The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home Page 18

"You had that guy at the bar crawling all over you; you didn’t seem to mind."

I nodded, "I don’t care when I drink." I shuddered with a threat of more vomit, "I don’t feel good anymore."

My face nestled into his chest. He lifted me up again and carried me to the door and then the elevator. When the doors opened, France was standing inside of it, taking up a lot of the room. He looked pissed when he held his arms out for Will to hand me over. The minute I was in his arms, I closed my eyes, letting the room spinning take me. The safety of his chest and the smell of him, told it me it was time to sleep.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime. You get some rest, J.D."

I waved weakly, more like flopping my arm about. The elevator moved but we didn’t talk. He held me to him and I let the comfort of him make me feel better. When we got to his floor, he carried me inside. He was being gentle as he laid me down on his sofa. He forced my eyes open. I winced.

"Fuck, Jack. You're stoned. What did you take?"

I shook my head, "I don’t know. A white pill and my blue pills and drinks."

He shoved me back onto the couch, "Did you eat?"

I shook my head, "I had some olives."

He sighed and walked away. The dimly-lit room burned my eyes. I closed them but tried to stand. I barely managed to get to my feet and stumble into the kitchen.

I leaned against the metal countertop I always hated. It felt too industrial. He was making eggs or something. He looked different. "You shaved."

He nodded, not meeting my gaze. His handsome face was back. The beard might have hidden the clench in his jaw. Clean-shaven, I could see just how angry he was.

He looked up at me, "Bachelorette party?"

I nodded and slumped onto a barstool.

"Why? Why didn’t you just come?"

I scowled, "I did. You didn’t come. I was there."

He looked lost, "When?"

I swallowed and tried not to throw up anymore. "The second day you were meeting me. I couldn’t get there the first day. I had something to do."

He slammed his fist on the counter, "More important than meeting me? Really? You're such a bitch sometimes, Jack. Sometimes you are one of them."

I couldn’t get the words to explain. I stepped off of the stool and slumped onto the floor. The room spins were out of control. The last thing I saw was his moving mouth, still shouting at me for not meeting him.

Sunday

The bed was the worst I'd slept on in a while. My back was aching. I opened one eye to see bright light and a lady moving in white. She smiled, "You're awake."

I winced, lifting a hand to my face, "Where am I?"

"Presbyterian Hospital."

I shook my head, "What happened?" Was I hit by a cab? I was dying for sure.

She laughed, "Partied a bit hard, I'm afraid. Your friend there brought you in last night. You were dehydrated beyond what I have seen in a while."

I glanced over at Mike, passed out on a chair. He looked small there on the chair, curled into himself. I smiled, "He brought me in?"

What the fuck had happened? I had nothing. He had a banner or sash in his hands. It was bright pink. Was I in Ms. New York contest?

"What's that he's holding?"

The nurse smiled harder, "Your bachelorette party sash. Guess you had fun." She left the room.

It didn’t feel like I had fun. It felt like I was dying.

"France."

He stirred.

I drank the water in the paper cup she had set next to me and then tossed it at him, "France!"

He opened his eyes slowly, "Piss off, Jack. I'm sleeping. Damn."

I laughed, "What happened, France? Why am I here? Where's my sister?"

He nodded, "She came by earlier and went home to sleep. People need sleep."

"Jacqueline, oh you're alright!" I looked over as my mother came rushing into the room.

God, who had called her?

She grabbed my hand, "Honey, are you feeling better?"

I snatched my hand from her.

She smiled, "Your sister called and said you had not been feeling well."

I watched her face turn cold as her eyes landed on Mike. Her jaw became set and her eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here? You don’t think you've done enough? Did you do this to her? They said you brought her in. You and your trailer-trash, drug-addict ways. You get out of here. You've done enough." Mike sat up, rubbing his eyes. I could see the fury starting on his face.

I swatted her arm, "Don’t talk to him like that."

She snapped her head back around at me and I saw a look I had never seen on my mother’s face. She pointed, "Your father has worked very hard to get you into the engagement you are in. You spoiled little bitch. You will not ruin that for him. Your father and Phil will be here in a few minutes. I expect that gone when they get here." She turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Mike laughed, "Good to see the Prozac is working on her."

