Unveiling Chaos Page 4

  My grimace deepened as I stepped forward. “It’s fine. We’ll—”

  “But I did clean the apartment.” Her quick look of accomplishment vanished, the same way it did when my parents spoke to her. I knew it was a gut reaction to years of such negativity, but it felt like a knife to my stomach that I was suddenly lumped into that category. And even though we had hugged last week and I thought things had settled, it was clear my words had impacted her deeply.

  “Ellie—” I started as I stepped forward.

  “I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna head to bed.” She hitched her thumb toward the hall before quickly walking away, not giving me a chance to finish. I heard the soft thud of her door before I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands.

  I would sit there for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of moping was all I’d allow myself. And really, even that was too much time. It wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t going to help Ellie. It wasn’t even making me feel better—

  Fuck it. I called it at ten seconds, I was done moping.

  I walked across our apartment and grabbed my laptop sitting on the coffee table. Pulling up the web browser, I typed, “how to help an alcoholic stay sober.”

  Thousands of results popped up. But as I read through and saw the same generic steps, I realized I wouldn’t get the answers I needed from a website. Beating addiction was a very personal thing. There were no step-by-step rules that could be applied to everyone affected with it. These steps were a good place to start, but I realized what I needed, what Ellie needed, was a specialized treatment plan. One designed for her shortcomings and her fears.

  I shut the laptop and gripped the back of my neck before picking up my phone and dialing Steve, an old friend from high school.

  “Hey, man. Long time, no talk,” he answered.

  “Yeah, listen, do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Is your brother still on the force?” I asked, cutting right to the chase.

  “Which one? There are three of those fuckers.” He laughed and I heard him shuffle around some papers. Steve came from a family that bled blue. Four generations of being on the police force, and two generations who branched out to practice law. We used to joke about how much Steve was letting his family down. Seven kids total, four boys and three girls, and all but two were involved in some form of the justice system. Steve, a finance major in his final year of his undergraduate degree, and Veronica, a fashion designer who now lived in Paris.

  “Grayson, the one aiming for narcotics,” I said, referencing his second oldest brother, just two years our senior.

  Steve laughed once more. “Of course. That’s his life. I barely see him, he works day and fucking night.”

  “Good, good. Listen, I need his help.”

  The line went silent and Steve cleared his throat. “You okay, Damien? You didn’t get messed up in that shit, did you?”

  “No,” I ground out. He had no way of knowing Ellie was the one messed up in that shit, and even though I was just as frustrated with her addiction, I seriously disliked his tone. “But I need to talk to him. Can I have his number?”

  “Sure,” he said slowly. “Is this gonna be in an official capacity or—?”

  “Off the books.”

  “Okay.” He paused and I could imagine him scratching the back of his head, just like he did in high school when he was uncomfortable. “Why don’t I hand yours off to him and have him call you, that work?”

  I stared down the hall toward Ellie’s room, wondering if this idea would be going too far. But then I thought about her baby, my niece or nephew, and how desperate my sister was to stay sober, to raise this kid. How proud she was at the thought of being a mother. And I’d do anything to ensure it happened. “Yeah, just make sure he calls as soon as he can.”

  “Will do, man.”

  I hung up and chucked the phone on the table. I didn’t really know what I was expecting from this meeting with Steve’s brother, but it seemed like a good place to start. Whether I wanted his advice or for him to simply scare the addiction out of her, I wasn’t quite sure. But at least I was starting. I couldn’t worry about what would happen in a week or a month or a year if I didn’t first worry about what would happen tomorrow. One step at a time, I’d make sure we beat this.

  Operation don’t think was a success. Or I assumed it was because I didn’t actually remember what I’d been thinking by the end of last night.

  I rolled over and picked up my phone to look at the time, only to regret it when the bright screen caused my already pounding head to throb. My mouth felt like something died in it as I all but threw myself out of bed, somehow landing on my feet. I completely bypassed the bathroom once the smell of bacon hit my nose, drawing me to it like a dog.

