1When in the hell did the sun get so freaking bright? I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face into my pillow. All I can hear over the ringing in my ears is the heartbeat in my head.. I groan, pressing a hand to my churning stomach. I carefully peak around my pillow, shutting my eyes quickly as the light makes them burn and the nausea intensify. I hear the door open and close softly and then hear the curtains being pulled shut. I risk another glance at the room. Dillon smirks at me from his place by the shaded window. He holds out another mug and I glance at it in disgust. "I ran into Robin at Kelly's earlier. She said hot chocolate can help a hangover. Drink up,"
"You told Robin?" My gaze snaps up to meet his. I contemplate hitting him, but my stomach and head protest any sudden movement. I sip the sweet liquid he handed me. I telepathically try to strangle him, but nothing happens. I grimace as he bumps the chair by my desk. He sits on the bed next to me and I eye him suspiciously. I set the snowman mug aside, burying my head in my hands. I pray to God that I didn't attempt a seduction earlier this morning. He gestures to the mug and I shrug. I silently pray that he'll leave and let me wallow in my own misery, but he just stares at the mug for a few long moments. "I'm sure I'll be Robin's good deed for the day now that she knows I have 'such a horrible problem'. You can go now,"
"Patrick got her to shrug it off. He apparently thinks it's typical for a college girl under so much stress to turn to alcohol. He convinced Robin that you're okay until you do something stupid," Dillon laughs ruefully, obviously displeased with the outcome of the conversation. I heave a quiet sigh of relief. I have no intention of dealing with anyone who only wanted to discuss some random issue I had developed in their minds. I'm completely fine, I assure myself silently. "You're not okay, Lulu,"
"Of course I am, Spielberg. I'm getting through my classes and I have my mom back. How could I not be okay?" I ask, forcing a smile. I reach for my purse that sits on the floor. I had dropped it there the night before, I'm sure. I dig through it, finding the Tylenol that rests on the bottom. I pop the top off and dump four of the white pills into my hand. I put them in my mouth, swallowing them with a sip of the hot chocolate he had brought. The brown liquid has gone cold while it had sat forgotten to my right. Dillon raises a skeptical eyebrow and I roll my eyes, crawling up the bed to my feathery pillows. I inhale the vanilla scent that lingered there. I had spilled some of my body spray a few weeks ago and the smell refused to vanish completely. I sense the spiel about to erupt from Dillon's mouth and raise a hand to stop the flow before it starts. "It was a couple of drinks, Dillon. Don't make it into a federal case,"
"And what about the professor?" Dillon's voice holds a hint of something I can't distinguish in my present state of mind. I can clearly pick out the disgust in his tone though and shrug as I reach to pull the covers up over my head. Dillon grabs the blanket, holding it in his fist as he prevents my escape. "You're going to get in over your head, Lulu. He knows you're still dealing with a lot. He's using that to wrap you around his finger and you can't even see it, can you? I'm just–..."
"Dillon? Oh, Lulu..." Georgie steps into the room, not bothering to knock. I scoff and use Dillon's surprise to my advantage. I pull the blanket free from his grasp and tug it over my head. I hear Dillon's sigh of resignation, but he doesn't seem to move from his spot at the foot of my bed. "Is she still suffering from a hangover from last night? Oh, wait, you're kidding me. She got drunk this morning and you're here protecting her from the monster under the bed. Dillon, I've already warned you about this. You cannot save Lulu from Lulu,"
"Get a freaking grip," I mutter, pulling the blanket back so I can glare at the disputing couple. All I want is some peace and quiet so I can sleep off this headache. Can't they take their bickering else where? And, for the love of God, they need to leave me out of it all. "I don't need saving from anyone. Least of all from myself. You two can go find a new project. Adopt a puppy, clean a highway. Just get out of my room,"
"Come on, Dillon," Georgie urges quietly, gesturing to the door that she left ajar. Dillon sighs again and gently touches my foot for a second. I resist the urge to kick his hand away. Georgie turns and walks into the hallway, but Dillon hangs back for a second. He pulls the blanket up to my chin and grabs the mug of hot chocolate.
"You can hate me all you want," Dillon whispers as he follows his girlfriend, closing the door silently behind him. I remain frozen, staring at the white door. I throw my arm over my eyes and groan. What in the hell did I say to him this morning while I was ever so elegantly intoxicated? His concern should be touching, encouraging even. But it only makes me angry. I don't want his sympathy or his pity. I don't want him watching over me, analyzing my every move. I'm a big girl. I learned early on how to take care of myself. Grandma Lesley did her best in my parent's absence. My brothers stuck around, but always seemed to be dealing with a crisis of their own. My mother couldn't help that she had shattered under pressure. Who knows... I might do the same. My father had done the only thing he knew how to do. He bolted in the opposite direction.
