Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
"Trying to make sure you don't die," I answered honestly as I stooped down beside the tub and reached for her wrist. She didn't even try to pull away when I pressed my fingers in to feel for her pulse- finding it a little stronger. "How many 30s were in that bottle?"
She didn't answer right away and my eyes slid to hers, finding her watching me intently, her eyes sad. Her shoulder shrugged. "Ten?" she half-asked, obviously unsure.
There were at least eight undissolved pills in her vomit. So if there were only two in her system, my stomach could settle down. She would be fine.
"And booze?"
She looked away then, embarrassed. "I stopped counting after five."
And the bartender would have cut her off around then too. Chaz's while just your average everyday bar, had strict rules about how much they served. Especially to women who were alone and high.
I nodded, standing again and moving toward the linen cabinet, grabbing a toothbrush, mouthwash, and a spare towel and piling them on the sink cabinet.
I walked back into my room, digging out a tee and dropping it with the rest.
"Ever OD before?" I asked, leaning back against the doorjamb as she reached to shut off the water, her whole body shaking violently from the cold.
"No."
Shit.
I had OD'd at least four times before I got clean. I knew the different severity levels, when I needed outside help or when I could just puke and sleep and move on. She didn't. And I was no doctor.
"I think you got it all out so if you want to take a shower, brush your teeth, and then come back out, you should be fine. I'll stay close by in case you're not and you pass out or something," I offered, backing out of the doorway and pulling the door closed.
Knowing how shitty she felt, I knew she needed a couple to get herself together. Quite frankly, I needed a couple as well.
I walked into my kitchen, making a pot of strong coffee and sitting down at the small two-seat table, taking my first real breath in twenty minutes.
Fuck.
I exhaled hard and took another breath before I let it all sink in.
And as I heard the shower click off, as I listened to her rinse and spit, as I heard the door to the bathroom creak open, one thing was abundantly clear to me.
I wasn't going to let her OD another time.
I wasn't going to let her think about eating a fucking bullet.
Was it my place?
No.
Was it maybe the most sane reaction?
Again, no.
But that was how it was.
Ever since the night on the train, I started to believe in signs. I started to know there were very few randoms in life, very few coincidences.
The train robot got me off in Navesink Bank. Where I met Ross Ward who got me an apartment and a job. Through Ross I got to know about the organizations in town, so when I saw the guys breaking into the gym owned partially by The Henchmen, I knew who to go to to tell. And in meeting them, in telling them, they had brought me into their fold and given me a family I had been without for many years.
And being with them meant my walking route that night had me going a way that led me to that alley, that led me to her.
It wasn't a happenstance.
It was a sign.
And I was going to heed it.
When I didn't hear any more sound after the door opened, I got up off the chair and made my way to the bedroom, finding her laying across the bed, but with her legs off the side, like she had sat down for just a second and ended up passing out.
I moved to the side of the bed, keeping my eyes up since I knew she was commando and the shirt was up high on her hip, grabbed her legs and pulled them onto the bed, covering her up with the blankets and checking her pulse again.
Finding it and her breathing normal, I moved to the bathroom to grab her sopping clothes and put them in a laundry basket.
It was right about then that my eye caught the wallet she had had around her wrist.
Curious, I moved toward it, turning it to find her license in a cut-out window, her face looking back at me.
She was twenty-five.
She was an organ donor.
She was from Navesink Bank.
And her name?
Bethany Bates.
Bethany Bates.
Fucking Bethany.
Talk about goddamn signs.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
TWO
Bethany
My eyes hadn't even opened yet and I knew something was wrong. I couldn't tell you why, but that was the overwhelming sensation. It was an overall unease I couldn't place- a prickling sensation on my skin, a swirling feeling in my stomach. There was a heavy blanket over my memories of the night before. I remembered walking into Chaz's, half-packed of people just barely legal being loud and annoying as well as a few local guys with 'bad news' written all over them. I remembered getting the text from him. I remembered drinking after the text and reaching for the bottle of pills after they cut me off.