“Yo.”

“Where’s Lauren?” I ask without preamble, pacing back and forth across my bedroom floor.

“Hang on.” The phone momentarily breaks before I hear, “Eve?”

“Yeah, babe?” I hear her soft voice in the background.

“Where’s Lauren?”

A muffled response.

The phone crackles before Vincent’s voice comes back on the line, clear as day. “You okay? Where are you right now, Slade?” There is an undercurrent of worry in Vincent’s voice.

“Home,” I grunt, my heart pounding.

“I’m stopping over.”

“Like hell you are. Where. The fuck. Is Lauren?” I can feel my muscles vibrate.

“We don’t know … but you sound like shit. Let me just come over and—”

I hang up the phone and wash up in record time, riding my bike over to the Mile. Lauren cannot leave my home. No fucking way. She owes me more time. She swore she’d be here for two weeks, and she still has days left. I expect her to spend them in my bed with me. I’ll convince her to come back. She has to.

I park right in front of the main entrance, not bothering to park in the lot. Sprinting through the white marble lobby, I jump in the elevator. Luckily, I go directly up to her floor. Strutting down the hall, I get to her room and knock.

The door swings open.

“Hey—” She pauses in shock.

Clearly, she didn’t think I was the one knocking. I step inside.

“Where the hell did you go?” My voice comes out louder and angrier than I intended, but fuck that shit. I’m mad. How dare she just get up and run. We’ve got a few days left.

“You’ve got to calm down, Slade.” Her voice quivers.

“Calm down? I’m not going to calm down when you ran out on me in the middle of the night after making me wild for you!” I yell, pivoting left and slamming my fist into the drywall.

She jumps, and I turn back toward her, taking a step closer. I can’t control this. My feelings are bigger than I am. She looks so scared, like I’m a goddamn menace.

I swallow, shaking my head. She’s misunderstanding. I need to get her to understand.

“Just wait. I’m not going to hurt you, Lauren—”

“Stay away from me,” she pants, backing up.

Her fear riles me up. How dare she be afraid of me. I’d never hurt her!

She continues moving away.

“Just—fucking—stop running from me!”

Her head shakes side to side, and then she spins around, running into the bathroom and shutting the door with a slam.

I bang against the door, screaming, “Open up! Open the fucking door!”

“Get out, Slade! I’m leaving this place. I refuse to stay here near you,” she yells.

I walk up and down the small hotel room, fury boiling in my veins. I just need some benzos. That’ll calm me down. I feel in my pockets, but they’re empty. In my anger, I left without them.

You’re a junkie, my conscience chimes. You’re fucked up.