Welcome back! Thank you guys so much for your reviews, follows, and favourites. As always, I love hearing what you think, so I hope you'll continue to let me know.
Annnnnd my apologies. I think it goes without saying that this story has been neglected, but for those of you wondering if I have more to write, the answer is a BIG "yes". I actually have the ending of this story written, and quite a few major chapters as well, but I have some filler chapters that still need to be written, and I'm always trying to come up with ways to expand upon things. So, no need to worry about that – I know it's been awhile since my last update, but whatever I start, I do finish. Life has just been crazy lately, so again, my apologies. But, without further ado, let's get to it.
Oh, and my apologies for the rather unpleasant "topic" at the beginning... and, well, because this chapter is kind of poorly written. Or maybe it's just because I'm so eager to fast forward to the good stuff that I'm not satisfied with most of what comes before. But, we'll get there! This stuff is important too though – I wouldn't just throw it into the story if it wasn't.
...This is going to sound ridiculous to everyone except for a couple of people, but this chapter is dedicated to boredom, safety, and babies (or rather, a baby...). And since dedicating this particular chapter (in part) to a baby seems horrifying, let's just say it's a lesson on why not to do drugs.
Recap: Andy is playing poker with her dad, Oliver, and Sam in an effort to win Oliver's silence regarding the existence of her college-age boyfriend. While her dad is out of the room, Andy's behaviour could be considered somewhat inappropriate, including bribing Oliver for his silence and exchanging intense stares with Sam. Meanwhile, Sam develops an obvious curiosity where Andy is considered, wanting to know more about her, while simultaneously finding himself being slowly wrapped around her finger in the same way Oliver and her dad are… After receiving a call in the middle of the night from Andy, Sam soon finds himself embroiled in a far more complex situation than a simple late-night drive home, especially when he learns that she's been doing drugs and running from the cops. To make matters worse, she later calls him from a nearby division after having been arrested. Realizing his good intentions are likely enabling Andy's bad habits, Sam decides that from that point on, he needs to stop bailing her out. And, when a month goes by without a word from Andy, he starts to think that his refusal to help has made her stop using drugs, but another night of poker at the McNally house quickly scraps that thought. Two months later, things continue to go downhill. Andy moves out of her dad's house, and when Sam tries to intervene, she shuts him down. Two and a half months go by in which Sam doesn't see or hear from Andy at all. That is, until Oliver receives a call from her while they're on duty. She's at a house party and she's been drugged. In an attempt to keep Andy's name out of the records, they have Monica check her out in the hospital parking lot. Sam is then left to take on the task of watching over Andy that night. When she regains consciousness and admits to needing help, he starts to come up with a plan to help her get her life back on track.
5:47 a.m.
Andy jolts upward and throws her head over the side of the bed, her hand flailing for the bucket. Fingers gripping the plastic, she yanks it forward, pulling it under her nose just a split second before the contents of her stomach come up. The taste of bile, a mix of beer, last night's pizza. She shudders, her face wrinkling in disgust as the putrid smell fills her nostrils and the taste overwhelms her otherwise dry mouth. For a second it has her gagging again, leaving her struggling to drown out everything around her – every sense: sight, smell, sound, taste... everything – in an attempt to settle her stomach. Focus. Just breathe. She starts to inhale, but the smell of vomit has her head spinning and her stomach churning. A curse tumbles from her lips. Bad idea. Don't breathe; just hold it. Focus on something else... anything.
