a mug from the cabinet. "I marinated a couple of steaks the other day. We can grill some vegetables to pair with it. Which ones do you like?"
He was just too good at being perfect.
"How do you do it?" I asked, approaching him. "How do you survive all the shit I put you through and still act like everything is just fine and dandy?"
"Do you want mashed potatoes instead? Tell me so I can prep them."
"Did Gramps put you up to this?" I went on, ignoring him. "Was it his last dying wish or some shit? I wouldn't be surprised. The old man was more obsessed with saving me than you are. What an idiot."
He slammed a palm on the counter, his body rigid. "Go to your room."
I scoffed. "If you're going to act like my father, you should do it right. A little slap and curse here and there, you know how to do it. You've seen him do it a million times."
I didn't see it coming. I just felt it. My back collided against the wall as he gripped my arms, the tips of my toes barely touching the floor. But it didn't hurt. No matter how pissed off he got, he could never hurt me. Which pissed me off because I deserved to be hurt by him.
"Do it." I grinned, pressing my forehead against his. "Come on. Hurt me. Stop keeping it all in. It's suffocating you. You need to lash out." He let me go and I shoved him. "Hurt me dammit, I know you want to."
He grabbed me by the throat and I gritted my teeth, excitement filling me. "Don't play with my head, little Angel," he hissed. "I'm not one of your toys."
I wrapped my hand around his wrist, pressing his hand into my throat. "You're right. You're my bitch," I said, struggling to speak through the tightness. "Only a little bitch would let himself be treated the way I treat you."
"Stop," he said, trying to let go but I pushed his hand harder until I could barely breathe. "I said stop!"
He yanked his hand off and I laughed as I coughed up on air. "Come on, tell me you didn't feel good hurting me. Even just a little bit."
"What are you trying to get out of me, huh?" he bit out, shaking me. "You want me to beat you? You want me to force you into obeying me? You want me to be like him?"
"I want you to stop pretending that you don't hate me."
His eyes grew angrier and his grip on my arms tightened. "I don't hate you."
"Bullshit."
He looked like he was about to scream but he didn't. Still so fucking perfect it was ridiculous. Father would be proud.
He pushed himself away from me, dropping me back on the floor.
"Go to your room."
"Do you talk to him about me? What's his name again? Francis?"
"Gel, go to your room. Now."
"Do you tell him how much I'm hurting you?" I went on. "Do you tell him stories about how Father used to force you to watch him beat me? Do you tell him about how loud I scream in my sleep? Do you tell him about how you wished I didn't exist? Do you tell him how exhausted you are of dealing with the same shit every fucking day?"
"Why are you doing this?!" he screamed helplessly.
"Because I want you to fucking realize that every bad thing that's happening in your life is because of me," I spat out, shoving him. "I want you to open your goddamn eyes and see how much damage I've done to you. I want you to fucking stop trying to save me because it's not working and it never will. I want you to listen to that fucking shrink you're hiding and do what he's telling you to do because it's the right thing. I've been through dozens of shrinks and the first thing they tell you is cut out the negative shit in your life. I want you to do that. Why won't you fucking do that, Jude?"
Tears had filled his eyes but he wouldn't let them fall. Too proud to let his baby sister watch him break.
"Go to your room, little Angel. Please," he whispered.
I pursed my lips, shaking my head. "You hate me but you just won't accept it."
He screwed his eyes shut, turning away. "Stop it."
I knew I couldn't break him. I could tear him apart but he'd just put himself back together even though he knew I'd just do it again. No matter how many times I broke his heart, he still won't stop loving me and I hated him so much for that.
"One day," I whispered. "When you've grown sick and tired of me, and you've ran out of reasons to love me, I'm going to kill myself and I'll finally be at peace knowing I won't be able to hurt you anymore."
I took out his gun from the waistband of my jeans and placed it on the counter. I had taken it this morning from one of his cars parked in the garage with the intent of blowing my brains out but I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill myself unless I knew he wasn't going to do the same when he found my corpse. Rick was right. I die, he dies and I couldn't let that happen.