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Grace woke up the next morning feeling like she'd been hit by a bus. Her hair was plastered to her face with sweat and there was a stream of vomit down her shirt and onto the floor beside her where she still sat in the kitchen.
There were a few pills left on the floor and she, without thinking about it, popped them. Tears rose to her eyes and fell sloppily, sobs shaking her and making her feel like she was going to throw up again.
All she could think about was Mick telling her that if she started drugs again, he was done with her. She could see Jim's face when he found out, disappointment overtaking his features. She could see Joey's face too, shaking his head in defeat and upset. She couldn't believe she'd been so fucking weak.
She tried to stand but couldn't quite manage it, her limbs feeling like someone has shot them full of lead while she slept. She cried until the force of it did make her vomit again and then collapsed backwards onto the floor, at the very least having the foresight to position herself on her side so that she didn't choke and die if she ended up throwing up more.
"I'm sorry," she whispered tearfully to no one but the floor tile, letting her heavy eyelids slip closed.
•••••
"Grace! Grace, come on! Wake up!"
Someone was shaking her, yelling in her face. She groaned, her eyes lolling open slowly.
Jim's face came into a blurred focus in front of her and tears filled her eyes again.
"What happened, huh? What happened?" he asked, his own eyes looking watery as well. She shook her head as much as she could considering the fact that it felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds.
"I c-can't... d-don't want you t-to see me like th-this," she mumbled, her voice feeling ragged and worn. Jim shook his head.
"I'm already here. I'm already seeing it. Just tell me what to do. Tell me what you need," he told her, and she closed her eyes and cried quietly for a few long moments before answering.
"I... already puked it all up, I think," she whispered, and he nodded and lifted her gently, pulling her up into an upright sitting position and leaning her backwards onto the cabinets. Judging by the copious amounts of vomit on the floor surrounding her, the statement she'd just made was even more correct than she'd realized. It looked like it had been a good thing she'd thought to lay on her side.
"I can only assume this wasn't just food poisoning or something?" he asked cautiously, sitting beside her despite the absolutely rancid smell that she knew had to be making him miserable. He reached for her gently, brushing some strands of hair behind her ears. She shook her head.
"No. I... my ex brought me drugs and I took them. All of them," she admitted, and he nodded slowly.
"Do you need a doctor?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Okay. Are there any more pills?" she shook her head again. "You don't have anything stashed anywhere?" She thought about it for a few long moments but shook her head yet again.
He grew quiet, seemingly trying to decide what the next move should be. She half expected him to get up and run and wouldn't have been mad at him for it for a second. She didn't deserve him, didn't deserve his kindness. She thought again about Mick, about how mad he was going to be, and without warning sobs started shaking her again.
"Don't cry, baby. It's okay," he whispered, pulling her puke-stained shirt off of her and then pulling her into a hug, holding her close. "Everyone slips up. It's totally normal. You're going to be alright," he soothed, and she shook her head against his chest.
"M-M-Mick said he was d-done with me if I used a-again," she sobbed at him, and she could immediately feel him shaking his head above hers.
"He didn't mean that. You know he didn't mean that," he told her and she shook her head.
"I don't deserve another chance from him. I don't deserve another chance from anyone," she said, and could feel him shaking his head again.
"Yes you do. Of course you do."
"Mick doesn't give second chances as it is and he's already given me about a million, though."
"Grace, hey, look at me," Jim said quietly, pulling out of the hug enough so that she could. He reached up with the bottom of his shirt and dried her eyes, looking at her intently. "Did you know that after that night in the hotel, the night you got the girl I fucked out of my room that Mick came and saw me and gave me a whole big 'if you hurt my sister, I'll fucking kill you' talk? Huh? Did you know that?" he asked, and she couldn't help but smile slightly. She shook her head.
"No, I didn't know that."
"Well, he did. You know he wouldn't have bothered with that if something like this was going to make him write you off forever," he said, and she closed her eyes tightly and nodded. He had a point. "He cares about you. I've never heard him talk as kindly and fondly about anyone as he does you. As much as he'd deny it, he loves having you as his non-biological sister."
She nodded again, feeling surprisingly cheered up by his words. She was still afraid to face Mick, but suddenly less so.
"I'm going to go to rehab," she said quietly, and Jim looked at her with surprise painted clearly into his expression. She nodded. "I am. I know I've never wanted to go before, that I've always said I didn't want to get real help, but now I do. Now... now I know I have reasons to live, reasons to get healthy," she told him, tears with a different meaning to them rising to her eyes. She'd never felt like she deserved to get healthy before, had never cared enough to even try. Suddenly, she did, though. Suddenly, she wanted to be a better version of herself for Jim himself, for Mick, and mostly, for herself.
"Okay, good. That's really good, but first... I love you, but you smell really fucking bad," Jim said, smiling and standing, offering her his hand. She took it and stood with him, not thinking anything of his statement at first and then catching the reason for the mischievous sparkle in his eye like he'd smacked her with it.
"Wait, you love me?" she asked, and he laughed quietly.
"Of course I do," he whispered, shrugging. A vibrant blush rose to his cheeks and she smiled, her heart feeling fuller than she ever remembered.
"Say it again," she whispered back and he laughed again.
"I love you," he told her resolutely, not a single waver in his tone.
"Are you sure? I'm covered in my own puke and sweat and just slept on my kitchen floor in a drug haze," she reminded him, and he nodded.
"I'm sure, though it might be less in a few minutes if you don't get in the fucking shower," he informed her, and she laughed loudly, wanting desperately to kiss him but knowing she should definitely brush her teeth and gargle a whole bottle of mouthwash first.
"Hey, Peach?" she questioned the nickname quietly as she turned and walked toward the bathroom, looking back at him.
"Mm?"
"I love you too. I can't fucking believe how much. You're... you're everything I've ever wanted and I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you love my pathetic ass," she told him, and he smiled.
"I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you love my pathetic ass," he repeated back to her, and she laughed again, turning back around.
"Peach?" she called one last time from the bathroom right before she shut the door.
"Yeah?"
"I love you," she said it again, just wanting to feel the words coming up her throat and out her mouth one more time. He came around the corner and into the hallway, still smiling.