  “Oh God,” I groaned as I grabbed my head. “How much did I drink last night?”

  “Morning, sunshine,” Gabe chirped—way too loudly—as I gently sat down at the kitchen table.

  “I hate you,” I grumbled. Alara tsked before setting a fully loaded plate in front of me.

  “That’s not very nice. He’s the one who suggested making you breakfast.” I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “Why wasn’t that your suggestion?”

  Alara raised her eyebrows. “How much of last night do you remember?”

  I had just lifted my fork, overflowing with scrambled eggs, when I paused and mentally cataloged the night. I remembered talking to Derek in the afternoon about our mother (I wished I forgot that), suggesting to Alara we go out, fibbing to Alara about why I needed a thought-free night, hanging out at Swerved with Alara and Gabe, and… the douche… or I guess I’d have to call him by his name now. Damien. I smiled slightly. For some reason he had been a lot more agreeable last night.

  “Okay, based on that smile I see you remember the Damien part.”

  My smile morphed into a scowl, causing Alara and Gabe to laugh. I continued replaying last night, this time out loud. “Then I suggested karaoke, somehow you talked me out of it and we left the club to come back here, where I drank a lot more, and then—” I cut myself off as my eyes widened and I looked at Alara’s forearm. “Oh my God, then I—”

  “Then you bit me.” She punctuated this by lifting her arm, showing the teeth marks on her creamy white skin. She wore a scowl, but I could also tell she was trying not to laugh. Gabe, however, lacked her control.

  “It’s not funny,” my best friend said, even as she finally started laughing. “She drew blood.” That only caused Gabe to laugh harder, bending over as he held his stomach. She rolled her eyes but finally let all pretenses of anger slip as she sat down across from me and took a sip of her coffee while shaking her head.

  I smiled as I lifted up my fork once more. “So, why’d I bite you again?”

  “Because you’re a brat?” she joked as she started cutting into her pancakes. I laughed—no sense arguing with the truth. But I knew there had to be a better reason for why I decided to go Mike Tyson on her arm.

  Gabe must have read my confusion because he elaborated, “Think back to the dopey smile you were sporting a couple minutes ago.”

  It suddenly came to me as I growled, “Damien,” before reaching across the table and smacking Alara’s arm. “I do not want to have his tattooed babies.”

  She threw a glare at Gabe. “That’s why I simply called her a brat.”

  He laughed. “Only Naomi would be less offended by someone calling her a brat.”

  “Hey,” I said as I held up my hands. “I’m woman enough to admit the truth.” Settling back into my chair, I popped a piece of heavenly bacon in my mouth. “So, what are you guys up to today?”

  “We’re gonna catch a movie with Sam,” Alara said as she placed a mug in front of me.

  “You’re an angel.” I brought the cup of steaming black coffee to my mouth, pausing to savor the delicious scent before taking a “sip.”

  “Do you want to join us?” Gabe asked.
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br />   I shook my head as I set the cup down. As much as I’d love to see Gabe’s sister, because it’d been way too long since I last spoke to her, I really needed to see my brother. “No, thanks. I’m actually going to bug Derek for the afternoon. Do you know if he works?”

  Gabe thought for a minute before answering, “I think he works the lunch shift. Should be off at four.”

  Glancing at the stove, I saw the time was 11:37. I could easily grab lunch there at 2:30 and then hang out till he got off. Neither one of us wanted to have this discussion, but it was weeks past due.

  The three of us finished breakfast before they had to leave to meet Sam, and I spent the rest of the afternoon sluggishly moving around the apartment, picking up random things I’d left lying around before hopping in the shower.

  I moved slowly as I worked the suds into my scalp. Closing my eyes, I thought of how Damien’s relaxed smile had been on full display last night, his hair pulled back into a low bun similar to how he had worn it at Inked 101. I thought of his carefree blue eyes, how light and non-prickly they’d been. And I could have sworn his eyes had flared with heat when he looked me over last night.

