But her arms felt nice as she rubbed his back. He closed his eyes against the throbbing pain and relaxed, spinning free.
“I hate you for doing this to me,” she hissed at him but he didn’t open his eyes. Nor move. Nor answer.
For a long time, he was happy just spinning. Still half drunk, all the poison was slowly beginning to leave his system. It was an ugly process and all Jim wanted was another splash of the toxic chemical, if only to ease his suffering. But oh, no, here she was. Definitely, no. He wondered what he’d done without any coherent thoughts getting through the pain. He whispered finally, “I know.”
Blessed sleep finally caressed him and his slumber removed him from all he’d done and was prepared to lose.
Hearing him in the bathroom, Kayla rushed to the bedroom door, stopping when she realized he was heaving his guts out. Gross. Fun. After a while, he stumbled out. He weaved and swayed, grabbing the air, aiming for the bed, but misjudging the distance and falling on his knees before the bottom dresser drawer, where he desperately searched inside it. His surprise and puzzlement were only exceeded by his pain.
Curling up in his bed, he began to moan, and he wasn’t the Jim Kayla admired and respected. He was pathetic to her in his smelly, sweaty boxer shorts and t-shirt.
Shivering with the pain that ruthlessly accompanied his hangover, Jim looked so helpless, like a streak of misery, yet he drew her to him.
Kayla couldn’t go to sleep until the sun began to come up. She fell into a troubled, dream-filled sleep that wasn’t restful. Waking with a start, she blinked and sat up. Empty bed. She squinted at the bathroom but it was empty too.
Turning around, she jumped when she saw Jim.
He was sitting on the floor on his butt with his back against the wall, and his knees up. His head rested on the wall and he smelled clean because he’d showered. That much both surprised and relieved her. Black sweats and a sweatshirt were all the clothes he wore, and his feet were bare.
She grabbed her phone. It was nine AM. He lifted his head, and his eyes landed on her. “What about church?” she asked, staring into her lap. She was unable to make eye contact with this new, tainted, ruined Jim.
“I already called in with the flu.”
“Right.” She snorted. Her eyes stayed down. Disappointed in him for lying, on this day of all days, to the church. Jim Zavarian. Pastor and Saint. Jim. Who revived his church after someone almost shot him. Who loved to lead his parishioners. Who freaked out about having sex as if it were murder. He worried no end about how it could affect his career.
Now? He outright lied. Passed out drunk and almost dead. Hung over. He preferred to make the bottles of booze his priority, instead of showing up at church for his loyal congregation. Had he done this before?
Often? How could she miss that? Did Kathy know?
No. If Kathy had any inclination about it, she would have told her.
“Are you hung over?”
“Yeah.” His head flopped forward and he stared downward.
“Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“Felt sick. When the dizziness hit, I just stayed there.”
“This is what? Day four? Of your? What do you call this? A binge? A bender?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“I don’t want to.”
She scowled and pushed off the covers. They sure needed a good washing, along with Kayla, right now. “Damn it. Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I haven’t heard from you in four days. Nothing. Not even a single text. I got worried. And then I found you like this. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you an incurable alcoholic? Do you do this often? Am I that stupid?”
He didn’t look up. “No, you’re not stupid. I’m sorry. No one’s ever worried about me before. I didn’t think…”
“Of me? Believe me, I know. You usually don’t.” She sniffed and tears filled her eyes and put pressure on her sinuses. “You made it sound like sex with me was one notch below demonic possession and all that time… you were doing this?”
Jim stayed quiet. She flung the covers back and dropped her feet down, fully ready to huff her way out of there. Maybe forever. And never let him hurt her or touch her or tempt her again with what she almost wanted from this man.
He was always wrong for her. So wrong. Not her type at all. The glasses? The infinite collection of books? The Bible quotes and the fact he was a freaking pastor. He had guilt complexes about normal sex. And now, she did too. He made her doubt herself and now she felt weird about sex. His mixed signals could literally change on a minute’s notice: first he didn’t want her and couldn’t do that with her, and then he had to have her and only her.
Whatever. She didn’t need or want that.
So enjoy your bottles, Pastor Jim.
But Jim did what he always did: he sent her a mixed signal. Jumping to his feet, he reached out and caught her just as she went past him. His arms wrapped around her front and he pulled her back to him. His head descended while his mouth, (thank goodness, he’d brushed his teeth), grazed her temple with a kiss. “Don’t leave me.”
She was weak and stupid over this man, so she wilted in his hold. Her body let his take hers and she gripped the hands that embraced her. “Why not? You’ll just lie to me and tell me this is nothing. That I’m the problem and the reason why you’re not pure or whatever.”
“No. No. You’re not. It’s all me. My problems. I told you… I had baggage. I just… didn’t know how to tell you about it.”
She pushed him off her. “Just one time, you better tell me everything or
