Mark looked them over.
“Here’s what I think,” he said carefully. “I think you two are the worst friends on the planet. Nothing good has happened with Cadence’s life since she met you. Nothing. And for me, that’s the deal breaker. So stay away from my girlfriend.”
“That’s bullshit,” Michael spat. “You just wanna control everything she does.”
Mark chuckled. “Really? Is that what I wanna do? You’ve known me for a minute, but you can say that?”
“Cadence told us,” Michael explained.
Mark snorted and pulled Cadence along. She didn’t resist.
“Hey! I wasn’t done talking to you!” Michael shouted.
Mark kept walking until he felt his body lurch forward—a result of a push to the back. He released Cadence’s hand and wheeled around.
“Dude, I’m not doing this,” Mark said. “You’re drunk and you’re pissed. I’m sorry she can’t be your girlfriend, and I’m sorry you’re a dick. Get over it.”
Michael balled his hands into fists and lunged at Mark. He dodged Michael, sending him crashing to the ground. Michael peeled himself off the ground and tried again. This time Mark knew he wouldn’t miss. He was already fueled by a massive amount of alcohol and now determination. So Mark threw the first punch. The only punch. Hard enough to lay Michael on his back but light enough to keep from doing any kind of permanent damage.
“Idiot,” Mark whispered. He walked over to Cadence and took her hand, pulling her along. Away from the party. Away from this life. Away from her bad decisions.
He wanted her home, safe and sound, with a restored heart and mind. It couldn’t happen overnight; he knew that. But he’d do everything in his power to nurture her back to health. He’d tell her every day how sorry he was until her heart decided to believe it.
Mark heard her stumble into the bathroom. He jumped from the couch and ran to her, securing her hair behind her back just in time for the fourth round. She couldn’t keep down the little bit of liquids he forced her to drink. She vomited in and around the toilet bowl, then sat back on the floor against the wall.
He flushed the toilet and grabbed the bathroom cleaner, wiping the floor and the rim of the toilet. He glanced at her as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to control the shaking. Even her feet shook, and he wondered if he wouldn’t need to take her to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. He tossed the soiled paper towels and sat down beside her.
“Want me to help you back to bed?” he asked gently.
She shook her head.
“Wanna stay in here for a little while? The smell might not be good for your stomach.”
She shrugged and hugged herself tighter.
“I’m gonna get you some crackers and Gatorade,” he said.
She crinkled her nose. “Please don’t.”
“You’ve got to at least drink something, Cadence. You’re dehydrated.”
She nodded reluctantly.
Mark left for the kitchen and returned to find her sleeping on the floor. He sighed, placed the crackers and glass on the sink, and picked her up. He carried her to their bed and laid her on top of the covers. He made the mistake of tucking her in when they returned home last night, and she got tangled in the sheets, falling out of bed and puking all over the floor before she could make it to the bathroom.
The next two days were tortuous. She was too ill to be left alone and too belligerent to talk to. He suppressed the urge to yell at her every time she ignored his questions or offers for help. She didn’t want him feeding her. It was a sad comedy—her attempts at making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It took her half an hour. He couldn’t watch as she tried to reach for a glass in the cupboard, and waited for the inevitable crash. He let her do it her way. He bided his time, waiting for her to be fully restored to health before letting her have it. This episode was the final straw. It’d be her last, and he suspected a part of her knew it.
Day Three dawned, and she was back to her angry, vindictive self. He let her be. He went to work because he had to. Plus he needed the time to sort out his plan of attack. Yes, he had one. And he hoped it would work.
“All right, Cadence. Let’s have it out,” Mark said, storming into the bedroom that evening.
Cadence sat propped up in bed reading a book for English 201. She affected confusion. “What?”
“You know what. I kept my marriage from you—my past. And you’ve been punishing me for two months!”
Cadence raised her head a little. “Punishing you how? I’ve just been busy.”
“Bullshit.”
She sneered. “Okay. So I haven’t called you every day. Big deal. I—”
“It is a big deal when you live with me,” Mark interrupted.
“So I need your permission to live my life?” she asked.
“Get real. You’re not living. You’re spiraling. And I would think that after what happened to Oliver, you’d have a wake-up call. What the hell, Cadence? Smoking weed? Getting drunk every weekend? You want that to be your life? That’s a loser’s life.”