  I couldn’t blame him. I had looked hot. And I had no qualms with saying that about myself. Girls were constantly told to have confidence, but the second they proclaimed themselves as good-looking they were persecuted for being conceited. So where did that leave them? What exactly were they supposed to do?

  Tell everybody to fuck off, that was what.

  Anyway… I had looked really good last night, I knew that before I walked into Swerved. But the second I had turned around and saw Damien get his first good look at me, I felt beautiful. Not hot or sexy, which had been the goal, but truly beautiful, like the clothes and makeup had just been the icing on an already delicious cake. I felt like I could have come dressed in my rattiest pajamas with a mud mask smeared on my face and he still would have wanted to talk to me over anyone else.

  What the hell am I even saying? Maybe I’m still drunk.

  My brain went back to how good he had looked last night, and before I knew it, my hand was skimming down my neck, heading toward my aching breast. I kneaded it roughly as my other hand lightly traced my curves until I reached the apex of my thighs.

  I had never gotten myself off by picturing anyone other than Caleb—and Ryan Gosling of course, but I reserved the right to use him in my spank bank (without shame) until the day I died—but as I lowered my hand and felt the wetness that had nothing to do with the water coming from the shower, I was surprised at how normal it felt. There was zero guilt, just a whole lot of lust.

  My moans reverberated off the shower walls as I slipped two fingers inside and rubbed the heel of my palm against my clit. Everything heightened as soon as I imagined his fingers pumping in and out of me, his colorfully tattooed arm flexing as he quickly brought me to the edge only to pull back and start all over again. Again and again until I was in physical pain from not having come. I started fingering myself faster, no holding back, and imagined him growling in my ear, demanding me to come. Removing the hand at my breast, I slapped my palm against the shower wall as I shuddered and came on my fingers.

  I struggled to catch my breath as my knees shook and my head fell against the shower tiles, joining my hand. The release had been fantastic, and I couldn’t help but wonder, how much better would the real thing be?

  …

  Thirty minutes later I was parking my car and walking toward Pick Your Poison. I was bare-faced, with my hair still wet, and wearing yoga pants and a plain black T-shirt. My flip-flops echoed off the sidewalk as I stopped in front of the door, wrapped my hand around the skull-shaped handle, and pulled.

  As I walked through the restaurant I noticed only two occupied tables. Sadie said hello as she exited the kitchen, balancing two plates and a bowl in her arms. My eyes landed on Derek’s back as he stood behind the deserted bar.

  “Hey,” I said as I sat down. When Derek turned, I saw he was on the phone, but he gave me a chin lift in greeting before continuing the call.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” he said softly. A slow smile spread over his face at whatever the person on the other line said. When he caught me staring it dropped to a frown. Clearing his throat, he said, “Okay, I’ll let you know.”

  My eyebrows were halfway up my forehead when he finally hung up. Derek ignored my questioning look as he grabbed a rag and wiped down the already clean area in front of him.

  I rolled my eyes. “Really? You think ignoring me is going to make me less curious?”

  He scowled as he tossed the rag. “I was hoping maybe you had some kind of stroke in the past twenty-four hours and would overlook it, yes.”

  “No such luck.” My eyes widened as a thought occurred to me. “Was it a girl?”

  “Naomi, just drop it.”

  I really wanted to press him for more information, but I knew it was pointless. Derek could keep a secret better than anyone, and we had more pressing matters at hand.

  “Fine. I’m here to talk about Mom.” The brief look of relief that had washed over his face immediately fell.

  “No wonder you gave up so easily,” he muttered. He leaned against the bar, his forearms flat against the countertop. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. We can’t let her back into our lives. And we really need to be united on this. If she thinks even one of us…” I trailed off as his expression turned sheepish.

