Page 4 of Over You
A loud bangwoke me to cloudless, blue skies, and the high, bright sun scorched my skin.
The taste of cooper sat at the back of my throat. A trail of dried blood on the white lounge cover caught my attention when I glanced at the sprinkling of cocaine left on the patio table.Shit.I must have come back outside for one more go and overdone it.
Footfalls echoed over the pool deck, prompting me to scrub at the dried blood I suspected was below my nose.
“Seriously?” Georgia Anne’s shadow fell over the end of the lounge before she stepped into my line of vision. The black, lace thong she had on peeked out from the hem of her Ramones t-shirt. Her brows scrunched when her gaze locked on the blood-stained chair. Her cheeks went pissed-as-hell red while she pointed at the white dust. “I threw it out last night. Beforeandafter the party. How much did Jag give you?”
Swiping a hand through my hair, I shrugged. “I had some spare in the studio.”
Silence. As bad as it sounded, part of me wanted to fight because it meant we still mattered.
“I can’t keep doing this, Spence.” She ran a hand through her long, ink-black hair. Her teeth worked over her lip, pulling at the supple skin. “I can’t.”
God, she was beautiful even when she was mad.
I pushed up on the lounge, and a jolt of pain shot through my head. “It’s just a little blow. That’s all of it.” I nodded toward the table, sincere as I could be, even though I was lying. A bag of pills was hidden in the studio behind my amp. Some cocaine taped underneath the sink in the guest bathroom, a mixed bag in my sock drawer, some blow in a box of Little Debbie Cakes in the pantry. . .
“There’s no such thing asa little, Spencer.”
“Nash and the other guys—”
“I don’t care about anyone except you!”
Her voice echoed from the walls surrounding the property. The only noise was the water lapping at the sides of the pool. Georgia’s nostrils flared. Tears welled in her eyes, and an internal war broke out inside me, full of gunfire and canons and screams of:to the death.
“I’m not freebasing crack for Christ’s sake!”
A disbelieving laugh slipped through her lips while her arms crossed her chest. “Are youreallytrying to justify it?”
I was. I had to, or the guilt would eat away at me like acid and disintegrate me from the inside out, although, in my defense, it was true. Itcouldhave been worse. Things canalwaysbe worse.
When I had first met Georgia Anne, I was the responsible one. I had taken her out of an abusive home, tutored her in calculus and made sure she graduated high school. I had taken care of her and, in return, she had loved me in a way I never deserved. Now, she was the only responsible one in this party of two. It made me angry at myself. Unfortunately, Georgia Anne was a salvation for my heart and an enemy to my addiction—which, much to my dismay, was the shitty best friend I couldn’t seem to rid myself of.
WhileIknew she wasn’t acting self-righteous—the drugsstill cycling in my system didn’t.
My jaw set. I pushed up from the chair. “Look, I fucked up. I’m sorry.” I shrugged when I went to move past her, knowing damn well I was headed straight for the grab-bag in my sock drawer because judging by the position of the sun, there were still a good twelve hours left in the day. “I’ll get sober tomorrow,” I mumbled.
I should have kept that thought to myself. She grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and yanked me back. “Everythingelse means more thanus.”
That jab went soul deep, forcing my eyes closed on a hard breath. “That’s not true.”
“Whether you realize it or not, it’s all more important.” By that point, tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. “The music. The fans. The drugs.” She sucked in a staggered breath. “Those whores that follow you around with their skirts hiked up.”
I tossed my head back on a groan. Those women weren’t mine, and per the label’s contract, I had to, at the very least, flirt with some of the fans. Every breath I took was scrutinized by the record company, the media—by her. I lived under a magnifying glass, and sometimes I wished to God that the sun would just set me on fire. “Fucking whores?” I dragged a hand over my face. “My God. . .Juststop, Georgia.” My voice boomed over the pool deck, and a group of seagulls perched on the fence took flight.
Her chin dropped to her chest on a subtle shake of her head. “This wasn’t the life I wanted.”
“Which part of it, huh?” I jutted my chin toward our over-the-top house. “The mansion? The expensive cars? That five-grand, red Dior dress you wanted because it hugged your curves just right? What part of itdidn’tyou want, Georgia Anne?”
Her desolate gaze met mine. “The person you’ve turned in to.”
And there was the poisoned-laced arrow straight through my heart.
My pulse slowly picked up. The truth was, that guy she had fallen in love with years ago was long gone and, as far as I could tell, he hadn’t left a return address. Deep down inside, I knew she deserved better; hell, I wanted better for her. I loved her in a way that had seeped into my marrow. There was no me without her, and as selfish as it made me, I just couldn’t let her go. I just couldn’t seem to stay better.
What I should have done was tell her I’d try harder, even if I knew it would all go to shit come three a.m. tomorrow morning. Instead, the drugs said, “Maybe you should rethink if you want to be married to a rock star then.Babe.” And then I walked away.
I was nearly to the house.
