Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,108
by the emotional plight of others.
“Heartbreak is horrific in many ways,” she said. “In many, many ways. But there is one beautiful thing about this specific kind of hurt. It can wait. Because it’s always going to be there. And considering the fact I know you better than you know yourself, I can see this guy meant more to you than you’ll ever admit. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you, honey, you’re going to hurt for a long time. I don’t know if this is something you’ll truly get over. But you’ll handle it. When it’s time. But it’s not time for that now. Not time to wallow. It’s time to work, bitch.”
“Do you not see that I’m in cast?” I said, using my good hand to point to my bad one. “And bruised?” I jerked my hand toward my face, which was indeed bruised. Looking at it, you would think it hurt like hell but thanks to little blue pills I had a healthy supply of, I felt nothing. Well, nothing from my superficial injuries, at least.
“Yeah, I see all that. And I see right through the excuses you’re gonna make because of it too. But, I have it on the opinion of what seems like moderately reputable doctor that your brain is working just fine. That’s what you need to meet your deadline.”
“I was kidnapped by ruthless gang members, beaten up, tortured, and almost killed,” I reminded her.
She arched her brow. “And you are also a horror writer. So, I’d say you’ve got plenty of material to pull from, don’t you?”
“You really don’t know how to handle people with care, do you?” I asked her, inwardly thanking my best friend for not treating me like I was about to break. I was. And someone being gentle with me was right about what would send me shattering to pieces.
She grinned and rolled her eyes. “That’s not really my style.”
I got another version of tough love from the only other female friend I had in my life. Probably the only one I’d ever have. Two was more than enough.
Especially when one of them was Margot.
Granted, she caught me at rather a tough moment.
Katy had to go to New York for a couple of days to “handle something.” She didn’t tell me what it was she needed to handle, though I didn’t really ask. I was too deep in my self-pity. Staring at my hand, wondering if it would heal right. The doctors weren’t sure. They didn’t seem to like giving away certainties to someone with a lot of money and influence, who could sue them.
And if the best doctors in the country couldn’t give me any guarantees, then I was fucked. Instead of handling this news and this industry with strength and grace, I handled it with a permanent bad mood and by replacing water with whisky.
It helped that Katy wasn’t around for me to truly hit bottom, as she definitely wouldn’t let this happen. Clinical depression couldn’t be controlled by anyone, but it was definitely too scared of her to even pop its head out when she was around.
Since she wasn’t around, it felt welcome and happy. I definitely made sure to be accommodating.
I made sure to shut up my office with my laptop inside so it couldn’t stare at me, accuse me of being weak and pathetic. Inanimate objects could do that, you know, if they held a half-finished book that may or may not be the best piece of the author that wrote it. Well, equal parts best and worst.
But apparently, my depression forgot about another female that was pretty scary when she wanted to be too. Not just because of her lipstick.
Margot didn’t knock. She didn’t give me any pity when she took in the messy house, the discarded bottles, and what I could only guess was a terrible smell. I hadn’t opened the windows, showered, or cleaned a dish since Katy left. I’d definitely tried to clean my insides with straight alcohol, though that hadn’t worked.
She didn’t say hello either. Just inspected the dark room, squinting, clicking her tongue.
I didn’t say anything either. I simply didn’t have the energy. Simply inhaling and exhaling was an exertion. Though, lifting my hand to my mouth for another sip wasn’t quite as hard.
Margot walked across the room, dodging bottles, and yanked open the curtains. Harsh, bright, and horrific. I shrunk away from it, much like Dracula might’ve.
“Is that really necessary?” I asked, my voice croaky.