HIS STRIPPER, HIS WIFE novel Chapter 6

Chapter six

Bianca

I dropped the phone beside me with a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. The apartment felt different now, emptier somehow, even though Max’s presence had been more of a burden than comfort for months.

My eyes drifted to the corner of the living room where I kept a bottle of whiskey. Dad’s whiskey, the expensive kind he only brought out for celebrations. I had been saving it, holding onto it like some kind of connection to him. But tonight, I didn’t care about saving anything.

I dragged myself across the floor, my body feeling heavy and numb. My fingers closed around the bottle’s neck, and I twisted off the cap. The smell hit me first, I brought it to my lips and took a long gulp.

It burned going down, scorching my throat and chest. I coughed, my eyes watering, but I didn’t stop. I took another drink, then another. The warmth spread through my body, dulling the sharp edges of everything that hurt.

I leaned back against the wall, the bottle resting in my lap. The alcohol was already making my head feel fuzzy, disconnected from the rest of me. Good. I wanted to feel nothing, I wanted to stop thinking about Max and that woman, I wanted to stop seeing their bodies tangled together in my bed.

I lifted the bottle again and drank deeply. The liquid sloshed as I tilted it back, and I didn’t stop until my lungs screamed for air. When I finally lowered it, the bottle was almost half empty.

My vision was blurring now, the room spinning slightly. I slid down until I was lying on the floor, the cold hardwood pressing against my cheek. The bottle rolled away from my hand, but I didn’t bother picking it up.

Tears started rolling down my face again, I didn’t wipe them away. I just lay there, my mind blank while my body shook with quiet sobs.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take over. My last thought before sleep pulled me under was that tomorrow, I would have to figure out how to keep going. But tonight, I could just stop thinking about it..

*******

The ringing dragged me back to consciousness. Loud, drilling into my skull. I groaned and fumbled for my phone, my hand knocking against the empty whiskey bottle. My head was pounding, my mouth tasted like something had spoiled in it.

“Hello?” My voice came out rough.

“Miss Bianca?” A professional female voice came through the speaker. “This is Sarah from City General Hospital. I’m calling to inform you that Emma’s surgery will begin in approximately two hours. We wanted to make sure you were aware.”

I sat up too quickly, and the room spun. “Two hours? Okay.” I rubbed my face with my free hand. “Thank you for calling.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll see you soon.”

The call ended, and I started to let the phone drop back to the floor. My body wanted nothing more than to collapse back into sleep, to escape the headache and the memories of last night.

But then my eyes caught the time on the screen.

12:04 PM.

“Oh shit!” I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over the whiskey bottle. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I slept for over twelve hours. Twelve hours of lying on the floor like a corpse while Emma was about to have surgery. What kind of sister was I?

I stumbled toward the bathroom, my legs shaky and uncoordinated. The face staring back at me from the mirror was a disaster. Smudged makeup from yesterday, red puffy eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. I looked exactly like someone who had drunk half a bottle of whiskey and passed out on the floor.

I turned on the shower as hot as it would go and stepped under the spray. The water hit my skin like needles, but I welcomed the pain..

When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel and went to my closet. I grabbed jeans and a simple blue sweater, something comfortable and normal. But as I was pulling the sweater over my head, I remembered the text from last night.

I stood there half dressed, staring at my closet. My regular clothes hung on one side, and pushed to the back were my work outfits from Velvet Nights. I reached in and pulled out a black lace set, something even more revealing than what I had worn last night.

“Just in case,” I told myself as I folded it carefully and tucked it into my bag.

I finished dressing quickly, grabbed my phone and keys, and rushed out the door. The cab ride to the hospital felt too long. I kept checking the time on my phone. 12:47 PM. 12:53 PM. 1:02 PM.

When I finally burst through the hospital doors, I was nearly running. I got to the surgical floor and went straight to the nurses’ station.

“Emma,” I said breathlessly. “Emma Fernandes. She’s supposed to have surgery at 2 PM.”

The nurse checked her computer. “Yes, but there’s been a slight delay. The surgery is now scheduled for 3 PM. Dr. Martinez is running behind.”

I felt relieved. “Can I see her?”

“She has been moved to room 312. But only for a few minutes. They’ll be prepping her soon.”

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