Rush (Gods #2)(33)

Shit.

I'm scared. I don't know what's happening to me.

Ares. I want Ares.

What am I going to do?

Home. I need to go home.

I turn too fast and stumble into someone.

The guy catches me by the waist, steadying me. "Whoa there." He chuckles. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry," I mumble out, my words slurring.

I stagger past him, needing to get out of here. I somehow make my way  through the event room and out into the lobby of the hotel.

I trip my way through the lobby. I can feel eyes on me.

Fuck.

Tears sting my eyes.

I make it out of the hotel, the doorman holding the door for me.

"Night, ma'am," he says but stops with a look of concern on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Need a taxi," I manage to get out, my voice all over the place.

"Ah, little too much to drink." He chuckles good-naturedly. "I'll flag you a cab now."

I want to scream that I haven't had anything to drink. That I don't know  what's happening to me, but I can't seem to form the words.

The next thing I know, I'm in a taxi. I manage to give my address to the cabbie.

He turns and looks at me. "You're not gonna puke, are you, love?"

I shake my head and immediately regret it.

Closing my eyes, I lay my head back on the seat as the car pulls away.

"That'll be fifteen fifty." The sound of a male voice jolts me awake.

Where am I?

Cab.

I look out the window.

I'm outside my building.

I rifle in my purse, pull out a twenty, and hand it to him. I don't wait  for the change. Then, I fumble with the door, pull the handle, and  manage to get it open.

I literally fall out of the cab. Bringing myself upright, I hold on to the car door. I get it closed and turn to my building.

The stairs look like a mountain.

I'm so tired.

I just need to get in my apartment, and I'll be fine.

I stagger up the steps of my building, gripping the railing for support.

Somehow, I make it inside, and I lean against the wall, closing my eyes.  I feel myself start to slide down the wall. Somehow, I stop myself. I  push away from the wall and move over to my door. I dig for my keys and  drop my cell on the floor.

"Shit," I mumble. I don't even have the energy to pick it up.

With a lot of difficulty, I get my key in my door. I turn the lock and  open it. I fall through, losing my balance, and I hit the floor of my  living room with a thud.

"Shit." I moan in pain.

I can't get up. I'm too spent.

What's wrong with me?

I manage to shut the door with my foot and just lie there, unable to move.

My head is swimming. I can barely lift it off the floor. I try, and my stomach revolts.

I'm going to be sick.

I throw up all over the floor, right where I am.

"No," I groan, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

What's wrong with me?

I just need to sleep, and then I'll be okay.

I hear my cell start to ring from somewhere.

I'll get it later. Too tired.

I'm vaguely aware that I need to clean my mess up, but I have no energy, so I leave it.

I slowly drag myself across the floor, crawling toward the sofa. A wave  of nausea hits me again. So, I stop moving and just lie down on the  floor.

I'll just stay here awhile.

And then I'll be fine.

I hear my cell start to ring again in the far-off distance.

Later. I'll get it later. Rest now.

I close my eyes.

And everything goes black.





Hammering. Sounds like hammering.

I blink my heavy eyes open.

Where am I?

I see my coffee table above my head, realizing I'm on the floor.

What am I doing down here?

Bang! Bang!

"Arianna, open the fucking door!"

Ares?

I push myself up onto my hands and knees and sit up. My head spins.                       
       
           



       

"Shit." I wince, putting my hand to my head.

What happened?

Oh God. I didn't drink … did I?

I flash through hazy memories. Leo … Diet Coke … feeling ill … getting home … being sick.

I turn my head and see the puke on the floor.

Shit.

More pounding.

"Arianna! I know you're in there! Open the fucking door!"

He's angry.

Why?

"Coming," I call, my voice raspy. I get to my feet with the help of the  sofa. I've still got my shoes on and last night's clothes.

This feels so very reminiscent of the last eight years of my life.

But I didn't drink anything.

