Page 45 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Evangeline sniffs, climbing onto my bed. “Me too.”
She curls into me, I rub her back, stroke her head and we both cry a bit because we both hate him as much as we love him and we all know how much I love him.
Chapter Eleven
Prince Arthur
I wake up once again covered head to toe in sweat. The room is dark, I forget where I am for a second—almost convince myself I’m back in that sterile room, pouring poison from my body. The smell of the alcohol wafts in front of me, the sound of the other patients screeching in agony fills my ears but then I find my bearings and tell myself that I never have to go back there.
It’s weird. These dreams are weird.
They’re always about me using. I feel myself floating away, into that place I lived in for so many years. It isn’t a particularly dark place, as you’d imagine but that’s the thing with drugs, they actually make you feel good—why else would people use them? It’s probably the hardest part about it. Addicts can’t see past that good feeling, though. That’s where the trouble is. Normal people think about the after part. The fallout. The realities of drug use.
Even after the rehab and the therapy, I still craved. I was told I always would and that killed me. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to say no. I didn’t come back for so long because I knew if it was in front of me that I wouldn’t be able to resist.
I remember the first time I tried heroin—not where I was or how I even managed to get my hands on it—the way I felt is something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel again.
When it first goes in, it’s warm. Might feel like you’ve pissed yourself, kind of. It’s a tingly hug—you know the one you always wanted from your mum but never got? And then your brain shuts off. Like, completely. I don’t remember a single thought I had while using it. My brain was a black hole, totally void of fucking anything and do you know how comforting thatis to someone who’s got the Burning of Troy going on up there every single day?
It feels like what I imagined ascending into heaven feels like. It’s like God himself has come down and cocooned me into a warm, bright light. It feels like reaching inside, grabbing all the shit and putting it into a drawer for a while.
I never wanted to go that far. I don’t think anyone does but when that first hit of warmth gets you, that’s it. It’s a feeling so indescribable that you just have to keep on going back until you find the words. And I hate to point fingers—and I’m not—but I think it was down to Theo that I went that far.
I loved my brother so fucking much. How fucking dare he go and die, you know? How fucking unfair? He had no right. No one had any fucking right to take him from me—from us. All I wanted was for him to come back but knowing someone is gone permanently is too much. It’s too overwhelming to comprehend. No matter how many times you tell yourself that they’re not going to come back, your brain rejects it. It was getting to the point where I was angry with myself. I was angry because I wanted to accept it and I couldn’t.
So ascending into heaven on heroin was the closest to him I was ever going to get.
I sit against my headboard, check my phone.
Half past four in the morning.
Chug the water on my bedside, get up, stretch my arms over my head.
It’s so shit that I know how terrible it was and still, my brain argues that I want to go back there. Believe me when I say, I don’t. I really, really don’t but the urges—fuck me, they’re eating me alive lately.
I don’t know why. Phoebe, maybe? My family? Sebastian? Knowing I can’t go back there? It’s such a complex thing tonavigate but I’m wading through the muck in my mind to find the answers.
But, I mean, if you are wondering what’s going on with Sebastian then I’ll tell you. Our family put out a statement that reads as if we all sat around and agreed—which we didn’t—, Joanne’s actually just disappeared. She never had a lot of media coverage because she’s fairly normal. People were only interested in her because of my brother which is sad since she’s actually extremely smart and pretty. Mia’s apparently dating Henry Finsbury and not answering any questions surrounding our family.
From an outsider's point of view, it’s still fresh as anything, even though we’re going into February now. News like this lasts two weeks tops. But for me it’s old. When we put a statement out and make maybe one or two press releases on a matter, it’s over, we move on. We don’t exactly sit around gossiping about our own. Sebastian locked himself away in Kensington. Mums worried sick, probably more worried than when I fucked off for nearly three years and didn’t contact her.
The paparazzi are rife. They found out I’m living with Connie so now we haven’t left his apartment in about three days. So, yeah, it’s still the most trending topic on every newspaper and rag and probably every dinner table in the world but for me, I’ve got more pressing matters to worry myself with. Couldn’t care less about my brother and who he’s shagging now.
I stare out of the window in my bedroom for a bit, wonder where Phoebe is. Probably with Digby, curled up next to him thinking of me. I know that’s a pretty ballsy statement to make but I know it’s true. There is no fucking way on earth she loves him how she loved me. I’m not expecting her to come running back to me—not expecting her to come back at all but I know her.
I know her like the ocean knows the sand.
I know her like words know paper.
I know her like the sky knows the sun.
And if I’m wrong then nail me to the cross because the only reason I came back was for her. The only reason I’m still going now is because of her.
I reach under my bed, pull out the trunk that has nine-hundred reasons as to why I’m still doing this and remind myself of each one until the sun comes up.
Chapter Twelve
