15. Fifteen

I opened my eyes a tiny slit and found Church and Bowie staring down at me. "What the fuck?" I said, or tried to. The words didn't come out right because my mouth was dry. I tried lifting my arm so I could wipe spittle from my chin, but that wasn't working right either. My limbs felt heavy and awkwardly sized, like I'd somehow grown ten feet in my sleep.

I grunted and closed my eyes again, half tempted to go back to sleep. Then the events from the night before came rushing back, and I tried to sit up. Dizziness slammed into me like a brick wall, and the next thing I knew, I was hanging my head over a trash can that someone else was holding and gagging on vomit.

"Easy," Church said, easing me back onto the bed. "Take it easy. You've had a rough night."

Bowie was less gentle. "What'd you take last night, kid?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Nothing."

"Bullshit," Bowie spat. "We took some of your blood. Whatever it was, we're going to find it, so you might as well tell us so we can get you cleaned up."

"I had two beers," I growled. "And then…"

I reached for the memory, but there was a blank space where it should've been. I remembered going to Tappy's with Oscar. He apologized again when he came back with the second beer. I hadn't had time to get away, so I gulped down the second one to give myself an excuse to go use the bathroom and then…

Then nothing. The next thing I remembered was waking up with them staring down at me. Everything in between was a black void like it'd never happened.

There was the sound of the front door opening and footsteps. For the first time, I looked at my surroundings. I was in an unfamiliar room where everything was perfectly neat and tidy, and the walls were bare. Church's room. What the fuck was I doing in there?

Wattson pushed through the bedroom door. He adjusted the wire-frame glasses sitting high on his nose before shoving a stapled stack of papers at Church and announcing, "It's GHB."

"The date rape drug?" Church asked, taking the papers and flipping through them.

"Also known as liquid ecstasy." Wattson crossed his arms and gave me a stern look.

"I didn't take that," I said, shaking my head. "Someone must've put it in my drink."

"That someone being Oscar." Church passed the papers to Bowie. "Considering he was trying to stuff you into his car when I got there."

I rubbed my hands over my face. "Oh my God. He was going to…"

My chest tightened and my eyes darted around the room from face to face. Were they judging me? Of course they were. Church already thought I was disgusting. The rest of them probably thought I was asking for it by sneaking out with him. They thought I deserved to be taught a lesson, that I deserved …

My stomach churned, but there was nothing left in it to come out. I suddenly felt like every inch of me was covered in gritty dirt that I was desperate to wash away. I threw aside the blanket covering me. "I need a shower."

"You need to rest ." Church put a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place.

I shoved his hand away in a panic. "Don't touch me!"

Church recoiled like I'd slapped him and an awkward, heavy silence settled on the room. The pressure in my chest got worse with every passing second. I wanted to throw myself into the mattress and cry, but I wasn't going to do that now, in front of them. They already thought I was a disgusting diva who deserved to be taken advantage of. I wasn't going to throw fuel on the fire.

The front door opened again and a feminine voice called out, "Se?ior Deluca?"

Church frowned. "Who the bloody hell…"

"We'll deal with it," Bowie said, patting Church's shoulder, then he and Wattson left us alone.

I crossed my arms and refused to look at him, hoping he'd leave too, but he didn't. He just stood there, looking at me like a giant, wounded animal.

Church sighed. "I know this is difficult for you, Dante, but—"

"I heard what you said about me."

He frowned. "What?"

"When you were on the phone with your mom yesterday afternoon in the kitchen. I heard everything."

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Dante, what the hell are you talking about? "

I dug my fingernails into my forearm. "You said I was disgusting. That you were ashamed to have ever associated with me. That if you ever had to see me again after this, it'd be too soon."

His jaw fell open, and he shook his head. "Dante… I wasn't talking about you!"

Something in my chest clenched, and I winced. "You weren't?"

"No!" Church slid into the chair beside the bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "My mother was trying to set me up with the tory twat who bullied me in secondary school. I let that prick bully me for years for being gay and now she wants me to kiss his arse and make nice so father can get a fat check for his campaign? That's disgusting, Dante. It had nothing to do with you."