She lowers her head, pressing her nose up against the sheets in an attempt to block out the stench. The faint smell of laundry detergent reaches her nostrils. That it smells like Sam is oddly comforting. It reminds her of the time he held her in the alley, and how safe his strong arms have always made her feel. The same arms that have her occasionally wondering what's hiding beneath his clothes and if his body is on par with his face. With that thought in mind, she starts to turn in a bid to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the bed in the moonlight, but then it hits her. Whoa, Andy, her mind screams at her. Hold up. Chill. What the hell are you thinking? Did the drugs screw you up that much? So much so that you can throw up one second and then think about Sam naked the next? Idiot. You don't even like him like that. And you've got a boyfriend, she silently chides herself. An arrogant, dumbas—Uh oh. Not again. She grips the bucket a little tighter, while simultaneously trying to catch another waft of laundry detergent, but she knows it's no match for what lies in the bucket below. No matter how freshly washed the sheets smell, the scent just isn't strong enough. So, she tries to block everything out again, but her mind latches onto Sam once more and the thoughts just won't seem to stop as an image of his face whirls before her eyes. Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? Not that I mind, but it doesn't make sense... What's in it for you? Do you think it's your job, because you're a cop? She feels, rather than hears, him shift a little beside her and despite the small movement providing mild discomfort to her already upset stomach, knowing that he's nearby is somehow reassuring, much in the way that the smell of him is comforting. Odd. A frown creases her forehead. I thought I understood you, what makes you tick. But, I was wrong. At least... about some things. So how did we end up here, you with me? In this mess. And who are you, Sam Swarek? What really motivates you? Drives you? Why are you here? Why are you helping me again? And how the hell can you be so frustrating one second, but comforting the next? Telling me what to do, how to live my life, be better... Treating me like a kid... And then picking me up and dusting me off, trying to help me succeed and figure out how to be an adult. Why do you do this to yourself? Entangle yourself in my mess, my hell. Who am I to you?
Andy risks a glance back in his direction and can only just make out his eyes staring back at her, the look just as intense as always. Suppressing a shiver, she lowers her gaze. Seriously? I'm puking my guts out here and that's what I get? You're not going to blame me or yell, you're just going to sit here with me? "You can go," she chokes out, even though the last thing she wants right now is to be alone. For him to go, to leave her. Because, although she can't quite understand why, there's something immensely reassuring about his presence, like whenever he's around, things are going to magically be okay. She bites down on her lower lip. Get a grip. Sam is only human. H-U-M-A-N... A man. One I hardly even know. That's all. Just a man, a normal guy. Ordinary. He doesn't have super powers. He can't make my problems go away. She bites down a little harder. Actually, he's kind of a stranger, albeit a helpful one... that knows my dad... and Oliver. Okay, so maybe not a complete stranger, but what do I know about him? She wracks her brains, but her head is throbbing and she quickly gives up. Not much. And yet, I think... I think I kind of missed him... Two and a half months with zero contact – at least on her end – but it feels longer. Much longer. She mentally shakes herself, her eyebrows furrowing. Missed him, or it? She missed it. Yeah. That reassuring feeling, not... him. Her frown deepens. Or is it him? Ah, hell, I don't know. Being in no condition to answer, or really even consider the question further, she settles for missing that comforting, reassuring feeling. And that's when she realizes that the urge to throw up has lessened.
Wiping her mouth, she slowly rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling through the darkness and strands of hair that partially cover her eyes. A groan escapes her as she weakly tries to brush the hair away from her face, but most of it seems to be plastered to her skin, soaked from the beads of sweat on her forehead. Better sweat than what's down there, she thinks, shuddering as the smell hits her again. She shifts a little, her face wrinkling in disgust once more. Her entire body feels clammy, and the sheets beneath her are damp. Everything about her feels gross.
Sensing Sam's gaze is still on her, she weakly tosses an arm up over her eyes. She knows he probably can't see her very well, but she's positive he's looking in her direction. It's a gut feeling. "Shoot me," she croaks. And she's only partially kidding. She feels like she's dying. At least, this is what she envisions death will feel like... minus the comfort.
6:24 a.m.