  “What did you do?” I asked, my voice laced with suspicion.

  “I had lunch with her.” Despite his remorseful expression, his tone was resolute and when he met my eyes head-on, I could see he didn’t regret his decision. In fact, there seemed to be a tiny spark of life to his eyes at the mention of our mother. I knew he had missed her over the years, but I didn’t think he’d let her back in so easily.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, letting out a stressed breath with it, trying to control my anger. Derek was older than me, he should remember everything she did better than me. He should be able to remember the nights we went hungry, the mornings we had to walk miles to school, the school performances she missed, the—

  “What the hell, Derek?” I practically shouted, failing to control my anger.

  “She’s our mother.”

  “I don’t care.” My voice shook. “How can you forgive her so easily, after everything she did? Do I need to remind you?”

  He scowled as his eyes darkened and his jaw ticked. “Why are you acting this way? Did she really screw up your life that bad? Really, tell me. What in your life is so awful that Mom deserves this?” He shook his head like he was disappointed in me. “She apologized.”

  My jaw dropped. “And that makes up for it?”

  “What would?” he challenged. I opened my mouth, but paused when I realized I didn’t know what to say.

  Derek straightened and pointed a finger at me. “Aha! There is nothing Mom could ever do to make up for what she’s done. That’s not what the apology is for. She knows it’s not some Band-Aid that will undo all of the hurt and lies. It’s just an acknowledgement that she knows she did wrong, and it’s a promise to do better. What more can we ask of her?”

  I sat back, stunned and speechless for a moment. “So you can just pretend it never happened? And what? Just hope it never happens again?”

  “No. I accept that it happened, that she’s sorry, and I move the fuck forward, Naomi. Like I already said, there is nothing any of us can do to change it. I’m being an adult, maybe you should try it.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, sitting forward and ignoring his adult comment. “We can do something about it. We can leave it in the past, we don’t have to let her back into our lives—she doesn’t deserve it.”

  Derek’s expression seemed to be warring between annoyance and disappointment. “No one deserves anything. That’s not how life works, and you more than anyone should know that.” He paused, most likely to make
sure that the full weight of his next words would hit me. “Does Alara deserve to have depression? Did Sam and Gabe deserve to lose their mother and have such an asshole for a father? Did we deserve to have a cowardly father who left us and a mother who couldn’t stay clean?”

  No.

  The word echoed loudly in my head. None of us deserved any of that.

  Alara was one of the kindest people I knew. She befriended me during one of the worst times in my life. We had just moved to Carillo, fresh off being left by our father, and I had felt lost. The first time I met her was in second grade, during game day where I ended up throwing a few of the board pieces at her when she wouldn’t let me be the banker. Monopoly could ruin friendships, or in this rare case… create one.

  It didn’t happen right away; weeks went by before the glares turned to smiles. I never knew why she decided to forgive me. But it was like she knew how abandoned I felt. How defeated and filled with blame I was. A child shouldn’t ask why their parent didn’t love them. A child should never consider themselves a reason for why their parent left.

  Alara took that all away, without even realizing it. She laughed at my stupid theatrics and was quick to change the subject when I started to feel down. She made me feel like a worthwhile person again.

  So it crushed me to watch depression swoop down and tear apart this girl who just wanted to make other people feel better.

  She didn’t deserve it.

  And even though Sam and Gabe were new to our lives, I’d seen enough to know that Gabe deserved the chance to gush to his mom about how much he loved Alara. Just as Sam deserved to have her mom there to fluff her veil and tell her how pretty she looked on her wedding day.

  They didn’t deserve it.

  And Derek… he’d been there for me my whole life. He held my hand as we watched our dad drive away. He sat in my room and played my favorite song, singing me to sleep, every night for a month after the first time we found our mom passed out on the kitchen floor with a needle in her arm. And when I walked across the stage at my high school graduation, he cheered so loud I didn’t even realize that two other sets of screams were missing.