I pull my shoes off as I pad over to the door and open it.

The look on his face.

Disgust. Distaste. Anger. Betrayal.

He's holding something out to me. I look down at his hand, confused.

He's holding my cell.

Why does he have my cell?

"I was trying to call you all night." His voice is cold and hard.

"Why do you have my cell?"

"I found it out here in the hall. Clearly, you were that fucking wasted that you didn't even know you'd lost it."

"I-"

He cuts me off with a slash of his hand. "I don't want to fucking hear it, Ari." He storms past me into my apartment.

I close the door and turn to face him, leaning on the door for support,  feeling like crap. "I don't understand. Why are you so angry?" I ask  softly, my head pounding.

He lets out a bitter laugh. "Have you seen the state of yourself?" His  eyes go down to the floor, and he spots the vomit there. Another acidic  laugh. "Jesus Christ." He shakes his head, like he's seen this scene a  million times before.

He has.

"I was sick last night," I quietly tell him.

"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?"

"What?" I say, confused.

"You were wasted, Ari."

"No." I shake my head. "I swear, I didn't drink. I had a Coke. That was it."

"Don't fucking lie to me!" he roars, making me jump. "You can't fucking deny this, Ari! It's all over the internet! Jesus!"

"What? I don't understand."

My cell still in his hand, he taps the screen. A moment later, he hands  it to me. It's a gossip news website; a video is on the screen, ready to  watch.

"Press play." His voice is arctic.

I press play, and the video comes to life. It's dark and grainy. Like it  was captured on a cell phone. But it's me, stumbling down a hall and  into the party. Bumping into some guy and almost falling over. Then, it  cuts to a cab, me falling out of it. Staggering up the steps into my  building, and then it ends.

I swipe the screen down to read the headline.

BAD GIRL GONE BADDER!

Looks like Arianna Petrelli-daughter of Giants coach, Eddie Petrelli,  and current girlfriend of Giants quarterback, Ares Kincaid-has gone back  to her partying ways. She was seen drunk and stumbling around a charity  event she was attending on behalf of the team.

One partygoer said, "She was drinking all night. Making a real show of  herself. Flirting up a storm with some guy who definitely wasn't Ares  Kincaid."

A staff member who was working the bar and served Petrelli numerous  times confirmed this, saying she ordered "at least five vodka and  Cokes."

A source from the Giants tells us that Kincaid will be furious with this news.

Let's hope Petrelli can get herself back to rehab and finally leave her partying days behind her.

Check out the video for actual footage.

"I … " I stare up at Ares. "I don't understand."

"I do. It's pretty fucking clear, isn't it?"

"No … not to me, it's not. I don't know what happened."

He lets out a humorless laugh. "You don't know what happened? Right … " he says disbelievingly.

"I'm telling you that I don't know."

"So, the vodka just jumped up and leaped down your throat."

"I didn't drink vodka."

"Don't fucking lie!" he yells again.

"I'm not lying!" I yell back, not even caring that it's making my head  thump and my throat sorer. "I didn't drink anything but Coke last night.  One Diet Coke."

"Who was the guy?"

"What guy?"

His eyes are dark, impenetrable with anger. "The guy you were flirting up a storm with."

"Leo." I move away from the door, toward him, my expression pleading  with him to believe me. "But I wasn't flirting with him. He got me a  Coke, and we chatted for a bit. Ask him if you don't believe me."                       
       
           



       

"Leo, the journalist guy?"

"Yes."

He laughs, and I frown.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." He stares at me. "Not one fucking thing is funny about this."

"I didn't drink … I swear to you."

His jaw tightens, eyes flaring.

"I just had a Coke. Nothing else. Then, I started to feel weird, so I  went to the restroom, and I-I just felt … off. I checked my drink to make  sure there was no booze in it, and I couldn't smell anything. But I was  woozy. I couldn't walk. I don't know what happened. Someone must've  spiked my drink." I suddenly realize.