She tosses and turns, sleep evading her. But, every shuffle, every movement causes a wave of nausea to hit her. So, she finally lies still, despite her aching muscles and immense discomfort. It doesn't help though. Nothing does. Not even the cool cloth that Sam put on her forehead about twenty minutes ago. The nausea is still there, and the more she thinks about it, the worse it gets. Her lips part and a curse escapes her as she rolls to her right, dangling her head over the bed again as she feels the bile rise, her body trembling all the while. "I swear..." she gasps. "I swear I'm going to..." She throws her head toward the bucket, leaving Sam grimacing at the sound of her retching. "...kill him," she finishes when her head pops back up so that it's even with the top of the mattress. She waits another moment before lying down again, this time on her side. As a shiver runs through her, she automatically tugs the blankets closer to her body, but she seems to be stuck with an endless chill. "So you should just... shoot me now as a pre-emptive measure."
Stifling a yawn, Sam reaches out and runs his hand up and down her back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Based on the little bit of her shirt that isn't covered by a blanket, he can tell that her clothing is damp, but he ignores it and continues to rub her back. There's no point in even offering her something else to wear right now. He's pretty sure she won't budge anytime soon anyway. "You're going to be fine, McNally." Once again, he finds himself feeling a little surprised by the gentleness that she seems to bring out in him, but he shakes the thought aside and continues to try to ease her discomfort.
7:13 a.m.
"Shoot… me… please."
Her voice is pleading, and he can hear her struggling to hold back a sob. It causes his hand to momentarily still on her back. "Shooting you doesn't qualify as helping."
Andy shifts a little and looks over her shoulder at him, her hands still dangling over the side of the bed in case she needs to grab the bucket in a hurry. "Sure it does," she says, her voice cracking. "Sometimes you need to shoot someone to save someone. And I swear I'm going to kill that kid."
He quirks an eyebrow and stifles a yawn. It's been a long night, and the lack of sleep is starting to wear on him... on both of them. And while he's positive she's joking, he wouldn't rule out her throwing a solid punch or two at the guy. Hell, he wants to and it didn't even happen to him. But, as a cop, he isn't about to admit that. Instead, he corrects her. "Sometimes you have to shoot a perp to save a civilian… or a fellow cop. But shooting you, won't save you."
Andy groans. "But you could make an exception."
"Not going to happen, McNally."
"I thought you didn't like following the rules?" There was a slight whine in her tone, a desperation.
"I don't," Sam admits with a small shrug. "At least not all the time."
"Then why…?" she begins, before throwing her head back over the side of the bed.
He runs a hand over his face, then reaches forward and pulls back some of the strands of hair that escaped her ponytail.
She tries a second time. "Why…?" A curse runs through her mind as she throws her head over the bucket again, but it's all dry heaving this time. "Ugh." She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling, squinting as she tries to keep everything in focus. And that's when another thought occurs to her. "Was Oliver mad?" Her voice is quiet.
"Worried."
"And my dad, does he know?" Andy asks quietly.
"Not yet."
She slowly turns on her left side to look at him, her heart racing. "Are you going to tell him?"
Seeing a shiver run through her, Sam gets up off the bed and grabs another blanket, slowly covering her and making sure she's completely tucked in before sitting down again, resuming his upright position with his back against the wall.
"Thanks," she mumbles as she tugs it way up high so that part of her face is covered.
"I don't know what's going to happen," Sam confesses.
Silence. My dad is going to kill me if he finds out. He'll make me move back home, lock me up, or just outright kill me. And probably Tyler too. Maybe I should warn him. Or maybe he deserves what's coming to him. Her hand reaches out in an attempt to locate her cell phone.
Sam watches her for a moment, hesitating, then asks the question that's been plaguing his mind for awhile now. "Why didn't you ask me for help?"
"I told you I don't even remember calling Oliver," she replies, snuggling into the blanket a little more. What did he expect? Me to automatically call him? I don't remember calling anyone, so who knows how I ended up dialling Oliver's number. It could have just as easily been my dad. Dread fills her. What if I accidentally called him too? No, if I called my dad, he'd be here now. He'd know.
