Addicted to Mr. Parks (The Park #2)

  Addicted to Mr. Parks

  The Park Series, Book Two

  By Lilly James

  Addicted To Mr. Parks

  Copyright © 2015 by Lilly James. All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: November 2015

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-368-7

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-368-9

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Theo,

  don’t just follow your dreams,

  chase them.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter One

  I didn’t think my life could sink any lower after being exposed as an alcoholic in front of a man I was—for the first time in my life—gaining feelings for. However, it had. Considerably.

  It was Tuesday morning, and I was standing outside my parents’ flat with two holdalls and a large broken suitcase. The suitcase had unzipped as I was carrying it up the flights of stairs and tipped out all my clothes and underwear. I screamed at the top of my lungs out of frustration, then told a passerby to fuck off when he tried to help me.

  Steph had kicked me out, and I had nowhere else to go. Sure, I had savings that could get me a deposit for a flat, but how could I look for a place to live in one day? I thought if I stayed at my parents’ for a couple of nights until I got sorted, it wouldn’t be so bad. However, just standing outside the flat drugged me up to the maximum with anxiety. I had to move back into my childhood home that granted me so many bad memories that I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope with it all.

  My shoulders sagged before I brought my knuckles up to the door. Several moments passed until I found the courage to knock, then I heard a slight ruckus from inside.

  “Who is it?” my dad called aggressively.

  I closed my eyes before calling, “It’s me. Evey.” He didn’t reply right away, which instantly caused my stomach to tense and my mind to race with a thousand accusations.

  “Evey? Two seconds, kid. Let me get the key.”

  I dropped my heavy bags to my sides and wobbled an impatient knee. My parents were doing something behind the door, I could hear as much, so I knocked again to startle them. “Open up, Dad.”

  “I’m coming,” he insisted, unlocking and pulling the door open. I was met by sheepish eyes and smile. Then his focus fell straight onto the bags I had beside my feet. “You bringing your ma old clothes, Evey? You’re a good kid.”

  He thought I was bringing my mother old clothes of mine? I wouldn’t have even given my mother an old snot rag, never mind my old clothes.

  “No, Dad, I…” I couldn’t bring myself to spit out the words. How the fuck did I end up back at my parents’ house? I hadn’t lived there since I was sixteen, and I didn’t want to ask them for anything, but it looked like I had no other option. “I need a place to crash for a few days. Steph and I had an argument.” My words came out rushed. If I said them quickly, they would soon enough disappear and I could act like I never said them to begin with.

  “Sure. You don’t have to ask, kid. Let me help you. Your ma’s asleep, but I bet she’ll be happy to know you’re coming to stay.” He let go of the door, rushed to pick up my bags, and struggled to take them inside. My dad was scrawny, pale, and too skinny, and my bags probably weighed more than him. He dragged them through the worn-out hallway and into the bedroom that used to be mine. I stopped outside the door, staring into the pale pink room with my heart pounding. I used to be terrified of my bedroom but also terrified to leave it. It was where I was most confined to as a child. Where I was told to stay for more than twenty-four hours at a time most days. I saw it as a punishment room, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. My parents only sent me there so they could take drugs in peace and have friends around on benders without me getting in the way. I would go hours without being allowed to use the toilet. I can still feel the pains in my stomach from holding it in for so long because I was terrified of wetting myself in case of a beating. I was scared of my bedroom, then scared to go back into the rest of the house when my parents told me it was okay to do so. There was always a motive to why my mother would ask me to come out of my room, and it scared me. My father had never struck me, never laid a finger on me, but he allowed my mother to treat me that way, so in my eyes he was just as bad.

  “Evey?” my dad pressed, studying my demeanour. I straightened out my back, put on one of my brave smiles, and walked into the bedroom. Thousands of images flashed through my mind when I entered, but I scrunched my eyes shut and pleaded for them to go away.

  The room smelt of damp and was freezing cold like the rest of the flat. My single bed with a dirty old duvet and no sheets was still in the room with an old wardrobe that was falling apart. That was it. I was mortified by my surroundings. Mortified that I had to sleep in a shithole bed for the next couple of days until I sorted myself out. Suddenly the streets never seemed so welcome.

  “I’ve brought my own bedsheets, anyway,” I told my dad, who was scratching his long, shaggy hair and looking at the bed, embarrassed.

  “Shall I leave you to unpack?” he said.

  “I won’t be unpacking. I won’t be here for long. I just need a minute.”

  It took a second for it to sink into my dad’s head that I wanted to be alone. “Do you want to talk?” He knew details and information was something I didn’t do. I shook my head and sank down onto the bed as he nodded and left the room.

