“Josh?” Reaching over, I shake him. “Come on, bro. Wake up.”
I get no response.
Using what’s left of my strength, I shake him harder…but his body goes still.
No. This isn’t fucking happening. He was fine a minute ago.
“Wake up!”
The intense pain in my head grows. It’s followed by a rush of exhaustion I can’t seem to fight against.
“Josh!”
Faintly, I register voices and a tugging sensation.
“Fuck!” someone who sounds a lot like Chandler screams. “Fuck!”
“Stay with me,” someone else says, and I immediately recognize the voice as Storm’s.
When I look up, he’s hunched over me, looking more scared than I’ve ever seen him in my life.
“Josh.” Bile burns my throat. “He’s in bad shape.”
“I know,” he whispers, gripping my hand. “So are you, Phoenix. The ambulance is on the way, though. I just need you to hold on, okay?”
“The people in the other car are dead,” Chandler shouts.
Other car?
I want to ask what he’s talking about, but every drop of strength I have is being sucked out of me.
“Thirsty.” I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. “Tired.”
So fucking tired.
“Stay with me,” Storm screams, only his voice is fading in and out, like he’s yelling into a broken mic. “You’re not dying on me.”
But as I drift off…it’s no longer his voice I hear.
It’s hers.
CHAPTER 21
LENNON
“Scotch on the rocks with a twist.”
“Coming right up,” I tell the guy in a business suit.
After filling the lowball halfway with some ice, I toss a lemon peel into the glass. Business suit guy eyes me up and down the whole time.
“The owner of this place is an idiot for sticking a beautiful girl like you behind this bar instead of up there.”
Up there would be the stage where Angel is currently twirling around the pole.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after Dartmouth, but tending bar at Obsidian—a gentleman’s club—definitely wasn’t on my radar.
However, sometimes life throws you major curveballs and the only thing you can do is keep pushing forward.
Sliding the man his drink, I study him. Dark hair, dark eyes, and judging by his appearance, he looks to be in his late forties. While he’s not unattractive, there’s nothing particularly distinctive or alluring about his features.
I give the guy a coy wink because tips. “I’m behind the bar because I want to be.”
Bringing the glass to his lips, he takes a sip as his gaze drops down, taking in my black corset and dark jeans.
Four years ago, a guy like him—hell, any guy for that matter—wouldn’t have spared a girl like me a second glance.
As devastating as hearing my song on the radio was that day, it also ignited a fire inside me.
While I couldn’t change what that pilfering asshole did, I realized there was something I could change.
Myself.
All my life, I attempted to fill the large, gaping void inside me with food.
Problem was, it didn’t work. Because no matter how great I felt when I was in the middle of a binge, I always felt like shit after.
Which in turn would only make the void grow bigger.
Deep down I was miserable…but only because I was continuously choosing to be.
Learning to build a better relationship with food was a lot of hard work and took some deep soul searching.
I didn’t force myself to go on a crash diet, nor did I starve myself in order to be thin. I simply made some healthier choices and stopped eating once I became full. Well, that and I cut out soda because that crap isn’t good for anyone. Especially the excessive amount I was drinking.
I’m still not what society would consider skinny given I’m a size ten on a good day and a twelve on a PMS day, but screw society. The only thing that matters is that I like what I see when I look in the mirror.
Because I didn’t conquer my demons for some stupid guy or because I wanted acceptance.
I did it for me.
The guy’s eyeballs finally travel back up to my face. Thanks to Mrs. Palma, I finally learned how to do my own makeup. I also grew my shoulder-length hair out and dyed it jet black, something I’ve always wanted to do but was too afraid to try.
“You in college?” the guy asks.
His question makes me inwardly flinch, so I distract myself by grabbing a rag and wiping down the bar.
Despite my first few months at Dartmouth being lonely, once I started working on myself and stopped letting fear hold me back, I flourished. I made friends, maintained good grades, enjoyed a few hookups and a couple of one-night stands.