"Oh." I rubbed my face where it was suddenly warm, then shot him a curious look. "So you are gay?"

He sighed. "Why did you go with Oscar?"

I looked away again and shrugged one shoulder. "I was lonely, I guess. And bored. And pissed at you. And…"

I shuddered, thinking about the afternoon before when Oscar had kissed me. I should've known then something about him wasn't right, but I'd been so focused on trying to make everyone else happy.

"He kissed me," I said, hating how the words felt on my tongue.

Church's fingers curled into tight fists. "Who?"

"Oscar. Yesterday. I…he…we…" I sighed and shook my head. "We've been spending time together in the afternoons after he gets off shift. Just playing music and talking about shit. I thought he was just being nice, and I needed a friend, you know? But then he kissed me and it felt weird and when I pushed him away, I thought he was going to cry so…" I wrapped my arms around myself. "This is my fault."

"No, Dante." Church sank onto the edge of the bed. "You didn't deserve what he did to you. "

"Didn't I? I mean, I went with him. I should've known… People are going to say I was asking for it, and maybe I was. I don't know. I just…I can't stand the idea of letting people down. I didn't want him to be disappointed ."

"Dante…"

Before Church could finish, there was a knock at the door and Bowie poked his head in. "Hey, that Oscar kid…He said he was working for the cleaning company, right?"

Church's brow creased. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, the cleaning lady is here."

"She's out of the hospital?" I asked.

Bowie nodded. "Yep, and you're gonna love this. Guess what she was in the hospital for ? It starts with arsenic and ends with—"

"Arsenic poisoning?" Church looked at me.

Bowie sighed. "Why do you always do that? You ruin everything."

"Call Leo," Church said. "We need everything he can find on Oscar."

Bowie rapped his knuckles against the door frame. "Already on it."

I frowned, glancing between them. "Sam said he vetted all the staff. You should already have everything you need on Oscar to find him."

"I'll check the files he sent over," Bowie offered, "but if I recall, his dossier was pretty bland. I sure would've noticed if it said he was into poisoning people."

Church stood. "And I'll get on the phone with Boone."

Bowie hesitated. It was the first time I'd ever seen him frown, and it didn't look right on him. "You sure you want to do that?"

"Somebody has to do it."

Something in my chest clenched. My arm shot out to grab Church's sleeve before he could leave. "Wait. How did you know where to find me? "

"You called me," he said, turning back around. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head. "The last thing I remember is getting up to go to the bathroom and feeling like something wasn't right."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

"Me too."

Church spent most of the next hour on the phone arguing with his boss and my boss and my boss's boss. From his bedroom, I couldn't hear most of what was said, but he must've figured if he said, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir" enough, someone would go easy on him.

Eventually, Wattson came back to check on me.

"So, Wattson," I started as he took my pulse. "Is that a first name or a last name?"

"Neither," he said. "My name is Connor McCormick. Everyone just calls me Wattson."

"Why do they call you that?"

He sighed. "Because my ex-wife's last name is Holmes."

"Wattson and Holmes. Like Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's the joke. How are you feeling?" He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.

I shrugged. "Confused, a little groggy, and really guilty." I jerked my chin toward the door. "Is he going to get fired because of me?"

"Church?" He huffed and paced into the room. "Doubt it. Boone will write some checks, make some promises, and be pissed a while, but nobody's dead yet, so that's good." He came in and picked up my wrist, looking down at his watch. "Any tingling, numbness, or chest pain?"

"I'm fine, Doc."

He squinted through his glasses at me. "I'll be the judge of that." He started pressing cold fingers under my jaw the way doctors always did.

I studied his face. "You think this is a waste of time, don't you? That I'm just going to go back to drinking and using as soon as I get out of here."

He hesitated before inhaling deeply through his nose. "Addiction is a disease. Like any other, it's treatable, but only if a patient agrees to participate in his own care."

"In other words, I'll never get better if I don't want to."

For the first time since he entered the room, he looked me in the eye. "No. I said it was treatable, not curable. The war on drugs is unwinnable, one that's more profitable than oil. Why would any doctor ever want that to go away? As long as you keep swallowing your pills and poisoning your body with alcohol, I have job security, so by all means, continue."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "You're an asshole."

