Page 22 of Find Me

“Stop Evi, please,” she says firmly. “I really don’t want to hear what you have to say. I have seen you let loose, I used to be the one you let loose with. But this wasn’t that, and deep down I think even you know it.” She takes a breath before continuing, “And the things Rhett was saying, boasting about the deal you guys have, about how much money you owe him and how he can make you do anything he wants, because that’s how you pay him back. How he could even get you to do anything his friends want, because that’s how much you listen to him. Please tell me it isn’t true…” She trails off.

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion. There’s no way he said that. You know we made a deal, but it’s not what you’re describing…”

She cuts me off. “The Evi I know wouldn’t have agreed to this deal in a million years.”

“The Evi you knew wasn’t about to get her water and heat shut off and lose her apartment. I did what I had to do.” I spit back at her. “And you know what, it’s not all bad, to have someone actually care about me and show me affection, someone who actually shows up for me.” I’m surprised by the defensiveness coating my words.

“Evi… if you’re implying I don’t show up for you…”

Now it’s my turn to cut her off. “That’s exactly what I’m implying. Don’t you find it interesting how the second I no longer have a trust fund to fall back on we start to have all these issues?” I practically yell.

“I was working. I’ve been just as busy as you!”

I don’t want to find the truth in her words. I’m angry now, and hurt, and I’m letting everything out, throwing all my frustration at her.

She sighs, letting out a long breath before continuing to talk quietly, a strain behind the calm in her voice.

“You know what? If you want to continue down this path that you’re on, be my guest. But I’m not going to stand by like everyone else and watch you drown. But I will tell you one thing: You’re in deeper than you realize. I have never seen you throw back so much alcohol on a single night out, and I have definitely not known you to do drugs until you can no longer stand.”

Is that how I got the bruises on my knees? I think to myself.

“Whether or not you want to admit it is up to you, but Rhett is clearly using you for a good time. No one who actually cares about you would stand around while you can barely keep yourself together in the middle of a club, only to offer you more drugs a second later… and they sure as hell wouldn’t sit there as their friends talk about what they would do to you if you were their girlfriend, laughing with them instead of shutting that shit down. You’re a mess, Evi, and you’re surrounded by people who don’t actually care about you, but you’re too blinded by whatever it is Rhett is offering you to actually see what’s going on. So, grow up, and sort yourself out,” she yells, hanging up the phone before I can even answer.

I sit in stunned silence, unsure of whether I want to call her back or process what she just said.

Rhett isn’t using me. I agreed to this, I think to myself. I shake my head, convincing myself that Sam couldn’t have possibly heard them right, most likely not understanding his type of humor, his jokes often falling flat around me most of the time as well. But it had to be a joke, right?

I stand up from the bed, starting to get dressed in preparation for my early shift at work. But I can’t help but think about what she said, and a nagging voice in the back of my head has me wanting to call Rhett just to hear him deny everything Sam said, reassuring me that I am right.

I pick up my phone again and dial his number, only to go straight to voicemail. My breathing quickens as panic starts to flood through me, the pit in my stomach unable to be contained any longer. I try dialing his number a few more times as I pace throughout my room, tears rolling down my cheeks as my call is never answered. I don’t want Sam’s words playing on repeat through my head, but I can’t get them to stop, our conversation drowning out all logical thoughts.

I need Rhett to tell me the truth. I rummage through my drawer, desperately looking for relief from the tide of emotions that threatens to drown me. I find a little white pill in a bag hidden under a pair of socks. Sinking to the floor, my hands shake as I dial his number again, my call going straight to voicemail for the tenth time. I try to breathe, but no matter how much I try, it feels as though there’s not enough oxygen in the room to fill my lungs.

I pop the pill in my mouth, gathering just enough saliva so it slides down my throat slowly as I gasp for air, hoping some relief finds me quickly.

Eventually, my hands stop shaking and my breathing becomes fluid, the panic in me held at bay by the oxy in my system. I wait a few more minutes, and I swear I even feel a mild euphoria start to fill the void that was in my stomach just moments before. I grab onto the dresser behind me, willing myself to stand up, and trudge to my bathroom to start getting ready for work.

I look at myself in my mirror again, more unsure than ever of who I see staring back at me. And while I keep trying to convince myself that Sam is lying, a small part of me wonders why Rhett is avoiding my calls.

CHAPTER 13

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I step out of the cab and onto the familiar gravel parking lot, heading into work early to help check all the stock behind the bar before my shift. Since Poison Ivy doesn’t open for another three hours, I’ve dressed in ripped jeans, old running shoes, and a black T-shirt. The last thing I wanted to do was to spend more time than necessary in my more-than-uncomfortable outfit for tonight—a black faux leather corset and six-inch heels to match.

I pay the cab driver and make my way towards the front door, smiling as I notice Alex’s and Red’s cars already here, excited to know I’ll have company during the rather mundane task of taking stock.

I can’t help but think of how quickly life changes. Under my parents’ roof, I had multiple cars to choose from, and now it’s a luxury I can’t afford. I used to rely on private drivers to get where I wanted to go, and now I rely on the bus system, cab drivers, or occasionally Sam to get where I need to go.

Sam. Thinking of her name and our conversation this morning causes my emotions to flare at lightning speed, the oxy working hard to keep any semblance of euphoria in my system. Hurt, quickly replaced by anger, flashes through me, and tears threaten to start running down my face. I blink quickly, reigning in my emotions at breakneck speed, no doubt thanks to the drugs coursing through my body. I take a deep breath as I walk towards the front doors, still rattled by the words Sam spoke earlier today.

I don’t have time to think about this, I think to myself. And for once, I am looking forward to the dull task of sorting through bottles and the hours of distraction it will provide. I start to open the large wooden door when a loud rumbling sounds from behind me. Turning around to see what could be making so much noise I see a matte black motorcycle race around the bend in the road before abruptly slowing down and pulling into the parking lot. Its low reverberation vibrates throughout my body. I must be staring because the guy riding it nods his head in my direction as he drives toward the back of the building. I blush and continue pushing the heavy door open, wondering who the stranger on the bike is.

Within a few minutes, I’ve already started taking stock of what we have behind the bar, meticulously counting bottles and kegs to make sure we have enough alcohol to get us through the next few days. I’m already bored, and with Red and Alex nowhere to be found, I’m left alone with my thoughts, something I was really hoping wouldn’t happen today. I kneel in front of the bar fridge, and as my bruised knees shout their discomfort at my choice in position, a memory surfaces from last night. Me getting down on my knees trying to fit all of Rhett in my mouth, the sound of music and people laughing loud in the background.

I bring a hand to my mouth as a wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly, accompanied by the disbelief that I was so out of it I couldn’t remember doing that. I take a deep breath, willing the nausea to subside. Box your shit up, Evi. I think to myself as I lose count of the bottles in front of me. I stand up, annoyed at having to start counting from scratch, and grab a glass of water, taking a minute to try and refocus.

With no windows and low lighting, shadows dance inside the bar despite it being the middle of the day. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. There he is—the guy with the motorcycle—having an in-depth conversation with Mike. His jeans are slung low on his hips and his white shirt hides what I can only imagine is a perfect body. His hair is dark, and the stubble on his face only helps to further define his strong jawline. He’s wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and white shoes. His outfit choice seems odd to me, but then again, I haven’t really seen any bikers up close before. Red floats up to the bar, standing beside me and following my gaze, looking at the interaction between the mysterious man and Mike.

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