I got over being angry at my dad a long time ago. He didn't know how to explain anything to me. He blamed himself, felt like he had pushed my mom too far. His guilt had eaten away at him. There had been no room in the equation for me. So he did what he thought was best. I get it now. I'm strong. I'm a Spencer. The most empowering and frightening thing. Carly is a Spencer. And she splintered under the blows. My mom is a Spencer. And she broke into millions of pieces that took four years to put back together. I'm terrified that I'll end up staring at a wall somewhere, whether there's hope for me to recover or not. But I'm a full-blooded Spencer. I'm different then them. I'll make myself different then them.
"I won't break," I promise myself as I sit up, catching my disheveled reflection in the mirror. I finger the ends of my hair, contemplating if I want to cut it or not. I had nearly done it the morning after the abortion, but Dillon had shown up. And then I hadn't thought about it again until now. The scissors are still sitting on the dresser below the mirror. The silver blades glint under a ray of light that found it's way around the tightly drawn curtain. My fingers itch to wrap themselves around the handle, but I force myself to lay back down. My head pounds in protest to all the movement. I groan as someone knocks on my door. I'm really not in the mood to deal with anyone. Dillon was draining enough in my present state. I wait a few minutes and the knocking stops. I sigh and let my eyes flutter shut. The knocking resumes. "I'm not feeling well. Can you come back later?"
"Nice excuse, Lulu. You need to eat something," Dillon reminds me, his voice muffled through the door. I roll my eyes, turning on my side so that my back is to the door. Hopefully he'll get the hint and go away. I figure that Georgie is either downstairs or at his side. I know she's fuming either way. Well, serves her right. Save me from myself. No wonder Dillon's been acting like an overprotective lunatic. The idea of me actually harming myself is laughable. "Open the door,"
"Make me," I mutter as I pull the covers tighter around my small body. Dillon pushes the door open uninvited and I glance over to see him bend and retrieve a tray. The smell of the food makes my stomach churn all over again. I wait for Georgie to poke her head in, but she doesn't. I sit up and sigh, resigning to the fact that he won't leave me alone if I don't comply. "I'm up. Put the tray down and go check on your girlfriend. She didn't look very happy a few minutes ago,"
"Georgie isn't the one I'm worried about," Dillon assures me as he sets the tray across my lap. I scowl and stare down at the food in disgust. There's no way I'll be able to make myself eat the spaghetti or garlic bread that he's set before me. I take the small plate of salad and gesture for him to take the rest of it away. He sighs with obvious annoyance at my lack of interest. I smile to myself at the victory. I love to annoy him. It makes what has happened between us easier to deal with. "You need to eat more than that. Do you want me to pick something up from Kelly's on my way back from taking Georgie home tonight?"
"I won't be here," I inform him before I can stop myself. He gives me a look of frustration. I feel anger rise in my veins, boiling my blood. I'm not some foolish and naive child. He has no say in what I do with my life. I grew up just fine without a parent hovering over me. I don't need Dillon to fill the empty spot. "I'm not your responsibility, Dillon. And I'm not a kid,"
"You're acting like one," He replies harshly as he gets to his feet. He picks up the tray and eyes me silently for another moment. I continue pushing the salad around the plate, not bothering to make myself eat any of it. I wait till the door clicks shut before I toss the entire plate into the trash can. I glance at the pretty piece of china in sympathy. Oh well. It's not like the Quartermaine family can't afford to replace one lousy plate. I get out of bed and find fresh clothes, taking my time to fix my hair and makeup. I open my door fifteen minutes later to find Patrick Drake leaning against the wall beside my doorway. I glance at him and decide to ignore his presence. He put his arm in front of me against my chest and stops me in my tracks. I tilt my head to glare at him. He leads me back into my room, looking around to make sure we were undetected. I open my mouth to make a snappy comment about a tryst when he cuts me off.
