Relapse / / h.s.

Chapter Nineteen.

I woke with a start, dripping in my own sweat, stuck to the leather of my couch. The television I'd had no intention of turning off in my drunken state still roared in the background. That was probably the cause of my roaring headache. Either that or the nightmare that haunted my head that night.

It was different than any other nightmare I'd had before. It started off the same as always, though. Lillian was fine. She was healthy and as we fell asleep in bed, I was happy. However, when I woke in the dream, it was no longer Lily lying beside me, but Elena- her face pale. Her body still and cold. I wasn't sure what it meant, but it still scared the hell out of me.

My first instinct was to call her. I had her contact information pulled up, my thumb hovering on the "call" button, but I realized it would be pointless. After yesterday, she wouldn't want to talk to me. Hell, I wouldn't want to talk to me.

I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the television roared in my ear. Birds chirped in the other ear, loud due to the open window that I'd thrown up out of last night when I couldn't get to the bathroom on time. I needed to find a new drink of choice- I don't think I'd ever be able to stomach scotch again. And all of the noises really weren't helping my headache.

As soon as I started to doze off again, a loud knock at the door startled me awake. It wasn't really a knock, more of a pounding, and a yelling voice on the other end saying, "You better not still be asleep in there, Harry. It's noon."

And then another voice, much softer but still recognizable, nonetheless, "What if he's not even home?"

"Of course he's home," The first voice scoffed, and then raised her voice a little bit louder- talking to me, "and if he doesn't open the door I'll do it myself. I know where the key's hidden."

I sighed as I sat myself up, shutting off the television with the remote and letting myself slump into the couch cushions. I counted out loud.. "3...2...1.." And just as I'd predicted, the lock clicked and the front door was thrown open.

An irritated Amelia waltzed into the entryway, tucking my spare key into her obnoxiously yellow hand bag. I didn't want her to have it, but there really was no point in telling her that. She wouldn't care, anyway.

Ashton stood in the doorway, his eyes darting from Amelia to me, as if asking if it was okay. Amelia scoffed, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. It was funny, really, considering the massive size difference between the two, but with the determined look on Amelia's face, I didn't dare laugh. I was in trouble and I was going to hear all about it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She accused, standing with her arms crossed over her chest behind the sofa. Her blonde hair was pinned back away from her face and her skin was much more tan than I'd remembered.

   "Well," I started, settling even deeper into the couch cushions. "I was sleeping until you obnoxiously started banging on my door, but-"

  "Cut the crap," she snapped. "You're giving up with Elena?"

  The sarcastic smirk fell from my face. "How'd you know about that?"

  She rolled her prominently blue eyes. "She called last night after she left the bar. That poor girl is only trying to help you and that's how you treat her?"

  "I don't want her help, Amelia," I growled. The album Elena had given me sat on the coffee table, taunting me. I was too hung over for this shit. "I don't want your grief, either."

  "It's not grief," she argued, her voice rising as she threw her hands up in frustration. "She may have let you go last night, but you better believe she hasn't given up on you. None of us have."