Page 9 of Strange Lad

I pass out on number 9.

Jorge

You Spin Me Round

“Someone shit in my mouth,” I groan through my coma fog.

Holy shit, I knocked out so hard and fast.

Smacking my lips and cracking my neck, I straighten on Oli’s sofa and spot a blanket around my hips.

Awh. He loves me.

I snicker to myself and remove the blanket, scanning the single room for his body, but come up empty. Getting up and stretching, I feel everything crack in that satisfying way and wander over to the bathroom to piss.

I wonder where he went?

He’s not like most people that fall into a specific time camp. Night owls or early birds. He’s neither and both. So he’s probably at the gym or a meeting or something. I know he’s off work today. I’m nosey like that. When he first got the job, I insisted on getting his weekly schedule. It’s nothing amazing, but considering he was homeless and on drugs for years, this is a step in the right direction for sure.

Although, I don’t think I could ever work on cars like he does.

Legally, he isn’t qualified, but one of the ladies in his meetings knew the owner, and he agreed to let Oli come work under the table. His parents pay for the studio he lives in, unbeknownst to them.

More fucking secrets.

Why can’t I own up to it? I’d like to think I know my best friend, and with the strides he’s made with Eli, hehasto be understanding about this. Right?

This sucks.

Eli has probably told him all about Oli too. Which means I’m going to be getting a text any minute…

“There it is,” I whimper and open up Phoenix’s text.

Oli is in recovery. He never said anything to me. Never said a fucking word. I’m trying not to lose my shit over it and make Nyx cough up his address. I know she knows where it is.

This is so fucked up, Jorge.

I don’t know what to do.

Part of me wants to pretend I never got the texts, but he can clearly see that I’ve read them—no way for me to lie about this. I swallow hard, grasping at mental straws.

What do I say? Shit.Shit.

Really???

Do you think she’d tell you?

Worst. Friend.Ever.

I hold my breath, scratch my head, and clench my ass cheeks because it feels like my bowels are going to fall out of my asshole.

If anyone knows where he lives, it’s Nyx. She was taking him to therapy.

Why doesno onetell me this stuff?

Fuck. Gotta go. I’m taking Eli to his therapy session.

Relief whooshes through me.

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