by AnonYMous
Me: First of all, I just wanted to see what went down. I won’t go again. And I do think Drew would pay attention to you any time you wanted him to. Clearly. I mean, he dropped everything for you the other night. Lastly, I don’t think Warren’s not sharing because he doesn’t like you. They’re just expensive and hard to get.
Katy, snorting: No they’re not. Warren gets whatever pills he wants, any time he wants them. Everyone wants to keep him happy because his product is so good. Your product too, I guess. But he won’t even share his sources.
Me: Wait, pills? Like plural?
Katy: Of course. You know Warren by now. He wouldn’t touch heroin or, you know, ACTUAL drugs. But Oxys, Percs, whatever you want, he can get them.
I thought about the other night, how I’d seen Warren pocket the Adderall but something else as well. Inwardly I started to panic, thinking about what else Warren could be taking, but I tried to be as casual as possible.
Me: Right. The other pills. Sure.
Katy: What I don’t get is that he knows I need them. And I hate begging. But I made our contacts, damn it. I don’t see why he gets to use them but I don’t. He says it muddies the waters, whatever that means.
The Addy had taken full effect by the time we made it to the coffee shop, and it was like Katy’s voice was a buzzing bee in my ear. I let her drone on until she seemed satisfied but I was no longer listening. I was thinking about Warren and that other bag of pills.
What else is he keeping from me?
March 13
I’m so upset but I don’t know who to be more mad at: me, Mr. Callahan, or Princeton.
Mr. Callahan told me after chemistry that he heard from his friends at Princeton that I didn’t get into the summer program. Not officially. I got wait-listed. I guess that’s still good. Out of all the people that apply they take only twenty, and twenty more go on the wait list. But that means there were twenty people who were better than me. More, maybe. And it means that unless someone drops out, I won’t be spending the summer with Warren.
It was the essay. I know it was. Sure, my grades slipped some for a while there, but not that much. Thanks to the Adderall, I’ve been keeping up okay again. But my grades from my last school and first quarter here were amazing, and Mr. Callahan would have given me a great recommendation, so the only thing it could be is the essay.
I know I didn’t do that great with it. I kind of left it to the last minute. But Mr. Callahan said it was fine. Shouldn’t he have known if it wasn’t? And if it wasn’t, shouldn’t he have helped me make it better? He just nodded his head and sent it in.
I’m so mad I could scream.
I’m home now. It’s lunchtime. I couldn’t face anyone in Science Club yet. Especially Warren. But I’ll have to tell them soon. Will they even still want me making product for them? Me, the girl who got wait-listed at Princeton?
The room is a freaking wreck. I didn’t see Emily at all last night. She must have sneaked in while I was sleeping and slept late. It looks like she couldn’t find something to wear, even though we have uniforms. Her clothes are everywhere. If I hadn’t seen this from her a few times before I would think we were robbed.
Whatever. If I’m going to deal with another afternoon of stupid Prescott and having to tell my boyfriend I’m not as smart as he is, basically, I’m going to need another Adderall. Warren said I could take more as long as I space them out. I usually wait until after school, but I’ll take another one now, and another later. I just can’t deal with this on my own.
March 14
Warren can be the sweetest sometimes.
When I got to the lab last night, he took one look at my face (yeah, I’d been crying. It started after dinner while I had a moment alone in my room and I couldn’t stop it) and asked Katy and Drew if they’d excuse themselves so we could talk. I told him between hiccups that I didn’t get in, all panicky and hyper because of all the Adderall in my system.
He told me that he was wait-listed his first year, which made me feel infinitely better even though that was three years ago, and that I’ll probably still get in anyway. He said a lot of people apply then realize they can’t give up their whole summer or can’t spend that much money.
I told him I feel stupid and not good enough and it makes me doubt I can even get into Harvard. Or anywhere, for that matter.
Then he did the most amazing thing. He scooped me up in his arms and set me on the counter and told me every single thing he likes about me. He told me I’m brilliant and beautiful and sexy and funny and sweet, and kissed me SO passionately in between every word he said. He made me feel like I’m all those things, if only to him, and that’s really all I need. He truly does believe those things about me. The best part was that he acted like he couldn’t get enough of me tonight, like he was drunk on me, like he’d do anything as long as I kept kissing him. And we totally took advantage of being alone in the lab. But I have to admit, even though I feel special every time with him, tonight was so different. I wondered briefly if that’s what it felt like to be a drug, and craved and needed all the time. I found myself wanting to be HIS drug.
His only drug.
Regardless, he definitely made me feel better about myself. If Warren loves me, that’s all that matters. Screw Princeton.
March 15
After the high of Warren wore off, I woke up this morning accepting Princeton’s decision but faced with the cold reality of it: I won’t be seeing Warren at all this summer, I’ll be spending it in misery with Dad and Isa instead, and I have no one to blame but myself.
Warren was extra wonderful today. He brought me coffee and walked me to all of my classes and told me I don’t have to tell Katy and Drew if I don’t want to. I took three Adderall again today, because it was really hard to focus on anything while I was so depressed about not getting into the program.
