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Holly’s heart is already pounding as she pulls into the driveway of the nondescript, three-story condo building and parks in the one available guest spot. Two spaces over, she recognizes Elaine’s car, a light-blue compact Nissan. Glancing through the back window, Holly spots posters rolled up on the back seat along with a few placards, facedown, in the gap between the seats.
Holly walks up to Elaine’s ground-floor unit and raps on the door. Just as she is about to knock again, the door opens a crack. Elaine stares at Holly through the gap without opening the door much wider. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
“Sorry to just drop in on you, Elaine. But after you didn’t show for the group session, I was… concerned.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Can we talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Holly’s not ready to give up. “Can you come out, then, Elaine? Please. I won’t bother you again.”
After a moment of hesitation, Elaine opens the door just wide enough to slip out through the space. Standing a few steps back from Holly, she folds her arms across her chest. Her long-sleeved shirt and loose sweats hang off her gaunt frame. Her face looks older than a thirty-year-old’s should. “I’m not coming back to the group,” she says. “Or to you.”
“All right.” Holly studies her eyes, searching for the telltale signs of opioid toxicity, such as the pinpoint pupils or the vacant gaze.
“I’m not high, in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I’m done using. Guess I have to credit the ketamine for that much, at least.” Elaine huffs. “Not that it was worth the hell you put me through.”
Holly takes a small step forward, and Elaine immediately backs away. “I feel terrible about that last session. It was my fault. You weren’t ready.”
Elaine’s eyes blaze. “I’ll never be ready for that.”
“No, no.” Holly feels her face flushing. “I meant not ready for using dual psychedelics. I should’ve gone slower. Used smaller doses.”
Elaine stares at her feet. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”
“I didn’t touch you,” Holly says. “I mean I did, but only after you threw your arms around me. You begged me to hold you. You were terrified. Obviously, knowing what I know, I shouldn’t have let that happen. But your memories—at least about my intentions—are faulty. They’ve been affected by that medication, midazolam, that I had to give you.”
Elaine shakes her head slightly. “I’m done with all that,” she says barely above a whisper.
“With what?”
Elaine’s eyes bore into Holly’s. “My whole life I knew my uncle had done something terrible to me. But I suppressed those memories. Instead, I blamed myself. Hated myself. Numbed myself. No more. I’m not going to victim-shame myself any longer. I know what you did.”
“What your uncle did to you was beyond traumatic. Evil. And I can’t imagine how triggering it would be to wake up from the midazolam and find yourself in my arms. But nothing happened.” Holly tries to control her voice as she feels herself growing more frantic. “I swear to you.”
“I’ve been a fraud.” Elaine sounds as if she’s talking to herself now. “Selling myself as some champion for the victims of the opioid crisis when all along I was still secretly using myself.”
“What does that have to do with—”
Elaine’s chin snaps up, and her blazing eyes cut Holly off in mid-question. “I’m done being a hypocrite! I’ve dedicated my life to speaking up for victims. To being their voice. I can’t stay silent now. Not after how you took advantage of me when I was most vulnerable! I know what you did. Soon everyone else will, too.”
CHAPTER 9
Saturday, April 6
It’s the oldest and possibly smallest of Simon’s four homes—the others being in New York, Paris, and Mallorca (if he is to count his summer retreat)—but it’s still his favorite. The four-bedroom house is nestled right on Victoria Beach. And aside from the nuisance of being approached by random fans in swimwear, Simon never tires of lounging on the deck that’s merely yards from the breaking surf, especially at sunset with a vodka soda in hand.
This is his first protracted solo stay in his beach home. In the past, Simon would have always brought one or, just as often, multiple female houseguests. And if he couldn’t find anyone to invite, he would just hire professionals. The parties he used to throw here were legendary but, by necessity, extremely discreet. He’d even designed his own kink room, complete with wall-mounted restraints, padded tables, and a cage.
