Saved By Steven (the first story)

34. The end is near

In the elevator, Lauren drifted in and out of consciousness, her head lolling against the mirrored wall. Each time her eyes fluttered open, the lights above seemed too bright, stabbing through her skull. She wanted to speak—say something—but the words got stuck somewhere between her throat and her foggy brain. Her body felt hollow, except for the gnawing hunger for more. More powder. More liquor. More numbness 
Steven kept one arm around her, steadying her as the elevator hummed upward. He could feel how light she'd gotten. The faint smell of stale liquor and cigarettes clung to her clothes. When the doors slid open onto the penthouse floor, he didn't hesitate—he scooped her up in his arms.
By the time he laid her on the couch, Lauren was already gone again, limbs slack, breath slow and uneven.
Steven exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he lowered himself into a chair. Joe sank onto the opposite couch, running a hand through his hair. For a long moment, the only sound was the muted hum of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Well..." Steven rubbed his face. "That was something."

Mick leaned against the wall, arms folded tight. His jaw was clenched so hard it looked painful.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Steven looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Taking her on tour." Mick's voice was sharp with worry. "She's still knee-deep in her addiction. From experience? Being on the road when you're that fragile—it's like throwing gasoline on a fire."

Steven met his gaze steadily. "It's a short leg. Just across the States. Then I'm in Maui for two months. She can stay with me there."
"And you're gonna take care of her? Alone?" Mick's brow furrowed.
"Sure. I can take her anywhere I go." Steven shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Besides, I've got friends on the island. She'll have people around her. It'll be fine."
Mick let out a dry laugh. "Fine. Right."
Steven's voice softened. "I'll fly you out too, if you want. Anytime."
"Yeah." Mick hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks."

Joe glanced at Lauren's small figure curled under his jacket on the couch. "Guys, I think she's out for the count. What's the plan? We've gotta be downstairs in three hours."
"What time is it?" Mick asked.
"Four already," Joe said as he lit another cigarette. The smoke curled around him as he stared at Lauren, guilt tugging at his chest. He adjusted the jacket over her shoulders like she was a little kid.
"Shit," Mick muttered, grabbing his keys. "I'll go get some of her stuff from her place."
"Okay," Steven said. "See you soon."

Once Mick was gone, the suite fell quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and Lauren's uneven breathing. Steven and Joe took turns watching her, packing bags in between. Every so often, Steven would check her pulse just to reassure himself she was okay.

Lauren didn't wake until Joe shook her arm around six. "Come on, baby. Time to wake up."She groaned and pushed his hand away. He poured two coffees, set one on the table and tried again. This time, her eyes cracked open—bloodshot, glassy, ringed with black smudges of last night's mascara.
"Morning, baby," Joe said softly. "Time to go."
She blinked at him, dazed. "Hm?"
"We're leaving for the tour. You're coming with us."
"No." Her voice was barely a whisper, like the word hurt coming out. Her clothes were crumpled and stinking of booze and sweat.

Joe sighed. No matter what he said, she just stared past him, like she wasn't even here. He gave up and went to get Steven.
Steven crouched beside her, his tone calm, steady. "Lauren. Hey. Look at me."

Her eyes flicked toward him slowly.
"We've gotta go soon," he said, handing her the coffee. "Don't worry about anything else right now. Just drink this. Wake up a little."

She didn't answer, but she took a sip, wincing at the bitterness. Her hands shook so badly she almost spilled it. Steven gently took the cup back before it burned her.
"You've got time to shower if you want," he said quietly.
Lauren stared at him, her lips parting. "But... my clothes?"
"Mick's getting some for you. He'll be here soon."
"Okay..." Her voice was barely there.

Steven helped her up, guiding her toward the bathroom. She leaned on him, her legs unsteady like she'd forgotten how to walk.

Inside the bathroom, Lauren gripped the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. The girl who stared back was a stranger—eyes rimmed red, skin dull and blotchy, hair a wild mess. She almost didn't recognize the person looking back. What happened to you?For a moment, she saw flashes:—Her laughing on the school steps, hair shining in the sun.—The first line of coke, the first drink, the rush that made everything easy.—The screaming in rehab, the locked doors, the promises she never kept.—Hands on her that she didn't want. The smell of cologne and sweat. Her voice breaking.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned on the shower.

The water stung like needles on her raw skin. She tilted her head back, letting it pound against her face until the makeup ran in black streams down the drain. But it didn't wash away the heaviness inside her. If anything, it made it worse.
After ten minutes, she couldn't stand it anymore. She turned off the tap, wrapped herself in a towel and combed her hair into a rough ponytail. Her body felt like a dead weight as she walked back into the suite.

"Hello, baby. You good?" Mick's voice came from the doorway—warm, familiar.
Lauren looked at him, eyes swimming. "I feel sick," she whispered.
"I know." His voice cracked. He handed her a bag. "Got you some clothes. Comfortable stuff."
She nodded, taking it with trembling hands, and dressed silently in the bedroom.

By 7:15, they were ready. Lauren wore a loose hoodie and jeans, loafers on her feet, a scarf looped around her neck. Sunglasses hid her swollen eyes, but nothing could hide the way she moved—slow, like her bones ached.
The hangover was hitting hard. The coffee hadn't helped. Her stomach churned, and all she could think was how badly she needed something—anything—to make this stop. One hit. One drink. Just enough to quiet the screaming in her head.
But instead, she followed them out the door, silent, her hands shoved deep into the hoodie pocket.
Before they left, Steven took care of checkout while Mick and Joe kept close to Lauren. She didn't speak the whole time. She just stood there in the hotel lobby, staring at the floor, the weight of the scarf around her neck like an anchor.