Blind Love (Sulfur Heights Series) (18 page)

“What the he—”
We all look at each other, completely confused, just before the sounds coming from behind the door sound like a dying cat that’s wearing really loud boots. Nothing but stomping and groaning, strange.

When Drake opens the door, a man dressed in all black is dragging a very drunk Presley up the stairs. She’s moaning and trudging in
step with the guy. It reminds me of how zombies walk, all disoriented and intoxicated. She is completely out of it. Then I really look at her. Presley’s hair is messily falling out of her bun and her clothes look like she hasn’t changed them in days. I want to go to her. Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it in my gut. I’ve never seen her so… so… gone.

My feet quickly start to move,
“Presley!” I scream. Drake stops me short, preventing me from getting anywhere. Oh, my God, Presley, what have you done? What has he done to her? “What are you doing with her?” I say my thoughts out loud, scared but needing to hear his reaction.

Then Darcie
ducks underneath Drake’s arm and runs to Presley. Before he can stop me again, I do the same. I help my best friend into the apartment as she speaks incoherent words into the air, making no sense. Darcie and I set her down on the couch. Darcie is a caged wolf right now. She is angry and saying every curse word in her vocabulary.

When Drake walks in
, he kneels beside me as I try waking her up. This is not good. She’s probably got alcohol poisoning. We should take her to the hospital. I feel really strongly about this. If she doesn’t wake up soon, I will drag her to the car myself.

I
tap her on the face. Lightly at first, trying to get her to wake up, then a little harder. Presley wakes momentarily to say something I don’t understand, and then passes back out.

“What in the
Sam-hell is wrong with her? Is she drunk? She’s completely out of it,” I say while peeling loose strands of sweaty hair off Presley’s face. “God, her skin is all clammy. I think we should call an ambulance. She… she doesn’t look well at all.”

This is exactly why I hate booze. Look at my best friend, obviously hurting from what she
’s experienced with her uncle, and is self-medicating with booze. It’s terrifying and infuriating all at the same time.

“It’s not an ambulance she needs. I think she will snap out of it soon.” Darcie’s
legs begin to pace. Now
she’s
making no sense. “Did you see it? Because I sure as hell didn’t fucking see it!”

“What?”
Drake and I ask in unison.

“I didn’t see it. Man…
I should’ve seen it,” Darcie keeps repeating to herself. Maybe they both need to go to the hospital; Darcie is acting just as strange. “She’s not fucking drunk; I can tell you that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”
Drake is snapping his fingers and rubbing Presley’s leg. I wonder why we haven’t called an ambulance yet, or made a move toward the door. She’s sick. Can’t they see that?

“Do you have any idea who that fucking guy was?” Darcie shouts as she points to the front door. Her feet keep pacing in agitation and her hands are fisting at her sides.

“Will you keep your goddamn voice down,” Drake snaps, pointing to the back hall where Mia is sound asleep in her bed. “Who was he?”

“That was Carter fucking Brown.” She expels an irritated sigh
, then says, “Only the biggest fucking heroin supplier in town.”

Did she just say heroin? That’s not possible, Presley would never do drugs. Would she? She’s
has always been looking for ways to numb her depression in her youth. I guess it’s possible she’s turned to drugs because starving herself hasn’t been satisfying enough. The thought sickens me. Then I look at her skin, clammy and gaunt. Her behavior has been erratic, monstrous even, and the way she’s been speaking to the ones she loves—she’s pushing us all away.

“What?”
I look to Drake. He’s in shock. Complete and utter shock as the anger of Darcie’s words practically kills him. “I don’t believe it! She’s just really drunk or something. She knows… about my birth mom. Presley would nev—”

What happened to his birth mom? I question to myself as Darcie begins to show Drake the reality of what’s going on with Presley.

“Drunk? Really, Drake? If she were drunk, she’d be reeking of booze. Think about it. She’s completely out of control, losing weight, and she looks like fucking death. She’s a completely different person.” Darcie walks over to Presley’s limp body and motions to me. “Lift up her sleeves.”

“What… why?”
This is too much. I don’t know if I can handle what she’s saying. I can feel the tears driving their way to the front of my eyes where they begin to blur my vision, but I hold them in, trembling with the fear of losing my friend.

“Track marks. If she’s shooting up, she’ll have track marks on her arms.”
This only happens on TV, right? People don’t get caught up in hard drugs and have emotional outbursts and track marks.

“Don’t!
Don’t fucking touch her!” Drake is guarding Presley, not allowing Darcie to pull up her sleeves.

“Drake! She’s a fucking junkie!” Darcie shouts back.

“She’s not a junkie. She’s not,” Drake whispers.

I’ve entered the twilight zone. This has to be a dream or something. I’m watching a man
, who will do anything for his love, fall apart in anger and denial. Drake pushes Darcie to the ground, but she shakes it off enough to prove her point. A point I don’t think I’m ready to see.

“Prove it.” Darcie points to Presley’s arm. “Pull up her sleeve and tell me there are no track marks because I can guarantee you will find them.”

I gasp, “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I’m looking at—nothing. Presley’s arms are covered in holes; so many that there they are too numerous to count. What did she do to herself? This is so much worse than I ever imagined. Darcie has been right. My best friend is a junkie.

Jake

No one
, and I mean no one, can piss me off faster than Delilah. I am so tired of her self-righteous attitude, walking around and speaking like she’s better than me. Yes, I like to have a drink every now and then, and yes, I do enjoy the company of random women, but what business is that of hers? She’s just pissed because she envies my lifestyle.

Actually what she needs is to get drunk then get fucked
. I mean, really fucked. Someone needs to rip her clothes off and dominate her, then let her work out all her pent up aggression on them. Maybe I should just get it over with and fuck her.