Sam gives her a pointed stare, surprised by how much it bothers him that Andy didn't ask him for help, but it really does. He'd offered his assistance, and she'd refused over and over again, even if just by her silence. "I don't just mean last night."
A sigh escapes her. She can hear the determination in his voice, the need to know. So she complies. "Because you were right, okay?"
His eyes widen. Right about what?
"It's not your problem—"
His jaw goes a little slack. Really? It's not my problem? That's the best she's got? "That isn't what I said."
"—And we don't even really know each other."
That, he can't really argue against, but that doesn't mean he's just going to let it go. "I wanted to help; I offered to help."
Andy gives a subtle shake of her head. "You wanted to be left out of things – you said it was the last time – so I did what you asked. I—"
"And then I texted you… I called." He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Look, I made a decision. I thought it was the right one, but—"
"And I respected that. I got it, okay?"
"No, it's not okay." He rubs his forehead angrily. "I wanted to help, McNally. But I thought maybe you'd learn, figure it out if I stepped back. But this – right now, right here – is proof that I made the wrong call."
A curse escapes her. "I can't do this right now." In her current state, it's proving too much.
"Then give me a better reason. Tell me why you didn't ask me for help sooner."
"Because you felt guilty," Andy blurts out. Before he can argue, she barrels on. "It's true... You knew, and not doing anything made you feel guilty." When he opens his mouth again, she holds up one hand to silence him. "But the thing is, if I hadn't come to you for help the first time, you never would have felt that way... I did that to you; I forced that responsibility on you. And you didn't owe me anything, not one thing." She pauses, blinking back the tears that are starting to form in her eyes. "And I know I shouldn't have done it, I know it wasn't fair, but I just didn't know what to do. But then... then I stopped... I stopped asking for help... I—"
He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "That's not—"
"This isn't your problem," she interrupts. "It's mine. And I need to deal with it."
"It is my problem," Sam argues. "And Oliver's too. Last night solidified that." Seeing her questioning look, he continues, "We had to break a lot of rules to keep your name clear, to keep you out of any records."
Her eyes travel up to his face and although he can't see it because of the blanket, her mouth opens in shock before snapping shut. Her mind is reeling. He... He did that for me? "I…" She falls silent, guilt washing over her. "I didn't know." Her voice is barely audible now; her eyes lowered.
Of course you didn't, McNally. You were out of it; there's no way you could have known. Drawing in a deep breath, he asks, "Do you even remember asking me for help?"
Andy swallows hard, then gives a small nod. There are a lot of things she can't recall from the night before, but that she remembers.
"Did you mean it?" As he speaks, he tilts her head so that she's looking at him.
"I…" Andy begins, but falls silent again. Did she mean it? Is she prepared to stop? To change?
Sam's eyes narrow. After all of this, is she really going to tell me that she didn't mean any of it? "McNally." His voice is sharp.
"Yeah," she finally says. "I did…" She hesitates. "I do." As the words tumble from her lips, she knows they're true, but she's also scared and doesn't know where to start or if she's even strong enough. And the thought that she could fail has her even more afraid to take that first step. But that's when she realizes that she already took it, by admitting that she has a problem and needs help. They say the first step is the hardest, right? Somehow she isn't so sure, especially with the way she's feeling right now. Her entire body is trembling, her eyes are still glossy with emotion, and she knows it's only a matter of time before it breaks free... before she breaks down completely.
Seeing the tears forming in her eyes, he pulls her close and wraps his arms around her, holding her tight until her body gradually stills. Even then, he continues to hold her, his grip a little looser than before, but his arms still glued to her body.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asks, struggling to hold back a sob.
"We'll figure it out, okay?" he says softly. "You're not alone this time; I'm going to help you."
She nods into his chest.
"But first, I need you to talk to me, to tell me the truth... All of it."
Again, she nods, but her heart feels like it's going to burst out of her chest. She's terrified, maybe even more so than when she first started using.
