ECSTASY

by KV Rose

  She fucking lied.

  “Mrs. Rushing.”

  My gut clenches. Cory’s last name. Of course.

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter, not done with this. She lied to me. And yeah, sure, I lie to her too but I’m the fucking kid. I shake my head, run my hand over the bun I threw my messy hair into. “This has got to be bad for business, huh, Mom? Always changing your name on the real estate billboards?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rushing,” Eli continues, ignoring me, “but last night I kept your daughter out too late.” He averts his eyes, making a good show of his bullshit apology. “That’s why we were running late. Congratulations on your marriage.”

  Mom looks from me to him warily as I hear someone call her name from behind us. “Zoe! Oh my gosh, Cory just told me!”

  “I’m sorry, Zara,” Mom whispers quickly, smoothing down her blouse and looking over my shoulder again at whoever the hell it is that’s rushing over here, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. “I wanted to tell you this morning.” Mom pastes a smile on her face. “I thought you’d be happy for me.” And then she pushes past me and I turn to see her get thrown into a bear hug by a large lady with curly highlighted hair and a glass of champagne in one hand.

  My cousin Jessica is still by the cake, and I see her grab a small plate and a fork. I wonder how long it’ll take her to dive into it. If she can hold off until after Mom makes this stupid fucking wedding announcement. Jessica is always the first in line to eat free food.

  Today, I kind of hope she destroys that fucking cake.

  It would serve my mother right.

  I want to get out of here.

  I don’t even know why I came in the first place.

  I turn to Eli, who is quiet at my side. People are hovering around the banquet table as waiters in white set down plates of scrambled eggs, French toast, and a bowl of what is probably spiked punch.

  “I’m ready to leave,” I announce. I look down at my ballet flats, eager to grab the pill I shoved in there before I left the bathroom.

  I glance up at Eli, into those green eyes, and I’m thinking back to last night. To him in the doorway. To me, waking up in his room.

  To how he set down a glass of water on the island, right in front of me, before he went upstairs to change.

  To how he remembered today was my mother’s fucking engagement party.

  He offers me a small smile, glancing over my head at the party. Music starts to play, Die for Me by Post Malone and wow. Just fucking wow.

  “Your mom is a bitch.”

  I stare at him, shocked.

  He shrugs. “That was shitty.”

  I take a deep breath. My irritation is climbing, and while I know maybe I should eat something or have some water, I stalk away from him and head straight to the enormous plastic punch bowl.

  Beside me, a waiter puts down a plate of deviled eggs.

  “There alcohol in this?” I ask the guy, pointing at the bowl.

  He glances at me, straightens, and smiles. “Yes. Coconut liqueur, spiced rum, and—”

  I don’t wait for him to finish before I grab a plastic cup from the stack of them and scoop it directly into the punch, filling my cup up to the brim. The waiter stares at me, dumbfounded, his eyes darting to the black scoop in the punch.

  Yeah. I don’t have time for a damn scoop.

  I tip the contents of the cup down my throat. It’s sickeningly sweet, but I can taste the alcohol in it, and I wipe my hand over my mouth when I finish, then go to dip it back in.

  But a hand on my arm stops me.

  “Hey, let’s get out of here,” Eli says softly in my ear.

  I try to shrug his arm off, but his grip tightens. I can feel the calluses on his hand. I think about that car on his computer screen. The model car beside his bed. I think about his hands on me. The water he tried to give me.

  “Alcohol is legal.”

  “I know. But don’t you want to get drunk somewhere else?”

  He lets my arm go. I spin around, clutching my cup in my hand.

  “We’ve got all day,” he says quietly. “Alex texted me. He left for the coast. He’ll probably be there all week, until the party next weekend.”

  All day.

  All week.

  My mouth goes dry. This is it. This week we can figure this out. He reaches his hand out to take my cup.

  I let him, and he sets it on the buffet table. Then he holds his hand out to me. “Let’s go?”

  I reach for his hand and nod. “Okay.” I hiccup, brushing my other hand over my lips to try and cover it. A blush creeps onto my cheeks and Eli laughs, his beautiful lips and the husky sound of his laughter distracting my thoughts for a second.

