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Caligo didn’t argue.
He turned his head toward the door, beyond which club life continued as normal. “Can you walk? I can’t carry you out of here.”
Yeah, being carried out of a nightclub by a seven-foot shadow monster might raise some questions I couldn’t answer. Coming so close to death had left me feeling both physically and emotionally vulnerable, though. “I know you can’t let people see you, but can you stay with me? I’d feel better knowing that you’re by my side, even if we can’t interact. I just need to walk out of here, get a cab, and go home.”
When Caligo nodded, I attempted to stand. My legs trembled the instant I put weight on them, forcing me to brace one hand against the cubicle wall as the floor tipped alarmingly beneath my feet. Caligo rose with me, his hands hovering close without touching, ready to catch me if I fell. It took two attempts and several shaky breaths, but eventually, I was upright—or near enough that I could pretend.
I got as far as unlocking the cubicle and starting to pull the door open before I remembered the packet in my pocket. The thought of it made my stomach turn. I fished it out with fingers that still didn’t quite work and emptied the remaining powder into the toilet. Some clung stubbornly to the plastic, forcing me to shake it until every trace fell into the water. Then I dropped the packet in after it and flushed, watching until everything had disappeared.
A glance over my shoulder after I left the cubicle revealed that the space previously filled by Caligo’s huge, shadowy form was now empty. Only the stain on the floor remained to suggest what might have happened in there.
The journey to the sinks was only a few feet, but I had to stop halfway and brace myself against the wall. My legs felt hollow, every step sending a tremor through them. The man washing his hands looked over, took in my sweat-soaked shirt and the death grip I had on the tiles, then looked away with the determined disinterest of someone who didn’t want whatever was wrong with me to become his problem. I’d probably have reacted the same way in his shoes.
I splashed cold water over my face and rinsed my mouth until the sour taste faded. The person staring back from the mirror didn’t look great. A gray pallor lay beneath the flush on my cheeks, and my eyes were glassy.
Getting back through the club felt like a test of endurance. Without the cushioning effect of the drugs and alcohol, the music and lights drilled into my skull. It was a shame Caligo hadn’t been able to remove the heroin and leave the alcohol. Except that it was thoughts like those that had gotten me to where I was—a pathetic shell of the man I used to be.
I kept one hand against the wall and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The exit sign seemed impossibly far away, but I reached it eventually. I’d never been so thankful for chilly night air against my damp skin, even when it raised goosebumps.
A taxi waited at the curb. I reached it and fumbled open the door.
“Where to?” the driver asked as I folded myself into the back seat. I gave him my address, stumbling over it badly enough that he had to ask me to repeat it. Then I dragged the door shut and sagged against the seat, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back.
“Rough night?” the driver asked as he started the engine.
I laughed, contemplating what he might say if I told him I’d nearly died. He’d probably think I was joking. “Not the best night I’ve ever had,” I said instead.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Rowan
Caligo was already at my house when I got there. I don’t know what treatment I’d expected from my shadow monster lover, but it certainly wasn’t for him to run me a bath, make me a cup of tea, and pick up my disgusting clothes once I’d stripped them off and climbed in. The steaming water felt so good it made me want to cry. The only issue was that after disappearing with my clothes, he hadn’t returned.
I wrestled with the quandary of whether calling him would make me seem too needy before deciding that nothing could be more pathetic than the sight of me on a toilet floor close to death. He hadn’t left me there, choosing to save me instead. Therefore, it was safe to assume he must still see something in me beyond my apparent need to self-destruct.
“Caligo,” I called. “Are you still here?”
He appeared almost immediately. “Where else would I be?”
“Can you come in here and keep me company?”
He did as I asked, taking a seat on the toilet.
“Thank you for running me a bath,” I said by way of a conversation-opener.
“Humans use them a lot when they are tired or emotionally overwrought, or simply not feeling very well.”
“They do,” I said, sliding deeper beneath the water.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment. “I guess soaking in hot water just feels good. It’s relaxing.”
“You didn’t tell me where you were going after leaving the man’s house.”
The note of reprimand in Caligo’s voice felt more like familiar territory. I could deal with people being pissed off at me. My father had been annoyed with me for most my life, and Tyler had certainly had his moments, even before he’d cheated on me.
“I was struggling with everything,” I admitted. “I couldn’t think beyond wanting the pain to go away. Finding out that Donald had nothing to do with my mother’s death left me feeling adrift. I’d pinned all my hopes on him being responsible. Coming to terms with the possibility of never knowing what happened to her hurts like you wouldn’t believe. I just wanted the pain to go away, and alcohol wasn’t doing a good enough job.”