I didn’t laugh. I reached for him, "You don’t have to leave. I made sure he can't touch you. None of them can."

He got up, taking my hand, "What are you talking about? What did you do?"

I shook my head, "There isn’t any time. You shouldn’t have called my sister."

I looked over to see two guards come in, "Hey man, we gotta ask you to leave. Her family is making a stink." They looked somber.

Mike nodded, "Yeah, I probably shouldn’t cause another scene. Bad for press." He bent and kissed my cheek, "Call me tomorrow." I pressed my face into his. He stood up, taking my sash with him and walked out.

"Can I get an autograph though, when we get downstairs?"

Mike laughed, "Yeah, sure."

I felt trapped. The IV in my arm was cold like a handcuff, pinning me to the bed.

I looked out the window; the light was filtering in softly. It looked like a beautiful day to run away from home. Even at twenty-eight, I had no power over how things were going to play out. I hated that.

His voice interrupted my pity party for one. "Jacqueline, I am so disappointed in you."

I nodded, not meeting my father's eyes, "Fuck you."

He chuckled, "You always were the difficult one. This little stunt of yours has actually proved to be fruitful though. I have to thank you for that one. I never imagined you would make it easier for me to force your hand."

I looked at him; the hateful look on his face was a sinister smirk. Dr. Michaels walked in after my father, holding a folder. His look matched my father's. "We take suicide attempts very seriously now, Jacqueline."

I scowled, "What? I went partying. I never tried to kill myself. You two are really reaching for that one."

My father folded his arms smugly, "Your blood work has a deadly cocktail of narcotics in it."

I laughed, "Whatever. That is terrible. You would actually lie for him, Dr. Michaels? I'm an adult."

He nodded, "I am worried for your mental health. Worst comes to worst, you could require a 28-day dry out at rehab. This is serious."

I swallowed hard, "You gave me the drugs."

He shook his head, "The only prescription you have from me is a one-time prescription for Xanax. The other bottle wasn’t prescribed by me." He nodded once, "I'll leave you two to discuss the therapy I am recommending, and possible two-week stay for observation in the mental ward."

The room spun.

My father walked close, grabbing my hand like a viper. He squeezed, "You dare to threaten me with Muriel? You don’t have to worry about that Mike France. I won't be going near him—I don’t need to. You fuck up enough that I don’t need to threaten his career." He licked his lips, "So Jacqueline, which is it? The nut house, rehab, or Phil?"

And there it was.

The truth of the matter. I was never going to get away. I was now a danger to myself. I shook my head, "Whatever you have on Dr. Michaels must be impressive."

He smiled, "You would never believe it."

He was right, I probably wouldn’t. My father had a flair for finding peoples’ weaknesses.

Tears didn’t come.

My heart didn’t flutter or break.

I went completely numb.

I smiled at him with the fake, frozen smile my mother always gave him, "Phil it is, then." I understood then, she hated him as much as I did.

He squeezed my hand again and kissed the top of it, "There's my good girl." He winked and let my hand drop.

He left the room with a smug saunter. Phil came in after him. He looked exhausted and worn out.

"What happened?"

I shook my head, "Drank too much."

He looked worried, "The blood work showed ecstasy, speed, and pharmaceuticals. It looks like you tried to kill yourself."

I laughed, "Phil, when have I ever seemed like I could be strong enough to do that?"

He sat on the bed, "This is because of Ashley, isn’t it? I just feel sick. J.D. I wish I could take it all back. I have pushed you to this. I hate myself."

I realized then, he was still drunk from his bachelor party.

I nodded, "I need to get some sleep."

He climbed up onto the bed with me and wrapped himself around me. I laid there, frozen and dead inside as he whispered, "I love you. I will make this up to you. I am so sorry." He slipped a new ring on my thin finger. It was ridiculous in size, "I will make you happy again."

Saturday, One Week later.

The Wedding Day

The dress was loose. I had basically stopped eating when Phil's mother insisted on spending every waking moment with me, trying to make up for what her son had driven me to.

My father had relished in the glory of the thing he now held over the Bernard family. Their son's infidelity with a child had driven me to suicide instead of a bachelorette party. Like I was so feeble and fragile.

I had spent the week desperately searching for a moment to escape.