He lets out a loud breath. Now or never, he thinks to himself. He's spoken to addicts before, dealt with them, but this is different. She's different. And there's no easy way to go about it, but he has to know what he's dealing with... what they're dealing with. "How often did you take the pills?"
There's a long stretch of silence, then, "A couple of times."
His eyes narrow as he stares down at the top of her head, his grip unconsciously tightening.
"… A week," she adds, grimacing. She can only imagine the look of horror on his face at that exact moment.
Sam's teeth grind together. There's something in her tone that tells him she still isn't being completely honest. "McNally…?" The sudden tension in her body tells him that he's right.
She squeezes her eyes shut. "Minimum." Lately it had been a lot more.
He lets out another loud breath. At least twice a week? As his mind goes back to the first time he found out she was using, he starts to feel sick. I should have stopped her, done more to prevent this from happening.
"But that wasn't all."
Her voice is barely audible, but he hears it and it gives him a sinking feeling. "What else?" he asks, struggling to keep a neutral tone.
There's another stretch of silence. The tension grows thicker. Nerves reach an all-time high. And Andy can feel herself rapidly crumbling. "E."
His mouth falls open. "What?" It comes out louder than intended, which is made clear when she jumps in his arms. Afraid she's going to attempt to bolt, he tightens his grip on her. And yet, he's positive he misheard her. Andy McNally may have screwed up by taking one drug, but surely she wouldn't be hooked on more? So, he clarifies. "Ecstasy?"
She nods into his chest.
Sam slowly draws in a breath, his mind reeling. How had they all been so unaware? So completely ignorant to how far gone she was? He isn't sure if he should be angrier at her for being so stupid, or at himself for not recognizing the signs sooner... for not stopping her before it reached this point. "How long?"
"Just recently," she replies, swallowing hard. "Last couple of weeks, maybe... A few times."
He's almost afraid to ask, but has to be sure. "Anything else?" When she shakes her head, he lets out the breath he'd been holding since his last question. "Okay," he replies. "You're umm... you're lucky, McNally, you're really lucky..." He closes his eyes and, without thinking, rests his chin on the top of her head. "Do you have any idea how many deaths we get from..." He trails off as he feels the dampness through his shirt. He wants to drill the point into her head, but he's exhausted and in her current state, he isn't so sure it's going to have the right effect. "I mean it, you're really lucky to still be here, but I don't envy you, not for a second. These next few days or so are going to be hell; probably the hardest thing you've ever experienced."
Three days later…
Andy cracks open an eyelid, her entire body jolting upward. She isn't alone. Not anymore. Beside her, on the couch, is Oliver, his gaze trained on her face. Squeezing her eyes shut again, she groans and pulls the blankets tighter around her body, doing her best to ignore him. Doing her best to ignore everything. The pounding in her head, the trembling of her body, slight nausea, and clamminess. All she wants to do is be pulled back under, to sleep off the rest of this hell. And she knows it's her fault that she's in this state, but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier to handle, especially with Oliver's presence now serving as a constant reminder of her stupidity.
"I just don't get it," Oliver says quietly, shaking his head as he takes in her pale complexion, the dark circles under her eyes, and the layer of sweat glistening on her uncovered skin.
"There's nothing to get," she mutters, trying to bury her face in the pillow.
"You were doing so well," Oliver continues. "Aside from that scumbag, you were set... Your life was set, Andy. You had a future, a bright one. And now this?" There was a small pause. "What happened? What changed? What could have possibly caused you to do this?"
