On the Rocks Read Online Free Page A

because when I woke from my narcotic-induced sleep I begged her to medicate me again so that I could go back to sleep forever. Grace had called my aunt Patrice, who had served as my de facto mother for my entire life, and told her everything so that she could begin to run damage control.
    “What time is it?” I asked when I woke up, my shoulder in a sling and still throbbing from the impact. So was my heart, but there were no painkillers for that.
    “It’s two-thirty. On Sunday. You’ve been asleep for the better part of twenty-four hours. You need to eat something,” Grace said as she smoothed the hair out of my face.
    “Have you been here the entire time?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
    “Basically. I did run out for a bit.” Grace placed a white box on the bed next to me and opened the top. Cupcakes. Since we were little, we solved problems and celebrated victories with cupcakes. I appreciated the gesture, but unless these things were spiked with Percocets I didn’t think they’d cure much this time. She removed one with colored sprinkles and peeled the paper back halfway as she handed it to me.
    “You have to eat something. The doctor said you can’t take the painkillers on an empty stomach. Please, for me. Eat one.”
    “So I wasn’t dreaming,” I said flatly. I was so empty and exhausted, I felt like I wouldn’t have the strength to get out of bed for weeks.
    Grace’s eyes welled as she gazed at me, but she didn’t say anything. What was there for her to say? In all our years of friendship, Grace had never been at a loss for words, and I had never found myself with either a busted engagement or a busted shoulder, let alone both at the same time, so there really is a first time for everything. I licked a small amount of vanilla frosting off the corner of the paper, and then handed the cupcake back to her.
    “I can’t eat anything.”
    “I’m so sorry, Abby. If I could do something to fix this, I would.”
    Before I could answer, my phone rang. Grace picked it up and checked the caller ID before handing it to me. “It’s your sister,” she said softly.
    “Let it go to voicemail.”
    “Abby, she’s probably worried sick. I’m sure your aunt called her. Talk to her.”
    I took the phone from her, preparing to try and explain to my little sister what just happened. I didn’t even know where I’d start. I didn’t know myself where or how any of this started—only how it ended.
    “Hi, Katie,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face just from the effort of talking to someone in the outside world. I realized this was the first of probably hundreds of times I was going to have to relive this for other people, and I wasn’t ready to hear the pain in her voice as she watched her big sister’s life fall apart on the Internet. She had idolized me for her entire life, always wearing my hand-me-down clothes, following me around after school, copying my hair, my makeup, my hobbies, the way little sisters who are only two years younger tend to do. It used to drive me crazy—copying me like she was some kind of miniature body-snatcher—and I remember wishing the day would come when she’d want to be an individual, not a little sister coming dangerously close to being a single white female–type stalker. I guess that day had finally come.
    “Abby! Guess what!” she shrieked, as if this was any normal day and not the day my world and shoulder were shattered. The tone of her voice told me that not only did she have no idea what had happened, she was in a very good mood. The wonders would apparently never cease. “Did you see my text message? I told you I needed to talk to you. Guess what?”
    “Katie, have you talked to Aunt Patrice today?” I asked. “Or seen my Facebook page?” It was becoming very clear that when she sent me a text saying she wanted to talk to me, it was not to offer her condolences. She was clueless. That must be nice.
    “What? No, why? I have news! You