All I can see is Abby's face. Her golden eyes wide. Her dark skin washed out with fear.
"I got hard tonight." The shame almost chokes me.
Eli says nothing and I am eternally grateful for his silence. Because the words are coming, whether I want them to or not.
"Abby. I was arguing with Abby. I pinned her against the wall…"
"Jesus Christ, tell me you didn't…"
"No! Jesus no. I'd never…I left." I lean forward, emptying the rest of the bottle into my glass and knocking it back. Needing the burn. Needing the pain to block out everything else. "I could have hurt her tonight," I finally whisper. "And I got a f*ck
ing hard-on." The words rip from my throat, tearing their way into the world.
I lower my head onto my arms. The sob breaks free, a ragged, wicked sound.
Chapter 23
Josh
Have you heard from Caleb?
I'm not awake yet. I blink and squint again, making sure I'm actually seeing what my brain thinks is a text from Eli.
Not since last night.
Eli doesn't usually text me before noon. I sit on the edge of the bed, cradling my head in my hands. Oh god, it's going to be a bad day. My head is pounding as if my brain is trying to beat its way out of my skull with an ice pick. I'm reasonably certain a cat has pissed in my mouth.
I don't have a cat.
I need water, but my stomach is in knots, so I just sit there. Hoping my head doesn't explode. And try to remember what happened last night.
I frown, trying to remember something important from last night. It's like trying to capture a wisp of air. Thoughts slip through my mental fingers.
I wonder if I can make it to the bathroom, and please dear lord, I hope I have some eight-hundred-milligram Motrin. Civilians always laugh when I pop one of those horse pills but damn, whatever works, right? At that moment, I'd probably cut off my little toe if it would make the pain in my head stop.
My vision is blurry as I stumble to the bathroom, and holy hell, past me is a f*ck
ing saint. A bright white pill and a glass of water are waiting for me on the counter near the bathroom sink. My stomach isn't happy with the pill, but I couldn't really give a shit at the moment. I need to get my ass to campus.
I sit up and rub my hand over my face, then read the text again.
The phone rings. "What's wrong?"
Eli isn't known for irrational panic, so the fact that he's on the other end of the phone actually does trigger worry in the hung over pit of my gut.
"Have you seen Caleb since last night?"
I frown at my phone. “I just sent you a text. No, I haven’t." I think.
"Go check on him."
Eli doesn't ask much of me. Hell, I think the only thing he ever usually asks of me is that I don't break any furniture when I get into fights.
He's never asked why I fight so much and for that, I love the man.
Shame crawls over my skin as I mentally divert my brain away from that painful subject and hop in the shower. Ten minutes later, and I'm on the road to Caleb’s place.
The first thing that hits me is the smell. I f*ck
ing hate the smell of piss. My stomach is already twisted from being hung over and the wall of piss smell crashes over me the second I step through the front door.
I gag then push through it. I've been in worse, much worse, and this is Caleb. And this is my penance for being a prick.
I find him on the floor of his bathroom. His pants are around his ankles, like he fell off the toilet. His entire body is spasming, shivering violently.
I rock his shoulder, trying to jolt him awake. His skin is blazing hot and dry.
"Caleb. Come on, man."
It isn't the first time. It probably won't be the last.
Because I recognize all too well how bad those nights can get when you try to handle them on your own.
Unless I start feeling more normal around civilians, I’m going to stick with people who speak my language. And the way things are going, that isn't going to happen any time soon.
"Ah hell, man, come on, get up." I try to lift his shoulders. He's shivering violently.
I might be combat lifesaver-qualified but my skills don't include alcohol poisoning.
I have no idea what to do other than keep him from choking on his own vomit.
It's an ugly thing to see your friend staring into the abyss and knowing there isn't shit-all you can do for him except sit with him.
And hope that this too shall pass.
He blinks but he's not seeing me. I have no idea where he is but he's not with me.
I call 911. They're pretty quick in getting the details.
I get his pants pulled up and cover him with a blanket. I have no idea if he's going into shock or what.
But I sit with him.
And start talking, hoping that maybe some part of his brain can hear me.
"So hey, this is pretty shitty, you know that, right?" I've got him leaning against me. He's shivering and mumbling incoherently. "I mean, if you were trying to make me feel bad for being a dick, you could have just told me."
He makes a noise. Like he’s actually heard me.