I crawled over to the toilet and threw up. "Oh God! Jesus," Taylor yelled, the noise making me feel ten times worse than I already did. I hadn't thought that was possible. I heard her heels clicking on the bathroom tile. A minute later she came back with a washcloth, ran cold water over it, and leaned over me to wipe my forehead and around my mouth.
"What are you doing here, Taylor?" I mumbled bleakly.
"I came to see you, to spend some alone time with you." There was a note of disgust in her voice. Clearly me vomiting upon her arrival had not been part of the plan.
"Why?" I closed my eyes, feeling a cold sweat break out on my skin again. "We broke up over four months ago." The cool washcloth was back on my forehead, and it felt good. My brain was so hazy.
Taylor was silent for a minute. "It was four weeks ago. Do you have no concept of time? And we did not break up. You just started acting all weird and distant and I needed a breather. Anyway, none of that matters. I've been thinking about you. And when I figured out where you must be, I knew I needed to come to you. This is the perfect place to get reacquainted, don't you think?"
Think? What? No. "Will you help me get to the couch?" I didn't have the strength to listen to her, much less argue or care about anything she was saying.
Taylor helped me stand up, and I grabbed a towel with my shaking hands, wrapped it around my waist, and limped downstairs to the couch where I fell onto it.
"What's wrong with you, anyway?"
"I'm withdrawing, Taylor. Just leave me here to die, please," I mumbled into the leather.
"Oh, shit. Listen, I applaud your efforts to get clean, but going cold turkey is just stupid. I've seen this before. I brought you some pills—you left a couple bottles at my apartment and I threw them in my suitcase. You need to wean yourself—"
I brought myself to a sitting position, grimacing and clenching my jaw as my muscles locked up. "You have some pills?" I asked desperately. Oh sweet fucking relief. I'd do anything to feel better, even just for an hour. Anything. Anything.
"Yeah, a couple bottles." She came over me on the couch and straddled my lap. She used her index finger to trace my lips and leaned in slowly and kissed me, her long, dark hair creating a curtain around us. "Say please," she said silkily.
"Jesus fucking Christ, just give me the damn pills," I almost shouted.
Taylor stood up, giving me a sulky frown. "Okay, okay, testy. Relax." She moved toward some luggage sitting next to the front door and rooted around for what seemed like forever. I wanted to scream. I got up and walked over to her, letting the towel fall to the floor. I didn't give a damn. "Ah, here we go." She held up a bottle of Percocet and I greedily grabbed for it, trying twice to open it with my shaking hands before finally prying the top off and downing two pills without any water. I made my way to the kitchen and drank from the faucet, then stumbled back into the living room and sagged down on the sofa, breathing rapidly, already feeling the drug coursing through my veins bringing relief. Sweet. Blessed. Relief.
"There, that's better, right?" Taylor asked, again straddling my lap. I put my hands on her hips to move her, but then found I didn't have the strength. "Why are you doing this anyway? Why like this?"
"Because I need to get back to my life. Back to the team."
"There's no rush, though, is there? They can manage without you while you take your time getting better."
I didn't bother explaining anything to her. Either way, she wasn't part of my future. "Get off me, Taylor."
She wiggled. "Aw, come on. Now that you're feeling better and I'm here, let's have a little fun. You do remember fun, don't you?"
"I don't want fun. I want to sleep. And I need you to leave."
She trailed her finger down my chest, looking thoughtful. "Hey, I know you're still messed up about what happened. We all are. But wallowing won't bring him back. He'd want—"
"Goddammit! Get off me!" You wouldn't know a fucking thing about what he'd want. You didn't even really know him.
She sat up straight, but didn't move away. "Well, isn't that a real nice thanks I get for coming all the way out here to Bumfuck Egypt, bringing you what you obviously needed at just the moment you needed it, and even," she trailed a nail down my naked chest, "intending on showing you the fun you've obviously been missing. I even brought some toys. You missed me, didn't you, baby? Come on, we had a good thing, and we only barely got started." She leaned in and sucked on my earlobe.
I again thought about pushing her off, but the intense relief of finally getting a fix—of the agony in my muscles releasing—was so wonderful, I suddenly couldn't even bring myself to be overly annoyed by her unwanted attention. "Didn't you?" she purred. "I know I missed you." She reached her hand down and squeezed my dick. "I missed this."
"Enough," I slurred, pushing her hands away. "Get off me."
She sighed loudly but removed her body from mine. "Fine. I get it. You need to freshen up. Let's go to bed and in the morning, you'll feel better."
"Who brought you here?" I asked, my eyes still closed.
"Kelly. She was here for one of Brandon's parties and kept the directions. She'll be back to pick me up in a few days." Jesus, presumptuous much?
"How'd you know I was here?"