She'd known the barrage of questions was coming, but that didn't make her any more prepared for it. "When's Sam getting back?" Andy asks, her irritation clear, despite her voice being partially muffled. All she really knows is that he's at the station, but she doesn't have the slightest clue why or for how long. She just hopes it isn't to work a full shift. If it is, she's not so sure she's going to last through Oliver's berating. As the thought crosses her mind, she sneaks a peek at the man before burying her face in the pillow again. The same disapproving look is there, mixed in with a touch of worry and disappointment. Not that she really expected otherwise, but it's difficult to deal with. And, it only becomes harder when she feels a bit of a jab to her side. "What?" she snaps, swatting at the hand. She's beginning to really regret agreeing to let Sam tell Oliver the truth, but he didn't want to leave her alone like this. Not that she'd readily agreed to it in the first place. She'd been hesitant at first, but whether she'd been half awake or desperate for some sort of pain killer, she'd finally conceded to Sam's pleas. And now, as she swats the man's hand away for a second time, she's really regretting that moment of weakness because her "uncle" just won't let up. He wants an explanation, demands one.
"Two hours, maybe." Oliver scratches the back of his head, his eyes narrowing. "Was it because of that Tyler kid?"
"Oh my god, just let it go," she says with another groan. Her head is throbbing more than before, and she swears the cold sweat she'd broken out in just the night before is getting worse, just like everything else, Oliver's pestering included. It all feels like a slippery slope, as if nothing is improving; as if instead of getting better, time is working against her.
"It doesn't make sense," Oliver says, exasperated.
Andy opens her eyes and finally looks over at him. "It feels like someone took a baseball bat to my head and body, I'm freezing, feel disgusting, and am about five seconds away from completely snapping. Can we please not talk about this right now? Or ever?"
Oliver lets out a frustrated sigh, but before he can respond, his phone rings. "Shaw," he says, rising from the couch and casting a glance in Andy's direction before moving further away.
Withholding a sigh of relief, she closes her eyes again and starts to drift back into an uneasy sleep. Shortly thereafter, however, Oliver is shaking her awake. "What?" she growls, blindly trying to get him to stop.
"I have to go pick up Izzy," he says quietly. "We sent her back to school today, thinking she'd be okay, that her fever was gone, but—"
"Go," Andy mutters, weakly pushing him away without opening her eyes.
"—she was sick again," Oliver continues, guilt washing over him. "And Zoe can't get away from work."
"It's fine," Andy says groggily, pulling the blanket up and over her head in an attempt to block him out.
"I'll let Sam know…"
"Just go," Andy whines. "All I want to do is sleep without being poked or pitied."
"Okay," Oliver says in defeat. "Just call if you need anything."
"Uh huh," she mumbles, already drifting off again.
Meanwhile, at 15 Division…
"You're serious?"
Sam stares evenly at his Staff Sergeant as he gives a small nod. Although he has a sarcastic reply on hand, he didn't spend the last twenty minutes stating his case for nothing, so instead, he says, "I am."
"We don't usually allow civilians into the station and give them that kind of responsibility," Boyko replies, leaning back in his chair.
"She's not just any civilian," Sam argues. "She's a cop's daughter, and possibly a future cop too." He pauses, hoping his boss doesn't question how he knows Andy, or why he even cares. "And, you've met her." He isn't positive about that, but surely Boyko must have met her by now, right?
The man nods. "Tommy knows?"
"Not yet." Seeing his boss quirk an eyebrow, Sam lets out a sigh and admits, "I didn't want to bring it up with him until I knew if it could be a real possibility..." He shrugs. "You know how badly he wants his daughter to follow in his footsteps... I didn't want to get his hopes up."
"I'd have to run it by the Superintendent," Boyko replies, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But it wouldn't likely be anything glamorous. Maybe some filing, sorting, errands, general office duties."
Sam nods. "A foot in the door, that's all I'm asking for… Just being around other cops, ones she doesn't know, will give her a chance to really figure out if she wants to go in this direction."
"And just for the summer?"
Again, Sam nods. He really isn't sure what Andy is doing after: if she's going to college or university, or planning on working right away. He only knows what had been talked about during the poker games set around the time when he first met her, but a lot has changed since then. So, all he really knows is that if he can get Boyko to agree and get the Superintendent to approve it, then it will make keeping an eye on Andy much easier, and may even persuade her to head down the same career path as her dad... and as him.
