A Long Way Back (Unfinished Business #2) - Barbara Elsborg Page 0,49
sex?
“Yeah, if I can stay awake. My pills tend to knock me out.”
“What type of painkiller are they?”
“Just something the doctor prescribed. Codeine.”
“How many do you take in an average day?”
Tay glared. “Why?”
Ink backpedalled. “I just wondered. Are you on a repeat prescription? I need to go to the chemist. I could pick them up.”
“I have enough.”
Tay’s tone was short and Ink tensed.
“Sorry.” Tay exhaled. “My mum reminded me of something I’d been invited to and she’s pissed off that I won’t go.”
“Why won’t you go?”
“Leave it.”
Tay grabbed his crutches, pushed himself up and left the kitchen. Ink couldn’t help himself. He waited until he knew Tay was in his bedroom, then followed but stayed out of sight. Through the crack of the door, he watched Tay go over to his sock drawer. He took the bag of pills over to the bed and sat down. Ink couldn’t see how many pills he removed. As Tay put the bottle of water down, Ink stepped into view.
“I thought you’d taken your pills,” Ink said.
“I need more.”
“Since when did chemists give out drugs in Ziplock bags?”
“What does it have to do with you?”
“I’m being paid to look after you.”
“Not to spy on me.”
“You’re an addict.”
“Fuck off.” Tay threw the bottle of water. It struck Ink on the side of his face and fell to the floor.
Chapter Eight
TAY BIT BACK HIS GROAN. Shit. He hadn’t intended the bottle to hit Ink. As he opened his mouth to apologise, Ink slammed the door. A moment later, Tay flinched as he heard him slam the other bedroom door. He lay back on the bed and curled up. He ought to go and apologise, but Ink had no right to spy on him, then accuse him of being an addict. Tay needed the codeine. He’d had a fucking traumatic brain injury. He’d nearly died. He almost didn’t come back from where his brain had taken him. I’m still bloody recovering! I’ve had an exhausting day! Cut me some fucking slack!
Now he wished he’d taken a couple more tablets. His heart was racing, but it wouldn’t do that for long. Codeine relaxed him, stopped his brain churning. When it kicked in, it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It made everything bad in his world, all his physical problems, his mental anguish—melt away. It stopped him thinking about Jonty. Why his mother imagined he’d want to go to the reopening of McAllister’s hotel, he had no idea.
Two weeks from now, she’d said. Think about it.
He didn’t need to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything. Hence the codeine. Tay was still chasing the high he’d had those first few times he’d taken the higher dose. If he was going to catch it, he had to keep taking more. He still had enough functioning brain cells to know that wasn’t good. How much was too much? He already knew the answer to that.
Lennie had given him a sample of something better, something stronger. A touch of oblivion currently resided in his shoe. It was like giving a kid a bar of chocolate and telling him he could have a selection box. Get rid of it! He would. He didn’t need it that badly.
Did he?
The additional codeine was taking effect now. He could feel the familiar sensation creeping over him. Crazy to crave a rush of nothing. Apathy, drowsiness, lack of interest in anything other than this soft gentle, undemanding embrace. He wasn’t addicted. He could stop taking the tablets if he wanted to. He just didn’t want to.
Not yet.
Tomorrow…
INK STOMPED TO HIS ROOM and closed the door. Well, slammed it, which was not like him, then rubbed his cheek. He knew Tay hadn’t meant to hurt him, but he had, and not just physically. Ink wanted to help. It was one of the few things he clung to about himself because he had so little else to offer. Be a kind guy. And not because kindness was sometimes repaid by kindness, though it was, but because Ink understood what it was like when people were cruel. He’d seen things he couldn’t unsee, things he should never have been shown.
Sometimes, when he was low, it had been a random act of kindness that kept him going. A ten-pound note appearing like magic in his guitar bag, a wide smile from a stranger, a hot meal handed out by a voluntary organisation… He’d given money to those worse off than him. He handed back dropped