Calamity [Zarry Stylik AU]©️

Chapter 10: 3AM AT THE HILTON

I like to throw parties when I'm sad or upset.

It's the best way to be happy or to forget whatever issue is bugging my mind. I like them to be a period that could be cherished forever. I like it like that. I'm known for my parties. Very selective, and very private but they are rumoured to be the best in New York.

A party for the decadent, subscribers of all kinds of addictions and vices. At this point, I'd just recovered from a near-death experience with my overdose, and I went to this poor excuse of a rehabilitation centre upstate with the crystals and the mantras.

It didn't work.

As I said, it only threw me deeper into my depression and addiction, making me leave everything behind. I missed deadlines, wasn't eating, and wasn't taking care of myself. Hadn't been home in days, refused to talk to anyone and was living the life of a hermit at the Hilton - yes, I could be a hermit, but I could still do it in style, you know?

I had been staying there for days now and I knew the staff already hated me because I wouldn't let them in. There were all kinds of people coming to the penthouse, from other celebs with a bad reputation to nobodies with an even worse one.

So, today I am upset.

Very. Especially this day that tugged at my heart and soul. Today marked the anniversary of my knee surgery and my descent into pills. I wasn't upset about that. I was upset at the reason that led me to my injury. That remained a secret that I wouldn't share as it was a source of pain and shame.

I stand on the balcony of the hotel looking at the New York skyline. The sun is gone, the night is still young, and I want to not cry. I light up a blunt, pick up my phone and text one number. That's usually how I did it. Just one number with a simple sentence and a location: "Let's meet. Bring snow to the synthetic garden. At the Hilton." This means, bringing coke, weed and other drugs to the Hilton.

I know, it's not clever, but it does what needs to be done. That one number would then spread wide to several other people and that is how a party of one turned into a party of at least fifty, at first.

They don't take long to show up. I leave my door open, greeting the sinners that I know with a solid dap and allowing the rest to do whatever they want to do. The smell of weed fills the air instantly, the coke is on the coffee table and the drinks are at the bar. Have fun!

I'm sitting on the bedroom floor, with the doors opened to the living room watching people do whatever they did. As I said, I like to people-watch. The music was loud, the girls had little clothes, the guys were trying to get lucky, and the vibe was good.

From the ground, I could see the brick on display under a tinfoil sheet for anyone who'd want a piece and a large bowl with a red liquid.

Who brought ponch?

Aside from the red liquid, there was vodka, whiskey, absinthe, rum...whatever you wanted, I had it. Or better yet, the Hotel did. The cloud of weed was so thick it involved the room in a soft mist of the smoke, despite the opened window to the balcony. People were kissing, talking, enjoying the high on the floor or going on energetic rants fuelled by drugs.

My back is against the foot of my bed. On my left hand, I hold a bottle of whiskey and on the right a perfectly rolled joint - the third one of the night. Earlier I had taken two pills and was riding the vibe into dawn.

My eyes open and shut slowly, as I take the bottle to my lips and take a big gulp of the brown liquor. I'm not a fan of it, but I need to wash the taste of the weed. I have a good supplier here.

Suddenly, a woman falls flat on her face right in front of me, making me jump. At first, I thought she had died, but then I noticed her body shaking with laughter. Her blonde hair fell in waves down her back, and she wore a black tank top, with black jeans and boots to her knee.