  Jesus Christ. What the hell am I thinking?

  Running my hands through my hair and down my face, I felt worthless. Maybe abandoned? I mean, I get why Steph kicked me out. She had been fighting for me to stay sober most of my life and I constantly threw her efforts back in her face. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though. Because fuck, it stung that I lost my best friend. But with Parks, I completely failed to understand his struggle. The distress in his eyes slowly turning to disgust. The shock in his voice which evaporated and switched to anger, like I di
sgraced him. Why?

  Understanding a man like Parks was hard enough, so when he threw me that curveball, it smacked me head-on and sent me falling to my arse. I didn’t want to get to know him at first. I wanted him to leave me the hell alone. Although I was telling him no, the more I said it, the weaker my voice became. He was persuasive, seductive, and hot as hell, and the more I saw of him, the more I felt trapped under his spell. He was weakening me with feelings I needed to prevent and keep locked away. He could make my body spiral into the depths of the unknown and never want to be found again. Not only by the way he entranced me with those dirty words he would speak into my ear, or the way his vivid green eyes would capture me and hold me hostage. Parks had many talents that would saturate a woman’s knickers, but he also had the most frustrating attitude. I wanted to kill him at times, wanted to strangle the bastard when he wouldn’t leave me alone. I wanted to claw at him, scream until my face went blue. Nevertheless, I wanted him to fuck me so hard, I would forget my own name and never call mercy. I wanted his pretty head between my thighs until he couldn’t breathe from the squeezing of my legs.

  Now, his face, his sex, his eyes, wasn’t the problem. The problem was words. My words. Words I said to him after hours of incredible sex. Hours of letting him hold me in his arms and telling him he’d become my safe place. I’d never had a safe place, and as fast as I had gained one with him, it was taken away from me.

  I took the ruby gemstone Parks gave me out of my pocket and stared at it for longer that I should have. “Fiery, captivating, gives me strength in times of conflict,” he said.

  I scoffed. Strength? I had none.

  Suddenly brewing with rage, I threw it across the room. It cracked the bedroom window and bounced back down onto the floor.

  Fuck him. I didn’t need a safe place.

  What I needed was a bottle of something that could make me forget what day it was.

  Chapter Two

  Seconds after the window cracked, my dad knocked my bedroom door. “You okay?” he asked as he peered in.

  “Fine.” I swiped at a tear quickly, then wrapped my arms around myself. “Just cold. Can you put the heating on?”

  “It’s April, kid, not December.”

  The flat was freezing, and I knew why. “You have no gas, do you?”

  The embarrassed shake of his head was enough to prove me right. I reached into my pocket and threw him thirty quid. “Go and get some gas, Dad. Jesus. Mum still in bed?”

  He stuffed the money in his jeans pocket. “Yeah, she’s not well. Best not disturb her.”

  I knew he was lying. “Does she know I’m here?”

  “Not yet.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Slumping onto the bed after I’d changed the sheets, I pulled out a bottle of vodka I had stashed in my suitcase and placed it beside me. I stared at it, willing myself to pour it away. Pleading with myself not to drink it. I didn’t need it. Did I? However, the bottle got the better of me. Alcohol won every time. I thought I was in control of myself, but I wasn’t. I was being controlled by an addiction I couldn’t fight.

  I unscrewed the lid and took my first swig. It burnt my lips and numbed my throat, but it helped numb the pain of feelings. I was stupid to ever say what I did to Parks. I opened up to him slightly and he abandoned me just like he said he wouldn’t. It was the dumbest thing to have ever done. Thoughts of him burned an empty hole inside me that needed filling, and I knew exactly what to fill it with.

  Alcohol.

  ***

  My smartphone rang, waking me up after I’d drunk myself to sleep. I’d vaguely heard it ringing in my sleep, but I didn’t have the willpower to wake up before. I fumbled around for it, finding it hard to open my eyes.

  “Hello.” My voice was hoarse. I had no energy whatsoever.

  “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Evey? Where are you?”

  Shit. It was Carla. Her monotonous voice sent a spike of pain to my head, making me clutch at my temple. “I’m sick.” I put on a sick voice to accompany my words and coughed pathetically.

  “Didn’t you think to inform Melisa?”

  “I’ve just woken up. Sorry.” I wasn’t. And I hated that I’d said it.

  “You’re walking on a very thin line, Evey. You knew full well Clarke needed you this week for his temp.”

  “I won’t be in for the rest of the week. I feel really bad.” I closed my eyes, waiting for her to fire me.

  “You can take one week. I want to see you here Monday morning. Otherwise, you’re out.”

  Jesus. Carla giving me another chance was unheard of. She must have had dick that morning.