"You're very lucky that I convinced Robin to let me handle this," Patrick smiles reassuringly and I throw myself face first onto my bed, preparing for a lecture. I hear him laugh and roll over to stare up at him incredulously. He sits down backwards on the chair at my desk. He leans it forward on two legs and grins proudly. "Dillon's very concerned. Robin was ready to come over here and just beat some sense into you. I, on the other hand, think a situation like this requires a bit more finesse,"
"There is no situation," I assure him as my irritation grows to unbearable levels. I glance around, looking for the vodka I had misplaced this morning. The room seems to be closing in on me, which is typical at this time of the evening. That's why I've been going out so much recently. I can't breathe in this freaking mansion anymore. My fingers tighten around the strap of my white purse. I eye the door, wondering if I could make a break for it. Patrick has me carefully trapped. I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. "Assure Robin, and Dillon for that matter, that I'm absolutely fine. Now, if you don't mind, I have plans,"
"You're not going anywhere," Patrick promises softly, a dark look taking over his eyes. I sigh, waiting for the heartbreaking story I'm sure he'll tell. Just a tactic to get me to stay in, to make my life into what society deems appropriate. I inwardly groan as he opens his mouth to tell me whatever tragedy he has in mind. "My mom died when I was in college. God, I wasn't that much older than you. My dad was the surgeon operating on her when she bled out,"
"That must've been rough," I sympathize. I know what it's like not to have a mother around. But, regardless of how much I can relate, his story isn't stopping me from going out. He clears his throat and I realize he isn't done with whatever he's trying to tell me. I close my eyes briefly and silently pray for patience.
"My dad lost himself in alcohol after losing my mother. I could have him talk to you. Maybe if he can explain first hand what the liquor cost him..." Patrick trails off. He's obviously unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. I roll my eyes and take a deep breath.
"Dr. Drake, I don't have a drinking problem. Georgie Jones, Dillon's girlfriend, has been feeding him worst-case scenarios of how I'm dealing with the abortion that I had recently. Yes, I've had a few drinks at some parties on campus. But I'm not overdoing it. I know my limit," I assure the young doctor. His concern seems genuine enough and I remind myself not to be rude. This is Dillon's doing, not Patrick's. I, yet again, wish for telekinetic powers to choke the life out of Dillon. I force a smile, hoping to reassure the man before me. "I'm perfectly fine, as you can obviously see. The baby I had been carrying was Dillon's. It was a rough situation for not only myself and Dillon, but for Georgie as well. The abortion had some emotional repercussions that no one fully expected. We're just dealing with it in different ways. Georgie thinks I'm going off the deep end and tells Dillon so. Dillon worries a lot and Georgie is just giving him more to freak out about. I'm trying to move on with my life. Nothing more. You can convey that to Robin and to Dillon,"
"You do seem pretty balanced," Patrick concedes quietly as he studies me with serious eyes. I smirk to myself. Balanced. I nearly snort at the word. But I remember that Patrick is only here as a favor to Robin and Dillon. He's only trying to help. No matter that help is unwarranted in this situation, or lack thereof. Patrick gets to his feet, pushing the chair back to it's rightful place. He shakes my hand as I playfully roll my eyes at the gesture. I stand and give him a quick, friendly hug. "You're a good kid, Spencer. Keep it that way,"
"Bye Patrick," I close my bedroom door behind him. I wait a few seconds, until I'm sure he's left the mansion, before sticking my head out into the hallway. I look around, knowing Dillon's nearby. As if on cue, he pokes his head out of the guest room that's one door down from my bedroom. I glare angrily at him, stepping aside to let him enter my white and overly feminine room. "Do you realize how dead you are? If I had telekinetic abilities I would've strangled you. No, I would've made you burst into flames. Much more painful,"
"You wouldn't hurt me," Dillon assures me knowingly. I pick up my purse, making sure to smack his chest with it as I toss it over my shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at me and I resist the childish urge to stick my tongue out at him. My stomach churns and tears prick my eyes. I need to get out of here. I can't be around him. Not when he's looking at me with that incredulous look of sympathy. I push past him, intent on getting the hell out of dodge, when his long fingers wrap around my tiny wrist. I freeze and look down to where he holds me in his grasp before I look up to meet his eyes. "Don't do this, Lulu. No one, including you, wants to watch you go down in a beautiful flame-out,"
"You have no right to tell me what I do or do not want," I remind him as I pull myself free. He steps back, his eyes wide with shock. I snap my mouth shut and watch him carefully. He looks as if I had struck him. And maybe, emotionally, I just did. Dillon has prided himself on how he never tells me what to do. I would still be pregnant if he had any true influence. I lick my lips as I grow self-conscious. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up, Spielberg,"
"You're making a huge mistake," Dillon warns, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't travel out my open bedroom door. I glance at him over my shoulder. He's probably right. Making mistakes just happens to be what I do best. I curl my fingers into a fist to keep from touching him... And from slapping him. My warring emotions make my head spin. "Be careful,"
"Go back to your girlfriend," I whisper as I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. The flesh protests in pain and I squeeze my eyes shut as he brushes pass me. I pull the door shut behind me and lean against it as I hear Dillon walk out of the mansion. Sometimes I just want to hate him so badly. But, in the end, I only hate myself.