Consumed (Addicted to You Book 1) (2 page)

My body slid back down into the lumpy mattress, I rolled to my side, and my knees curled up to my chest. Warped into a ball, I spent hours lying and staring at our still undecorated walls and feeling my soul shatter into pieces. No matter how many times I went through this, and with Spencer there had been many, I could never quite get my body accustomed to the feeling.

Each and every moment felt as if it would destroy me. Nothing in me was strong enough to survive a fall of this magnitude. My muscles were weak. My brain was foggy. I had been damaged to a point of disarray. Breathing took an effort I wasn’t sure I wanted to put in. Though I knew in my head that I would survive, with each passing second I felt confident that I wouldn’t.

In the still and silence I would hear my phone at random intervals. A call. A text. An email being sent through. Every time I heard that noise it lifted my heart for a fraction of a second, giving me hope that maybe it would be Spencer. Those were the moments when I found the strength and desire to move. I would roll over and grab the phone- my heart racing- to look at the notifications.

Instead I’d see my own reflection in the glass and I’d hate myself for paying attention to it. My long mousy brown hair looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush in weeks. A combination of the restless sleep I’d had, the night of drinking and the hours of crying and rolling around on the bed. Hair hung over my eyes simply because I’d been too lazy and preoccupied to move it.

It was for the best. My eyes were so puffy and swollen it was almost impossible to see the light green hue. Dark circles had appeared beneath them, making me look as washed out on the outside as I felt on the inside.

The down side of a light complexion was the way it changed when I was upset and crying. The soft pale shade on my cheeks had changed to a ruddy tone. The changes in my skin looked as though I’d been sick or someone had slapped me. My nose was red and even my lips appeared to be somewhat puffy.

I was glad I couldn’t assess my body or how it looked. Slumped over during the moments I was able to sit and curled into a ball when I wasn’t, nothing about me would have appeared attractive. The baggy t-shirt and sweat pants that I’d slept in only added to the withered and gloomy appearance that anyone looking at me would see.

No matter how many times I checked the phone, it was never him. People I loved and cared for would check in or try to chat. I would get notifications of things I was supposed to remember. Missed calls from people I would otherwise be happy to hear from. I ignored them all. Everyone was important. Yet none of them mattered.

The high from the hope I’d felt would crash and my heart would sink deeper into my body. The hole inside of me would grow larger. The weight of the sadness that I felt would get heavier.

Each round of disappointment left me aching a little more. Every time I’d toss my phone back onto the floor, a small part of me hoping it would crack. If I had no phone then I could ignore it. I could go on and not have to face that he wasn’t going to contact me. Not that day. Not ever again.

I couldn’t cope with the agony that was torturing my body, so I drifted in and out of consciousness. His face would flash in my dreams. Memories. Moments. My heart was aware that the only way I would see him again was behind my closed eyes. In my dreams.

Even those were scattered and confusing. Sometimes I would see him. Loving and smiling at me. The Spencer I’d known. My Spencer. Telling me I was important. Promising he’d always be there.

Other times he would be distant and dark. Driving away. Heading to another place that didn’t include me. Never once looking back to see if I was still there. Broken. Waiting. Hoping that I’d see him again.

Those dreams, both good and bad, woke me with a jolt and the heartache grew. My eyes would open and I’d realize that he was gone and once again I would sink into anguish. The happiness I’d felt while sleeping would fade and I’d realize how dark my life was going to be.

Physically I knew I could get up and walk around. It was more a lack of desire than a true inability. That was proven when I realized that even heartbreak didn’t make the bladder stop. But, the pain was no less real. I’d known heartache in my life. Felt it. But when Spencer took off, it turned physical. I would feel a real and viable sickness and pain.

I always lost weight when he left and I knew this would be the same. It wasn’t intentional. I couldn’t keep the food down when I did eat, but most days I had no desire to eat. It wasn’t the overwhelming sadness that did it. It was a nausea. Food made me feel physically ill.

Something about this was worse than I’d been through yet. The pain and the ache was so great I could barely find a reason to hold on. Mentally I checked off a list of reasons that I should try. I kept hoping that I’d run across something that would make breathing worthwhile in those moments that it was so hard to do.

It was stronger. More powerful. Harder to bear.

Probably because every other time there had been something. An argument. Words. A note. Something. I had always had that after it was done. I could hold it. Read it. Remember it.

It kept me going. It gave me hope. My brain knew that it wasn’t for me. It was Spencer’s way of making things easier for himself. But it helped me. I had belief. If we had that- if he could say those things and mean them- he would come back. In the darkest hours it was the belief that he would return that made it possible to hang on.

I was terrified. I’d woken up alone- the same as many times before- and there was nothing. No reminder. No hope. My brain scanned everything. Words that had been said. Memories that we shared. Events that had happened. Anything that had transpired.

I was searching. Scanning. Trying desperately to find something. A sign that it was fake. A hope that it was real. I couldn’t find anything to show me that it was anything other than genuine. But that didn’t make me believe it any less. A broken heart was difficult, but a broken soul was irrational.

This time was different. It wasn’t like the others. The hope was gone and all I had left was misery. Emptiness. And a stack of bills I couldn’t cover by myself.

“Don’t do it Avery,” my best friend Colby had said when I’d told her. “Don’t move in together. He’s not stable and you won’t be able to manage.”

I had been so angry. I could still hear her condescending and judgmental tone. She didn’t like Spencer. That hadn’t been a secret. She was telling me that he would leave. He would go.

I could still hear her warning. But I’d defied her. I’d been so angry with her, and so hopeful, that I’d refused to even hear her. Wanting so badly to believe that he was going to give me the commitment that I needed, I’d went against even my own instincts and signed the lease.