I can tell she’s curious, jealous even. Not because she’s got any feeling toward me, but
because she just wants to know what it feels like to be slammed into a wall and like it. I could show her that. From day one, I’ve dreamed about wrapping her knock out body around mine.

All the thoughts of having sex with Delilah are starting to excite my body a little too much.
Though she’s not worth the trouble. She’d probably scream that I’m doing it wrong when she has no idea how to even do it. Nope, I won’t ever fuck her, even if she begs for it. It’s too much work and drama; nothing good would ever come from it.

I pull out my phone and text Reggie.

Me:
Have you seen my twin?

Reggie:
He’s here

Me:
On my way. Don’t tell him I’m coming

I have yet to see Jeremy
since he ditched me at the races and that was almost a month ago. He’s briefly stopped by The Slab with Ronnie tagging along, but when I get there, he leaves as soon as he sees me walk in. Jeremy is avoiding me, not only for the shit he pulled at the races, but for his constant absence. He knows I’m going to call him on it and I can’t wait to see what his answer will be.

The a
nger from Delilah and our fight, plus the aggravation growing toward Jeremy, makes my feet walk that much quicker to get to the bar. Instead of walking in the front door, I decide to surprise him and walk through the back. Jeremy always sits at our designated table whenever he’s here, and that table is the closest to the back door.

Swinging the door open, I step into the main bar area
where Reggie, who is working the bar tonight, looks at me strangely. I pull a fifty from my pocket and pass it over to him, a gesture I’ve done in the past when I want the entire bottle and a glass. He obliges and I walk to my brother, noticing immediately he’s sitting with Ronnie. Their conversation is quiet, almost heated when I make my way over to the table.

I slap my hands on the
table top, getting their attention instantly. “Well, hi there, brother. Long time, no see.”

Jeremy sits up straight, his indication
that he’s ready for battle. He’s fought alongside me for years; I know exactly when he’s ready to kill.

“What do you want
, Jake?” His voice is low and controlled.

“That’s a great question because I was just about to tell you exactly what I want.” I look over to Ronnie who’s grown increasingly
more uncomfortable with my presence. Good, after I’m done beating Jeremy’s ass, Ronnie can be next. Pansy ass mother fucker. I take a pull from the Jack Daniels bottle and ignite my anger with my whiskey fuel. “I want to know what the fuck is going on with you.”

I take another drink and offer some to Ronnie
, who shakes his head no, and then I turn back to Jeremy.

“Don’t worry about where I’ve been.”
Ugh, wrong answer, Jeremy.

“No
w, you see, you’re mistaken. When my twin brother sneaks off at night, ditches on his obligations, and disappears for weeks at a time, I begin to make it my business. Now,” I take another drink of whiskey, embracing my slight buzz, then continue, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Jeremy stands, pushing his stool away from the table, meeting me in the eye. I put the bottle down and turn my body
, facing him, squaring up to my opponent. “I tell you now, Jake, stay out of it. What I’m doing doesn’t concern you. Now drop it.”

What planet is he living on
nowadays? What he does will always concern me because he’s my brother
—
twin brother
—
and I love him.

“Jeremy
.” I clear my throat and try to be mature about this, attempting to not let the desire to fight him win. I can hear Delilah screaming in my head now, telling me it’s not worth it. Hurting my brother is not worth whatever it is he’s trying to do, and for the first time in ages, I back down because she’s right. “Look, I don’t want to fight you, but you have to tell me what’s going on.”

Jeremy looks to his feet and his eyes flood with guilt. He’s done something bad
—I can sense it—but what is he trying to hide from me? We all have secrets
—
secrets we keep amongst the family. He has to know he can trust me with whatever he’s holding on to.

“Look…
it’s just—”

Ronnie grabs Jeremy’s arm
and then shakes his head, telling him to stop talking and my brother complies. What the fuck? I turn my anger toward Ronnie. How dare he stop my brother from talking to me? He’s in for a world of pain, which I can guarantee.

“You better take your hand off my brother and step the fuck away from our conversation before I hand
you your balls. Got it?”

“Look, Jake
, this is really none of your busi—”

I turn my body completely toward Ronnie and interrupt, “Were you about to say this is none of my business? Please tell me I’m mistaken because you will be drinking you
r meals through a straw if you say otherwise.” I am livid. The fire in my veins lights as anger and frustration travel the length of my body. I clench my fists, preparing myself to slam them into Ronnie’s face, when Drake’s voice breaks my path of destruction.

“WHAT?”
he shouts into his phone then starts running fast toward the front door.

I didn’t even know Darcie
and he have been here until I heard him scream. Jeremy and I look to each other then over to Reggie. He waves us to the back room with a look on his face that is one I will never forget.

Darcie is sitting in the chair
with hands in her hair and she’s been crying. My gut drops to the floor whenever I see Darcie cry because she never does unless it’s really bad.

Reggie clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, preparing himself to find the right words. Holy shit. This is really bad.

“Darcie, Drake and Delilah found out today what’s been going on with Presley.” He breaks away from his train of thought and leaves me wondering. She has been acting withdrawn lately, and I know Delilah and she are fighting. “She’s using heroin.” The words stay suspended in the air. Heroin? I don’t see it.

“How do you know?” Jeremy asks, his voice fueled with worry. He’s always had a soft spot for the girls.

“You mean, other than her shitty attitude,” Darcie snaps. Reggie runs his hands through her hair and kisses the top of her head. More tears drip from her eyes as Darcie enlightens us. “She’s got major track marks on her arms and…” She takes a deep breath in then out. “Carter Brown brought her home last night.”