By the time I got to the lab tonight, I was a mess again. Probably shouldn’t have taken that extra Adderall because it seems to make me more anxious somehow when I’m upset, but at least I could get all my homework done.
Drew and Katy were just leaving, and judging by the looks on their faces and the speed with which they excused themselves, they had plans. Warren looked up from the chemicals he was stirring and shrugged, a cute smile on his lips.
Me: Well, maybe it will be more official after all?
Warren, not-so-subtly flirting: Or maybe there’s just something in the air in this lab.
Me: Yeah, noxious fumes.
Warren, laughing: Are you feeling okay?
Me: Not really. I’m so sad I won’t be with you over the summer. I can probably get over not getting into the program if I never get off the wait list. But I’ll miss you. And I do feel stupid. And I’ve felt anxious all day.
Warren hugged me and I felt better, but I was also wondering about what Katy had told me the other day, about how Warren could get anything I wanted, and if he was taking more than Adderall. I was scared to just straight-up ask him; sometimes direct isn’t always the best approach with him, but I thought maybe there was a chance I could lead him to telling me on his own.
Me: Does the Adderall make you feel sort of . . . jittery? Like you could have a panic attack but you never quite reach that level?
Warren: It never makes me feel anxious, but if you were already anxious . . . maybe it could do that.
Me: Huh. Well, I love being focused and having energy, but now I feel like I need something to calm me down, too. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?
Warren, studying me intensely: Well . . . maybe you do need something else. Okay. Promise me you won’t freak out?
Me: Uh, sure, I guess.
Warren looked at me for a long moment and then went to his overcoat, which was hanging on an old coatrack in the corner. When he came back to me, he had a bag of pills in his hand. I took them from him. At first glance I thought they were white, but they were actually just this side of yellow. One side said “10/325” on it, the other spelled out the answer to my ques
tion: PERCOCET.
Warren: Maybe these would help you more. Just to relax. Probably not when you’re in class. They sometimes make me drowsier if I’m already tired. But these would probably help you calm down when you’re upset.
Me: These are what you bought the other night? I saw you slip more than the Adderall into your pockets. (Warren nodded.) So . . . you take these too?
Warren: Sometimes, yeah. When I don’t want things to bother me. When I’m stressed or angry or . . . whatever. Like, if my parents call, I’ll definitely have one. It’s just peaceful, you know? Like how Addys make you feel like you can do anything? Percs make you feel like nothing can upset you. Takes the sting out.
I eyed the bag of pills for what seemed like an eternity. What he was saying they could do for me . . . that sounded exactly like what I needed. What I wanted. And he was TELLING me. He was being honest. He’d told me he used them completely on his own. He folded his hands around mine.
Warren: Take them, Bailey.
Me: Okay. Do you . . . do you want money for them?
Warren, with a soft laugh: No. No, not from you, baby.
I thanked him and pocketed the bag. When I got home, Emily was asleep. I turned her desk lamp off and slipped the bag of pills into my purse, with all of my money.
Warren was sweet to offer them to me. It was a sweet gesture, wasn’t it? He knows I need to feel calm right now. He knows how anxious I’ve been.
He also knows how much I need them. How tempted I’d be with them.
In most cases, giving someone something they need is a good thing. But . . . but maybe in this case, it’s the worst thing you could do for someone, and Warren had just done it to me. And what about his own habit? If he’s doing these, what else is he doing? Could it be that there’s more he’s not telling me?
I took the pills out again and memorized them, planning to do some research on them later. I held them in my hands for what felt like an hour, thinking about them, about Warren, about what they meant, about how I wanted to be calm for once.
I didn’t take one.
March 16
I tried not to take any Addys today because I didn’t want to feel so on edge. I thought maybe that would help me feel calmer, or at least more normal.
But by the time I got to third period I realized it actually had the opposite effect. I was way more jittery than normal, and I felt like my eyes were crossing or something. I couldn’t focus at all on the reading in English. Not like I just couldn’t concentrate, but like my eyes wouldn’t work correctly.
I felt right as rain, though, after I took one between classes and went to chemistry.
Mr. Callahan is disappointed that I didn’t get selected for the Princeton program, but he said he’d talk to someone at the school and see if he could pull some strings. I asked him why I wasn’t accepted, if maybe it was my essay. He said it might have been, but not for the reasons I thought. Turns out the selection committee probably gets tons of essays every year about wanting to make drugs that aren’t addictive. He said the opioid epidemic is so bad around here, it’s a common theme for hopeful young chemists.
Me: I’ve heard this area is seeing a lot of heroin addiction.
Mr. Callahan: Heroin, but prescription drugs too. The kind usually prescribed for pain treatment. Things like OxyContin and Percocet or Vicodin. Oxycodone, hydrocodone, morphine. You know. But then people get addicted and can’t stop.
Me, alarmed: So Percocets ARE really addictive?
Mr. Callahan: Oh, I know they are. All opioids are. Studies show it affects the body in more permanent ways than other drugs, so the body ends up craving more, and addiction happens faster.
Me: So . . . it’s more addictive than something like, say, meth?
