Page 57 of Sweet Chaos
Instead of calling Scarlett, I dialed 9-1-1.
After the police arrived and I answered all their invasive questions, and after my mother’s body was removed, I cleaned up the mess.
Then I went in search of Wayne Briggs.
He spent the night in the ER. I spent the night in the drunk tank. Not the first time I’d spent a night in jail. But it would be the very last time I’d ever fight for my mother.
21
Scarlett
“Are you going to answer that?” Nic asked, shoving a handful of parmesan popcorn into her mouth. We were binge-watchingRiverdale,like I needed more drama in my life,but now my eyes were glued to my phone screen.
Why was he calling me at midnight?
Four days. It had been four days since he’d dumped me outside my apartment and taken off like he couldn’t get away from last night’s mistake fast enough.
Being with him had been wrong on so many levels, yet so right in the ways it shouldn’t have been. Sure, the sex had been great. Had left me wanting more. But it was the moments between and the moments after that had consumed my thoughts over the past few days.
His kisses. Soft and sweet. Hungry. Teasing. Playful. His hands and mouth caressing my skin like he wanted to memorize every inch of it.
If it had just been sex, it would have been easier to forget. And I think that’s what made Dylan so dangerous. Rough, to the point of being almost painful one minute, gentle and tender the next. He was the perfect storm. Wild. Unpredictable. Impossible to tame or control. A thing of beauty that could wreak havoc. Destroy you if you got too close.
And I always got too close to the storm.
But my heart couldn’t handle another rejection.
“I have no interest in talking to him,” I said when my phone stopped ringing. This time Nic didn’t try to defend him.
My phone started ringing again, and once again I didn’t answer. He called three more times before Nic grabbed my phone. “If you don’t answer, I will. Just see what he wants so we can get back to our show.”
I snatched the phone out of her hand and I answered. “What do you want?”
“Need you to pick me up,” Dylan said, his words slurring. I strained to hear him over the sound of Guns N Roses’ “Welcome To The Jungle” blaring in the background. “Need a ride to the hospital.”
“Why are you out getting drunk?”
“Come and get me, Starlet.”
“I don’t even have a car. Call a taxi.”
I cut the call and chewed on my thumbnail. Why should I feel guilty? I shouldn’t.
“What did he want?” Nic asked.
“A ride to the hospital. He’s drunk.”
“Asshole.”
“Exactly.”
“But he did nurse you back to health,” she added, our eyes drawn to the phone in my hand that had started ringing again.
I tried to think about this rationally, like a sane person who didn’t feel the sting of rejection. His sister was having a baby. He wanted to be there and was obviously too drunk to drive. He was calling me for help.
Why me? It made zero sense to call a person who didn’t even own a freaking car. He should have called Cruz.
But I couldn’t take the incessant calls anymore, so I caved, and I answered the phone.