Boyko sits up rather abruptly. "Speak of the devil."
Sam turns toward the office door to find Superintendent Elaine Peck just a few short strides away from entering. He withholds a grimace. He's never really liked the woman – actually, he's never really liked any of the Pecks if he's quite honest – but in the next ten minutes, he suddenly finds himself disliking her a little less. All it really took was dropping her daughter's name into the mix, and reinforcing the idea that an internship would be a great educational opportunity that would also help 15 Division. And that's how two internships became available at 15 Division that morning, one for Andy McNally and the other for Gail Peck.
Just over half an hour later…
Andy runs her tongue over her lips in an attempt to wet them, but her entire mouth is dry to the point where it feels like she's been chowing down on chalk for the last hour. It almost tastes like it too. With a groan, she slowly forces herself up into a sitting position, eyeing the kitchen. Fifteen steps, Andy, she silently tells herself. Just put one foot in front of the other. One at a time. Her body slouches forward. Nope, no, you have to get up first. And then she starts to sway, until she's inching back toward the pillow on the couch. Get up. "Ugh," she screams, but it comes out sounding choked. Up. Get up. "Shut up," she growls, swatting the air in front of her eyes as if it's going to quiet her mind. Why do I feel worse? Like, deathly ill? And why can't he just put me out of my misery? Another groan escapes her. Stop being such a baby. She weakly rubs her face. I don't even want to die. I want to... I want... What the hell do I want?... Water. Yup, definitely water. Placing one hand on the side of the couch, she pushes off, shakily forcing herself to her feet, the blankets still tightly wrapped around her thin frame. Her legs wobble a little as she makes her way to the kitchen, her breathing getting heavier the further she goes. One more step. Lift. Nope, shuffle. Ugh, whatever. I'm here. Water. As she rubs her eyes with one hand, she reaches up and grabs a glass with the other, filling it with tap water. But, now that she's reached her destination and has water in her hand, her mind wanders again. My head. Pain... Painkillers. Her eyes roam around the kitchen as she takes a few quick sips, scanning each cupboard in an attempt to remember where Sam keeps his medicine. Andy's trembling fingers finally curl around a knob and she yanks until the contents of each shelf are visible. Bingo. A sigh of relief escapes her as her hand stretches upward to the top shelf and clasps a bottle. But, that's when she notices something else; she feels her hand brush up against something... something that seems familiar. Her heart rate quickens and her eyes widen just a fraction before her brows furrow. Leave it, she silently warns herself. Just take the painkillers and go. But she doesn't. She can't seem to force herself away. Pressing her fingers flat up against the shelf, it becomes obvious that something is definitely there, so she pulls, sucking in a sharp breath when a small packet falls onto the counter. Her eyes shoot downward. Don't. Don't do it, Andy. Leave it. Just walk away. Don't be stupid. Go. NOW.
Still, her feet won't move. Her body won't cooperate. Eyes won't turn away. Her mind is fixated on one thing only, the small ziplock bag in front of her, and its contents. Just one and she'll be feeling better within no time. One. That's all it will take, for now; that and a split second decision. It can make the pain go away, the sickness; replace it with a high, a temporary bliss. One and done. All she has to do is give into temptation. Andy blinks hard, her heart beating heavily in her chest as she reaches forward and dumps the blue pills into the palm of her hand. "One and done," she breathes.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.
Also, I haven't forgotten about Andy's… boyfriend, or the fact that she was drugged, and neither has Sam. More to come on all of that in the next chapter.
And for those of you looking for something else to read, the lovely svugirl25 just posted another awesome McSwarek story. She'll paint some hilarious/lovely images in your head with that one, so check it out! Oh, and in the time it took you to read this update, I'll have already posted a new chapter for "Clean Slate" (actually two chapters since I had to split it up due to the length), so if you're reading that one, enjoy two new chapters!
Twitter – RB_ADI2DE