"I failed bedside manner in doctor school. Not to worry. It was an elective. I took cynicism 101 instead." He pulled off his gloves and massaged his thumb over his palm. "The good news is you're not suffering any ill effects from last night's adventure. I'd tell you to avoid stimulants like caffeine for a few days, but you won't. I should also tell you to follow up with your regular doctor within two weeks, but you won't do that either. So here's some real advice, kid. If you're going to be a drunk, be a drunk. If you're going to do drugs, do the damn drugs. Repeated rapid detox just makes you more likely to overdose." He walked toward the door, but I didn't miss the slight hitch in his step. "Also, don't share needles and wear a condom when you have sex."

"What's wrong with him?" I asked Church when he came back in.

"He's in pain." Church sighed and leaned against the wall. "It makes him irritable."

"Then he should take a couple of Motrin or something instead of taking it out on me."

"Not quite that simple for him." He came further into the room. "How do you feel?"

"Like I wish people would stop asking me that. I've had crazier nights than last night, believe me."

Church crossed his arms and drummed his fingers on his muscular biceps, his face locked in a stern expression. "What the bloody hell were you thinking? You had to know that nothing good would come of sneaking out with someone you barely knew!"

"So I deserved this? Is that what you think?"

"I think there are consequences for risky behavior."

I clenched my fists around the blanket. "I was bored."

"So take up a hobby! Take a nap! Jerk off or play some music!"

"I can't!" I shouted, slamming my fists down on the mattress. "Every time I try to come up with the right notes, all I want to do is reach for a drink that isn't there! And when I get stuck, my first instinct is to reach for a bottle of pills to loosen up."

"Drugs and alcohol are a crutch!" He shouted back.

"Yeah, and I don't know how to do this without them!" My jaw trembled, but I couldn't tell if that was because I was angry or ashamed. Who was there to be angry at but myself?

It wasn't Church's fault I couldn't be the perfect frontman for After Atom that everybody wanted. I wasn't cut out for it, and everybody knew. That's why Jake pushed the first drink on me. He knew I wasn't ready to go out there and play in front of a sold-out arena. That's why people kept handing me pills and telling me they'd help me stay awake to play more, to party more, to be more of who they wanted me to be.

I turned away, tears stinging my eyes. "How am I supposed to do anything without them? The uppers keep me going when I'm too tired and then I need to drink to chill out enough to sleep. Without the booze and the pills, I'm just a broke kid from L.A. with a guitar and a dream."

"No, you're not, Dante," Church said firmly.

I glanced up at him. A sour taste coated my tongue when I saw him looking down at me with pity in his eyes. Of course he'd feel sorry for me. Everybody did whenever I had to talk about this shit. That's why I hated doing it. Pity didn't solve my problem.

I swallowed and shook my head. "I can't do this without them. I'm not good enough."

Church grabbed the chair, spun it away from the wall, and sat next to the bed. "You weren't on either when After Atom brought you on, which either means they made a mistake, or that you are good enough, and I don't think it's the first one."

I rolled my head back to look at him. "How do you know?"

Church reached out and took my hand. "Dante…I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're a terrible liar. I don't think you'd be able to fool anyone, let alone the millions of people out there who love you. You can do this, Dante. You are good enough."

"They don't love me. They don't even know me."

"What about your family?" he said. "They love you. They can't all be wrong."

"They don't really know me either. I haven't talked to them in months. "

Church stood up and walked over to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer. He turned and tossed my phone into my lap. "Then that's where you start. Call your mum."

A tight lump formed in my throat. "What do I say?"

"I'd start with hello and go from there," he suggested. "I'll go make us some tea. You can eat something more solid if you keep that down."

I picked up the phone and cradled it in my hands. He was right. Nothing was ever going to change if I didn't start making different decisions, and that had to start with reconnecting with the people who mattered to me most.

I waited for him to leave the room before numbly scrolling through my contacts list to find my mom's number. My arm shook as I held the phone to my ear and listened to the ring tone. What if she didn't answer?

What if she did?

"Hello?"

My hand went to my throat when she picked up.

"Dante?"

I forced myself to swallow and unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "Hi, Mom. It's me."