Page 39 of Blackout

Chapter Thirteen

Lacey

“Lacey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Tearing my eyes away from my case file, I lift my gaze to the door. My boss stands in the doorway with a bleak expression on her face.

“Sure, I was just finishing up here,” I say, closing the file.

“Okay, meet me in my office when you’re done,” she replies, before gently closing the door. Curious as to why she wants to speak with me, I shove the file into one of my drawers and power down my computer. I’m about to stand and grab my purse from the hook when I get dizzy. Dropping back into my seat, I close my eyes and wait for the room to stop spinning.

It doesn’t and I quickly reach for the wastepaper basket under my desk. Lurching forward, I lose my breakfast and my lunch. When I’m sure there is absolutely nothing left for me to throw up, I place the basket back on the floor and straighten my shoulders. The room stops spinning but the nausea still assaults me. I grab the bottle of water on my desk and slowly take a couple of sips.

The last thing I need is to be sick, especially after having called out of work for two days. I just couldn’t get myself out of bed. However, it wasn’t because I was nauseous. I was just physically exhausted. I didn’t think there was any cause for alarm though seeing as I usually get very tired the week my period is due. The throwing up thing…that was new.

Grabbing the wastepaper basket, I make my way towards the door and stop in my tracks.

What if I’m not getting sick?

My mind wanders to two weeks ago when I saw my father so physically ill and immediately, I wonder if the same thing is happening to me. It wouldn’t the first time my depression made me physically ill or kept me in bed for days on end. What if the Lithium isn’t working for me either?

Pushing one foot in front of the other, I step out of my office feeling the early symptoms of a panic attack. I drag in a deep breath and force air into my lungs as I make my way towards the bathroom. Depositing the basket on the floor, I move to the sink and splash water on my face. I brace my hands on the edge of the vanity and lift my head.

Staring at my reflection, I ignore the pale coloring of my skin and focus on my eyes.

“You’re fine,” I whisper. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

My words don’t ease the tension coiling through my body, and I close my eyes in defeat. I think about my father and what he’d tell me if he was here. He’d tell me to keep moving, to not give up. He’d remind me, I’m his daughter and we don’t bow to our illness.

I glance down at my hands and notice they’re shaking. Tears sting my eyes and I can feel that voice creep into my mind. That bitch of a voice.

My maker.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I will it away. I dump my purse onto the counter and with my heart pounding against my ribs, my trembling hands retrieve my phone. Bringing up Blackie’s number, I hit send and lift the phone to my ear.

“Hey,” he answers.

“I…” My voice trails off as the words get stuck in my throat.

My maker returns because she’s nothing if not a persistent bitch.

He’s going to think your ridiculous.

Stop being so fucking needy.

You’re the reason he uses.

The reason he keeps running.

“Lacey, babe, you there?”

I don’t know what it is but there’s something about his voice that just calms me. My maker slowly fades, and I remind myself I’m stronger than her. I’m Lacey Petra and I don’t lose. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before swallowing and staring at my reflection once more.

“Lace,” Blackie calls again.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp, clearing my throat. “I…I don’t feel so well. Can you pick me up from work?”

There’s a pause on his end.

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