Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I pushed through the papers and check refills that were down to duplicates, the random assorted batteries and paperclips, and found nothing resembling drugs or a flask. I moved on to the bookshelves and seriously considered opening every book to see if he’d hollowed one out.
I moved a copy of a book called Diaries of Alan Clark and out fell two small plastic bags about as long as my thumb and compressed by the weight of the books around it. Coke. Great. That would explain Neil’s peppy, “up” attitude lately. I picked up the bags and made sure none had spilled on the floor.
Then, I opened one, scooped a teensy bit under my fingernail, and did a quick bump.
I didn’t know why I did it. I’d tried coke at a party once, and all it did was give me a runny nose and a headache I couldn’t sleep off because I couldn’t sleep, at all. I sealed the bag, slipped them both back into their hiding spot, and went to the bathroom to wash my hands.
Okay. You have to make a plan, I told myself as I watched my pupils dilate in the mirror. Damn it, Sophie, why did you do that? You can’t function on drugs. What if Olivia needs something?
Remembering that Mariposa was home, so at least one responsible adult was around, calmed me back down as quickly as I’d gotten agitated.
Okay. I could do this.
First, I texted Mariposa at what could only be described as the speed of light and told her I wouldn’t be taking care of Olivia that night. The message was riddled with errors, but she would understand it. I sounded like a total one-percenter douche mom just passing her kid off, but this was important, too. Then, I called Holli.
“Oh, my god, where have you been, I’ve been texting you and calling you—”
“I did some coke, and I totally cannot handle my shit,” I blurted, pacing back and forth in the guest bathroom.
“Uh…”
“This is serious, Holli! Something bad happened. Neil…” I blinked, rolling my eyes up at the ceiling in the hopes of keeping my tears from falling down my face. I didn’t need to; my eyes were dry as fuck from my Tony Montana impression.
“What happened to Neil?” she asked, her tone switching from flippant to almost panicked. “Is he, like, overdosing again? Are you overdosing?”
“No, no. I just found his drugs, I found some cocaine, and I snorted a little bit.”
“What? Why?” she shrieked.
“Because I’m freaking out! Neil went to the hospital last night because he tried to kill himself, and now, he’s in a fucking mental hospital or something… I don’t know what they call it—”
“Sophie, slow down! This is why I told you to stick to grass. Jesus Christ!” She sighed heavily. “Any chance of getting an air lift out there?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I emphatically nodded along with the words. “Absolutely. But, no! You have a show tonight.”
“I do, but I can…” she began reluctantly. Torn between her work and her family. I could so relate to that conflict.
“No, never mind. I know who to call.” I dragged my hair back, raking my hands through it. “I’ll be okay, I’m just freaking out over this. But I have a plan, now.”
“Okay…” she replied uncertainly. “Flush the cocaine down the toilet, okay? The last thing you need is to aid your stress-induced heart attack along.”
“Right. Thank you. I’ll check back in with you tomorrow, okay?” I didn’t want to promise tonight, because after this, I was going to sleep forever.
I hung up and looked up a contact so seldom used, I worried that she wouldn’t be there.
“How can I help you, Sophie?”
These days, Valerie didn’t sound as exasperated every single time she spoke to me. That might have been because she feared my dislike of her would keep her from her grandchild. Which made me feel icky, but I would take it.
“Neil did it again,” I blurted.
“Excuse me?”
“Overdosed. Neil overdosed, again.” Those words brought me back down, a little. My face was still numb, though. “This time, it was on purpose.”
“My god,” she breathed on the other end of the line.
“It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, and…” How did I phrase this without sounding like I was asking for an impossible favor? “I think he has drugs stashed around the house. Actually, I know he does. I found some coke in the bookcase—”
“I can tell,” she said dryly.
I ignored her and intentionally fought to lower my speed. “You’re the only person I know of who knows he has this…tendency and won’t flip out about all this. You’re the only calm person I know, right now. And I need someone to help me look around the house.”
“Is he home now?” she asked, her concern spiking.
“No, he’s going to a mental health place upstate. But he’s going on an involuntary hold, so I don’t know when he’ll come back. I just want to get this done.”