Page 49 of Kade
She’s got to be under a hundred pounds now. I’ve never seen her this bad. She’s fucking wasting away. Clearly, rehab didn’t take. The contrast between Becca’s lush, healthy body and Victoria’s wasted one is glaring. I wonder again what the hell I was thinking, getting involved with Vic.
I slam the door, angry at Victoria and at the fact that Becca’s witnessing this fucking trainwreck. But maybe it’s better she sees the truth of it. Sees exactly the type of woman that wants me.
“Goodnight, Becca.” I swallow thickly, glancing at her standing there alone in the driveway. “Lock your door, okay?” She nods, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.
“Will you come back here after?” she asks hopefully.
I shake my head no.
I’ll be sitting on the bathroom floor in Victoria’s apartment, making sure she doesn’t choke to death on her own vomit, keeping myself awake by tracing the black veining in the marble tiles. It’s a place I’ve spent too many nights.
“No. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Becca.” I’m so, so sorry. She stands, her eyes shifting between me and the addict in the truck. I see it then. The moment I’ve been dreading. The moment she looks at me like she doesn’t even know me. I was right.
It’s fucking devastating.
She smiles weakly and murmurs goodnight before turning and heading around the building.
I follow her to the back, waiting for her to close the apartment door before heading back to the truck. Victoria is slumped in the cab, but her eyes are open.
“Missed you, baby,” she slurs.
Baby.
That word coming out of Becca’s mouth just a short while ago was a promise. From Victoria’s mouth, it’s a lie. She always called me baby when she was high.
Baby, please, I’ll change.
Baby, please don’t go.
I hate that fucking word coming out of her mouth.
Vic is awake enough to complain when I get her back to her apartment. The doorman nods a hello and calls the elevator for me.
Joe. That’s his name. He took me for fifty bucks one night. I came down to escape Victoria’s fucking viciousness, and we spent a few hours shooting the shit and playing poker. Nice guy. Family man. He’s probably got a nice wife waiting out there for him.
I wonder if she makes him breakfast in the morning? I like the idea of him getting to sit and talk with his wife over pancakes in the morning, telling her about his night. I’ve only seen that in fucking movies, but guys like Joe? I bet they’re the ones who get it in real life.
“We’ll have a little party, okay, Kade? I got some good stuff.” Victoria is pawing at my hair and neck. I’m tempted to drop her so I can pry her hands off of me. I used to beg for her touch. Her attention.
Now, after Becca’s sweetness, I’m fighting back nausea. I rush out of the elevator onto Vic’s floor, putting in the door code to unlock it. It’s still her fucking birthday. I begged her to change it to something harder to guess, but she didn’t give a fuck about anything, especially her own safety.
I put her on the sofa, then back away, turning to get her a big glass of water. Her kitchen is a wreck. Dirty dishes and takeout containers litter the countertops. The garbage is rotting, and the food is dried on the dishes. She’s been living like a fucking pig.
I have to laugh because no, she’s been living like a fucking junkie. Pigs are cleaner than this. The counters in my apartment as a kid were just like these. Dirty dishes piled high, fucking bugs crawling on everything. Mom never seemed to care about the bugs. She never cared about anything. But I always tried to wash them, borrowing dish soap from the neighbors to try and get them truly clean. It was a losing battle most of the time. Eventually, I learned it was safer to eat straight out of the packaging.
“Where are you, baby?” Vic calls from the living room. I exhale and look in her nearly empty fridge, finding a bottle of water for her. I take it into the living room.
She’s sitting up on the couch, running her fingers through her bleached blonde hair. The roots are dark. Somehow, in all of this shit, that surprises me. It didn’t matter how high or how sick she was. She never missed her salon appointment. Somehow that line of dark roots drives home how far gone she is. I silently pass her the water bottle, then move to stand at the end of the couch.
“You’re a fucking mess, Vic,” I tell her quietly. Her face flushes red, and those chapped, botoxed lips curl in anger.
“Who the fuck do youthink you are, Kade? I look this way because of you, motherfucker.” Spit is flying in her anger, and I step back out of range.
“Me? The fuck? We’re not together anymore, Vic. You cheated on me and kicked me to the fucking curb, remember?”
“He was better to me than you were, Kade. He was a better man.” The words shouldn’t hurt anymore, considering where she is right now.
But they do.
