Page 8 of Over You
Spencer
It was two a.m. when the headlights of Nash’s Cuda shined over the wrought iron fence that surrounded my property. The driver’s side window lowered, and a beep sounded with each number he punched into the access pad. The motor whirred to life, and the gate cranked open before he pulled through.
The massive white house came into view. Not one light was on. Slouching in the leather seat, I wondered how angry she was with me. I hated letting Georgia down more than anything in this world, but every time I told her I’d get clean, I meant it. I meant it with every fiber of my being, but the thing was my body and heart didn’t seem to agree.
I used to scoff when an addict called their penchant for coke or heroine a disease. I’d roll my eyes into next week when they’d say it was something that controlled them. It’s too easy to call bullshit on things you don’t understand. Case in point, if a boxer gets knocked out by a guy who’s smaller than him, one could say he’s a pussy. . . But the thing is, it’s easy to call someone weak when you don’t comprehend the strength of their opponent. And until addiction gave me a right hook to the jaw, I had no idea how powerful its punch could be.
“You sure you’re okay?” Nash glanced at me when the car rolled to a stop at the top of my drive.
“Yeah, man. I’m good.” I nodded, my gaze focused on the house while I opened the car door.
“Cool. Don’t forget we have the pre-tour meeting with Ricky tomorrow.” Nash made a jerking motion over his crotch. “He’s such a dick.”
“Okay.” I set foot onto the pavement, begrudgingly trudging up the walkway.
Every day I told myself I would get sober for her, and the first few times the cravings would kick in, I’d tell them to fuck off. Then the shakes would start. I’d get antsy, and I thought:just a little something to take the edge off. Instead of having a gram, I’d have half a gram. Baby steps. . . But that never seemed to work out to plan.
The Cuda’s vintage engine snarled when Nash gunned it down the driveway, while I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to decide how to apologize to Georgia while I typed the code into the keypad. The lock clicked, and the door opened into the dark foyer.
“Babe?” My voice echoed around the vaulted ceilings. Glass crunched under my Vans. Shame washed over me when I flipped the switch on the wall.
I’d torn up everything, looking for a stash she’d missed. With each hiding spot I had found emptied, my rage grew. How the hell could I make her believe I was sincere when I did crap like this? Shaking my head, I made my way down the hallway. The light to our bedroom was on, but when I stepped inside, she wasn’t there. “Hey, babe?”
When I flipped the light to the bathroom, I saw her note in lipstick.Tomorrow came and went.
I fished my phone from my pocket and dialed her number. When it went to voicemail, I swiped an anxious hand down my face. She wouldn’t have left me. She wasn’t like everyone else. She loved me. I loved her. . .
I dialed her number again and again. With each rejected call, anxiety tightened my chest.
I paced through the house with the phone pressed to my ear. I checked with friends. Hotels. Hospitals. No one knew where she was.
Worst-case scenarios churned through my imagination. She’d left in tears and had a wreck. She’d gone down to the beach and waded out in the waters until the ocean sucked her away from shore. Something had happened to her because the one thing Georgia would never do was leave.
I felt completely helpless. Utterly powerless. At three a.m., I snagged a bottle of liquor from the bar and went to the patio. The cork came out with apop. The stout aroma of oak-aged mash swirled into the air, and my mouth salivated. Just when I went to bring the bottle to my lips, I stopped. How pathetic was I? I hurled the bottle across the deck, the glass shattering over the stone pavers and the whiskey settling in the grooves. “I don’t need it,” I said, but the hard rhythm of my heart and the knowing in my gut begged to differ.
Eventually, the night sky lightened, and a dark blue crept up from behind the hills followed by a line of pink and lilac. And then my phone vibrated over the end of the lounge. I nearly dropped it when I swiped to answer.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” There was a distant edge to her tone.
A calming buzz of adrenaline crashed over me as my heartrate attempted to slow. “Holy shit. Babe, I thought you were dead.” The background noise coming through the receiver was a low roar with intermittent dings. “Where are you?”
There was a pause. “Austria.”
“What? Austria? As in Europe?”
“I just needed to think.”
“In fucking Austria?” I stumbled off the lounge and paced beside the edge of the pool. I laughed; she couldn’t be serious. “Alright, Georgia. Haha.”
But she didn’t laugh back. I mean, I’d heard of people needing to take a break, going for a walk on a beach to contemplate life, but just up and jetting off halfway around the world?
“Spence, I can’t. . . I can’t keep doing this.” She was serious. She was fucking serious.
I swatted a shaking hand through my hair and swallowed around the massive lump that sat like a load of concrete in my throat.
“You keep saying you’ll get sober and then you—”