  Pulling on a grey jumper over my pyjamas, I walked into the living room and saw my mum on the couch wearing a puffer coat. She looked freezing as she watched Jeremy Kyle.

  “Mum?” I inquired. “If you’re cold, put the damn heating on.”

  She started coughing but made no attempt to turn and acknowledge me. “Your Dad told me you were crashing for a few days. You better be paying your way.”

  I wrapped my jumper around myself and took the sofa opposite her, choosing not to sit next to her. “Yes, Mum. I wouldn’t expect you to take me in out of the kindness of your cold heart, would I? Besides, I gave Dad money for gas this morning, so why isn’t the heating on?”

  She shrugged, trying to ignore my glare. “It’s all gone.”

  “You used thirty quid in one day?”

  Her answer was snappy. “They took charges from us for debt!”

  I rolled my eyes. It was typical they were in debt. They always were.

  “So,” she began, siting back comfortably and lighting up a cigarette, “why’s Steph kicked you out?” Of course she didn’t know Steph had actually kicked me out, but she was trying to get information out of me and gloating whilst doing it.

  My eyes shifted to the TV. “We had an argument.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured with the cigarette between her dry, chapped lips. “And you had nowhere else to go? Wasn’t Cheryl good enough for you this time?”

  I couldn’t look at her when she spoke, because she would chew on the inside of her mouth or continuously lick her lips, and it drove me nuts. “I think Cheryl’s helped me enough, don’t you?”

  “Hmm.” She blew out smoke and took another drag. “Snobby cow.”

  I pushed to my feet and headed to the kitchen. “Mum, do not slag off Cheryl in front of me.”

  She called behind me as I turned. “Because Cheryl is the perfect role model in your eyes, isn’t she? Well, she didn’t do a fucking good job with you, did she?”

  “She did the best for me, which is more that I can say for you.”

  She ignored that. She knew I was right, but she would never admit to it.

  I opened up the cupboards to find two tins of beans and a packet of rice. The fridge was no better. They had no milk, no dairy, nothing. I slammed the fridge door, knowing I would be the mug who was about to go food shopping. “You have no food. What the hell do you live on?” I scolded her, marching my way back into the living room.

  “I just told you,” she barked. “I ain’t got no money!”

  Whilst I studied her small frame, I noticed red scratches on her skin. They looked like scabs she’d been picking at. I used to tell her all the time to stop picking her skin, but it was another one of her disgusting habits.

  “You get benefits! What do you do with it all?”

  My mum shrugged, outing her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Why ain’t you in work?” She scratched her arm over her coat as she spoke, so I gritted my teeth because it grated on me.

  “Nothing to do with you.”

  “No? Well, seeing as you think you’re so fucking perfect, it don’t seem like perfect to me. You’re back home to your ma and old man after nine years. I smell a rat.”

  My scoff was meant to offend. “I’m surprised you can smell anything after years of snorting cocaine.”

  Her lau
ghed was laced with cruel humour. “I gotta give it to you, Evey, you’re such a bitch.”

  I ignored her remark because if I bit, I wouldn’t have stopped. “Don’t worry, I won’t be here for long.”

  “Where you going?” my mum called as I turned on my heel and made for my room.

  “Swimming. Then Tesco.” Quickly finding my swimming costume amongst a few other clothes, I shoved it into a bag along with a towel and made for the front door.

  “Get me some cigarettes while you’re out, Evey.”

  Chapter Three

  Making my way into the WParks Hotel made me feel strange all of a sudden. I’d been swimming there for almost a year, but seeing as I knew the owner and fucked him, it made the vibes extremely different.

  I thought about calling Parks, even pulled out my smartphone to dial. Whether it was to explain my actions or ask him for an explanation of his, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both. In the heat of the moment, I looked for his number in my phone and called him. My heart fluttered as I heard the first ring, and the second, and the third, until it went straight to voice mail.

  “Mr. Parks—leave a message.” His smooth, breathy American accent pored like liquid into my eardrums and remained embedded to ensure I wouldn’t forget it.

  Why did I think he would answer my calls, anyway? Of course he wouldn’t. He was a self-centred arsehole. I could have kicked myself for calling him, but it was already done. At least he would see a missed call from me on his phone, so would that made him think about me at all? Think about the sex? About my punishments? About our last embrace before he left?

  No. Of course he wouldn’t. He was probably already fucking another woman and too busy to answer my calls. The heat of anger washed over me like a tsunami. I needed a drink to stop myself from thinking and pronto.

  I skipped my swim and made my way to Tesco, where I purchased more vodka for myself and did some food shopping for my parents.