Mr. Callahan: Well, everything like that is addictive, Bailey. One isn’t better than the other. Meth, for example . . . the users sometimes go through withdrawal or comedown for days. Users can hallucinate or get very depressed when they don’t have a supply, which makes them need more to get rid of the feeling. So, like I said. Neither is particularly better than the other. Are you worried about someone?
I looked at him, confused as to why he would assume that. I shook my head and, luckily, was quick enough to cover.
Me: I just feel silly for thinking I had an original idea, I guess, and I realized I don’t really know much about drug addiction. Thanks for talking to me about it.
Mr. Callahan: Of course. I’ll call my friend at Princeton tomorrow. See what he says.
I thanked him and got out of there, but honestly, I couldn’t stop replaying what he said over and over inside my head. Meth causes depression? Hallucinations?
And perhaps more important, considering what my boyfriend gave me last night, Percocet is highly addictive?
March 19
Well, the second fight with Warren is down in the books.
I don’t quite know what happened. What I do know is that when I went to the lab tonight, it was just us, and everything was going fine. Then I guess since he told me he takes Percocet, he’s super comfortable with taking them in front of me. Warren joked that he really needed to relax because the day had been such a pain in the ass, and he took a Perc out of his pocket and threw it back and panic sort of seized me. I was scared for him.
Me: You know those are really addictive.
Warren, actually rolling his eyes at me, which pissed me off to no end: They’re just Percocets, Bailey. It’s fine.
Me: Just like the Adderall?
Warren: I thought the Adderall was helping you.
Me: It is. But I tried not taking it, and I was a nervous wreck. Seriously. I felt weird.
Warren: Well, yeah. You have to go off slowly. It’s medication. Come on. Plus, you’ve been sort of a mess for a while now.
Me, stunned and feeling betrayed: I’ve been a mess?
Warren: Since Christmas. At least.
Me: Well, I’m sorry I can’t do all of this effortlessly like you. I’m sorry I have to study and sleep and go to classes.
Warren: Hey, this isn’t my fault. I’m trying to help you. I help you study, I do most of the work in this lab, I gave you the Addys to help you focus. What else do you want from me?
Me: How many of the Percocet do you take a day, anyway?
Warren: Don’t try to turn this around now. You’re angry at me because this is easier for me than it is you.
Me, ignoring him: Those are opioids, you know. Addiction to those leads to heroin.
Warren, with a shocked laugh: Been on the Wikipedia page, Bailey? Suddenly you think you know everything? And do you actually think I’ll get addicted to heroin after what happened to my brother? You think I’m that stupid?
Me: Well, how much do you use? I bet your brother didn’t think he’d get addicted either.
That was it. I’d crossed a line. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Warren, it’s that you can’t talk about his brother that way, even if what you’re saying is true. Warren’s pretty blue eyes turned to ice.
Warren: Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I’m fine, Bailey. I don’t take that many. I’m not addicted. It just helps me relax sometimes.
Me: I don’t see how it’s not my business, since I love you and you love me. Isn’t that what relationships are about? (He didn’t say anything to that, so I went on.) So you think you could stop taking them and it would be fine?
Warren: I know I could. Here. Take them. Take the whole damn bag.
He put on his coat and reached into the pocket, removing a bag full of yellow pills. He threw the bag at me and I barely caught them before they hit me in the chest.
Me: You don’t have to. . . . I’m sorry.
Warren: No, let me prove it to you, since you obviously don’t trust me.
Me: That’s not how I meant it.
Warren: Whatever, Bailey. Do me a favor and finish up here tonight. I’m done.
Me: No. Warren, don’t go. I’m sorry. Please.
Warren:
I’m just going home. To be sober. But if you don’t trust me, ask your roommate for stalking tips. She always seems to know where to find me.
Because I was all alone, I didn’t finish up work at the lab until one in the morning. When I got home, Emily was still up, and I must have looked like hell because she immediately asked if I’d fought with Warren. I couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew that we had. She told me she was sorry, but she was also glad I was finally seeing this side of him.
And the thing is, she sounded genuinely worried for me, and . . . kind. I mean, if you can possibly believe that someone would want you to think of your boyfriend as a bad person and that would be kind, but it threw me for a loop. Especially since the last time we really talked was a fight.
I thanked her for her concern but swore to her that Warren treats me well, although I have to admit it was more trying to convince myself than her. I think Warren has good intentions. I think he truly wants to help me. But I can’t help wondering if he’s really helping me at all.
I fell asleep with my uniform still on, most of my homework undone.
March 20
Warren wasn’t waiting for me before class today, although that could have been because I was so late I didn’t even have time for breakfast. And honestly, I didn’t have time to shower, either. Emily was just as late. She stayed up even later than I did last night. It’s gross, but I was kind of lucky I was still in my uniform. I sprayed on extra perfume so I wouldn’t smell like BO (or chemicals) and that was all there was time for.
But during first period, a page showed up at the door with a note asking me to come to the principal’s office.
I immediately panicked, thinking perhaps someone had found out about Science Club or the Addys or even me staying the night with Warren. Then I thought maybe Mr. Callahan’s call to Princeton actually did some good, and got excited.