Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“What the hell is this?”

I stare at the drink Tristan hands me. The color is dark green, the texture thick with something floating near the brim. I feel the bile rise in my throat, and I struggle to swallow, wrestling with the vomit which is fast bubbling to the surface. I push the glass away, but his strength overpowers me. I’m weak.

Fucking Eric and that fucking conga line!

He pushes it back my way. “Drink it. I promise you won’t have a hangover if you drink this.”

I’m short-fused, my head is pounding like a jackhammer, and I want nothing more than to feel the coolness of the bathroom tiles caress my face. Oh, and pour that rancid-looking drink all over Tristan’s head.

“Kid, fuck off. I’m not drinking that.”

He continues to stand over me and doesn’t let up. For fuckin’ fuck’s sakes. I grab the stupid drink off him and down it in one go.

Oh, mother of fucking.

I run for the bathroom, certain the contents of my stomach will soon be saying hi-de-ho to the toilet bowl. I wait, but as minutes pass, the feeling subsides, the headache eases.

“What the hell was in that?”

“It’s best you don’t know. You feel better, though, don’t you?” He appears pleased with himself.

I nod, then motion for him to get the fuck out of the bathroom, and take the longest shower in the history of mankind.

The magical drink gets me out of bed and in the mood to write. Tristan goes out with Claudia, leaving me with the peace and quiet I so desperately need to finish my manuscript. Mr. Grimmer sent me an email wanting to see an update, so I was hauling major ass trying to get it done. I’d had tighter deadlines than this before, to the point where I didn’t eat or sleep for seventy-two hours straight in the middle of a third-world country, just so I could get a small section printed in the newspaper. It’s all part of the journalism game.

But this isn’t the journalism game.

This is my heart and soul turned into words and poured into this manuscript. It’s a dream, my ambition, my future all riding on this publishing deal.

Come Monday, I’m a ball of nerves again.

Sitting in my office, I’m finishing off a piece I’m doing for the newspaper when Nyree calls.

I switch on my sultry voice. “Good morning, Nyree.”

“Hi, Mr… I mean Julian. I have a call for you on line two. A Mr. Grimmer.” Her voice is sweet, and I know I shouldn’t go there. So I don’t, for now.

Picking up line two, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the worst.

“Mr. Baker, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?” he politely asks.

“Not at all, Mr. Grimmer. I trust you received my email?”

There’s a pause. I know it—who am I fucking kidding?

“I’ll be frank. The quality of your work is mediocre. It lacks that certain element, that magic.”

I rub my face with my free hand. It fucking lacked being on coke. Is that what I need to follow my dream? A sweet line to seal the deal?

“Listen, son. We often find a muse. Whatever it may be, there’s something, someone accompanying you on this journey. Find it again, and the writing will flow. You understand what I’m saying?”

I nod, remembering he can’t see me. “I understand.”

He asks to see an update in two weeks.

Until then, I have no choice.

No choice whatsoever.

***

The road is dark and windy, even the moon seems obscured behind the night clouds. Like every other time I’ve gone up this road, I do so cautiously—eyes focused, mind fractured with emotions.

This time the emotion is guilt.

I grip the steering wheel wanting so desperately to close my eyes for a moment, but my focus needs to remain on the road.

I hear his words echo in my head.

The voice telling me to leave her alone.

The threat to end my life should I dare go near her.

I want to conquer this battle. All I have to do is turn around and head back home.

Home, not to my dealer.

Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. The words scream at me.

I’m a coward.

I slam my foot on the brake, forcing the car to a halt. I sit still, heart pumping as the engine continues to tick over. It’s a desperate bid to save myself from the misery and disgrace which has once again come over me.

With my last attempt to redeem myself, I slam my foot on the gas, turn the car around and head in the opposite direction.

I did it.I won the battle this time.

As I take a sharp turn around the bend, I notice the skid marks on the road followed by the smell of burned rubber in the air. My eyes dart to a faint light flickering by the tree down the hill. There are no other houses on this stretch of the road, and something tells me someone is down there. I pull the car off to the side of the road, grabbing my cell before quickly hopping out and running down the hill toward the light. In the darkness, I stumble on sticks and stones and hear the sounds of animals lurking around me. Fuck, it scares the living daylights out of me until my heart stops in a panic, my legs beginning to shake, and my throat runs dry.

My brain scrambles to make sense of what I see in front of me.

The license plate.

Charlie!