And he left.

She was right and as I lay there feeling hopeless and destroyed I hated her for it. I hated her for being right. I didn’t want to tell her. Not then. Not ever. I didn’t want to see her gloating expression. As much as I loved my best friend, the fact that she was right made me hate her.

I would have to find a way to pick up the pieces of what was left of me, and to pay the bills I’d known I’d never be able to handle by myself. The grief blended with something different. Something I’d never known during those other times he had left. A feeling that I’d never felt for Spencer since the day I’d met him.

Lying there - on that mattress that we’d been so proud to bring in and share- for a brief moment- I hated him. All the lies he had told made me sick. The promises that he had made fueled the rage. He had hurt me. He had caused my pain. He had fucked me over. I blamed it all on him. And I hated him passionately.

I thought of our late night talks. He shared stories of his past. He had told me about his his fiancé. He had been broken by it. His life had been crushed and he had trusted no one. He had vowed to never let anyone that close again until me. He told me that I was different. That he couldn’t stay away. He had said that something in him believed I would make him happy.

And I’d tried. I wanted him to see that he could be loved. That I could love him. That I would never hurt him. I needed him to know that I wasn’t her, or any other for that matter.

Yet he had hurt me. Over and over. He had done to me what was done to him. The thing that he feared the most in life. And the more I thought about that, the more I hated him.

But the moment was brief. The feeling was as fleeting as his presence. I picked up my phone for what must have been the tenth time. A heart full of hope, I loaded my texts. It was Colby. I threw it. Hard. I no longer cared about the damned phone. The anger was too much.

Of course it’d be her. She’d be all ready to hear how Spencer had done it again. She’d be standing by with a list of reasons why I needed to forget about him. She didn’t see that I couldn’t.

How do you forget about something that you need to survive? It’s like trying to forget to breathe. He was the light in my world and when he left it was noticeable. It was dark and cold. And I would do anything in my power to get him back. I was angry. That he’d left. That Colby would be happy. All of it.

But, as I tossed my phone across the room and heard it thump against the wood floor, that hatred was replaced by something else. I felt heartache. Stronger than I’d ever known. It was primal. It was deep. It was profound. And with nothing to try and bring me back to the edges of sanity- it was uncontained.

Reflexively, I bent my head towards my knees and closed my eyes. My chest heaved in and out as I struggled for a breath that was getting ever harder to capture. And in those silent moments, the sobs erupted and I was absolutely certain that it would, indeed, be the time that I didn’t make it through.

Chapter 2

The memories and thoughts were vivid and real. Playing like a film through my mind as I lie in the bed crying and clutching his pillow. My only lifeline was the consistent flow of scenes from our relationship that would help me to smile, if only for a few a moments.

“I think that guy’s checking you out,” Colby’s laugh had contrasted the whispered tone of her words. “Actually, I’m pretty sure of it.”

It was a warm Saturday in mid-june. The sun was beaming from a perfectly clear blue sky and we were soaking it up. Midwesterners enjoyed the hell out of our summers after enduring the bleak dreary weather we saw during the winter. That particular day we were in the backyard of a mutual friend’s house, celebrating the season with one of our well known barbeque parties.

Essentially what this means is that we were all decked out in summer gear, sipping on drinks, mingling with friends and waiting on food that we may or may not eat. But it was tradition and we loved it.

I had always felt very fortunate to live in Oak Park. It was a small community on the outskirts of Chicago so I had the best of both worlds. I could enjoy normal neighborhood events like the barbeque that I was attending, or in no time at all I could have a night out in the city. Between downtown and the nearby suburbs there was never a lack of shopping, dining or other things to do.

“I doubt it,” I blew Colby off because she was doing what she did best, trying to find a way to hook me up.

Colby couldn’t understand why I dated as little as I did. Hell, sometimes I didn’t understand. It just kind of worked out like that. I wasn’t particularly avoiding guys. It just wasn’t a priority to me and the guys I ended up around didn’t seem to find me interesting in that way.

She thought that someday I’d find my knight in shining armor. I didn’t think they existed. Love wasn’t the way she read about it in those damned romance books. There were no soul mates and connected hearts. Fate didn’t exist. Destiny wasn’t real. It sold movies and music and books. But it wasn’t real.

If I were lucky, someday I’d find a guy that I enjoyed enough to build a life with. Have a family with. But I’d never find some knight to come save me. If I wanted to be rescued, I’d have to learn how to do it myself.

“Seriously Ave,” she’d continued the subject. “He’s dead staring at you.”

I was lying back on one of the lounge chairs and hoping the sun would help to darken the visible parts of my skin.

“Maybe he’s looking at you,” I suggested, knowing that was probably far more likely.

“I don’t think so,” she countered. “I smiled at him and he looked at me like I was crazy.”

“You are crazy Colb,” I teased her.

I turned my head slightly in the direction she was facing; making sure my sunglasses covered my eyes so that my glance wouldn’t be noticeable. She was right. There was a guy looking in our general direction. Without staring him down, it was hard to tell exactly what or who he was looking at.

I found myself watch him for a moment. He had dark hair that was longer than most guys I’d dated. He stood off to the side with another guy I presumed was a friend. I’d never seen him at one of the parties before. He was new. Probably someone’s boyfriend or something.

“Yea,” I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses. “No.”

“What? Are you serious? What do you mean no?” she almost panicked that I’d even thought of saying that.

“That boy is not looking at me,” I told her, hoping she’d drop it.

“Why are you so sure of that?” she asked.

“Did you see him?” I questioned, revealing my own insecurities. “No guy that looks like that would give me the time of day. Let alone be sitting there staring at me.”