  He steps closer to me, tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Don’t be embarrassed.” He leans in close, kisses my mouth lightly then pulls back. “With me, you never need to be embarrassed.”

  As we cross the room together, hand-in-hand, Jessica gives me a little wave and I see she’s got icing on her fork and is shoving it into her mouth with no shame.

  I know she’s doing drugs, too, from shit my mom has told me, but it’s probably just pot, which might explain why she couldn’t get her fork away from the cake. Either way, I give her a wave back with my free hand, and once again, she looks at Eli and this time, she gives me a thumbs up.

  I laugh, shaking my head, and the way Eli’s fingers squeeze mine lightly, I know he saw it too.

  Mom and Cory are talking to one of her co-workers that I can’t remember the name of, and I’m about to walk out without a word. That, however, is apparently not acceptable, because Mom does a double take as she sees I’m headed out the door with Eli, and then, out of the corner of my eye, as we walk out, I see both Cory and her bustling over.

  The door closes behind us, shutting the noise and them out. We’re standing in a little hallway at the back of the restaurant, secluded and alone.

  “Should we wait for them?” Eli asks me, his warm hand still in mine.

  But before I can decide what to do, the door bursts open and Mom and Cory come pouring out, skidding to a stop in front of us.

  Cory’s sad brown eyes are wide, and he runs a hand over his thin hair. He’s wearing a golf shirt, pale pink like Mom’s shirt and the stupid cake, and I see his golden wedding band on his stubby finger.

  Mom surpasses him in looks but considering he’s a nuclear engineer—and he’s got the small little glasses on his face to prove it—I don’t think she minds much. It’s his money she wants to join with hers, not their hands in holy matrimony.

  “Where are you going?” she asks me, trying to keep her voice polite because Eli is by my side, still holding my hand. She catches sight of it and clears her throat, but before she can say another word, Eli interrupts.

  “Sorry, Ms. Rushing,” he glances at Cory who swallows nervously, “but Zara isn’t feeling well.”

  I want to twist around and glare at him because I don’t give a damn if my mom knows I’m bailing. In fact, I want her to know. That’s the whole fucking point. But if Eli’s lie will get us out of here faster, then fine.

  I twist my face into a grimace and clutch my stomach with my free hand, looking at Cory because he’s the weakest link. “Stomach bug.” I flash Mom a tight smile.

  My mom shoots daggers my way while Cory covers his mouth with his fist and coughs, then slides his hands back into his khaki pants, his little belly straining against the brown belt around his waist. He’s a little taller than Mom, which means he’s a lot shorter than me, and Eli, well Eli could fit three Corys into his frame.

  That thought is morbid enough to make me laugh—thanks, punch—and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand.

  I think Mom must assume I’m about to blow chunks because she takes a step back, her golden strappy sandals clicking on the floor. God forbid I vomit all over her at her wedding party.

  The thought is amusing.

  “Well, Zara,” Cory says, adjusting his glasses, “if you aren�
�t feeling well, then please do rest up and—”

  “No!” my mom protests, shaking her head and cutting off Cory’s words. “This is our wedding—”

  “When did you get married?” Eli asks politely, my hand still over my mouth to keep up the charade.

  Mom’s words die on her tongue as she turns to look at Eli, and it seems like she’s trying very hard to keep her expression polite. When she meets Eli’s green eyes, it becomes a little easier for her. I can see the way she’s affected by him. I am, too, and I imagine most women are.

  It’s probably why he gets so many girls without any effort at all.

  I think about him sleeping with Rihanna’s friend last night and I genuinely do feel queasy.

  “Yesterday,” my mom answers him with a tight smile, smoothing down her shirt again. And again, Cory adjusts his glasses. Their nervous tells.

  I squeeze Eli’s hand a little harder, and he returns the pressure, but doesn’t look at me.

  “Congratulations,” he offers, and he sounds sincere. Wow, he’s such a good bullshitter. “I’m just going to get Zara home, and I am sorry we have to leave early, Ms. Rushing.” He nods to Cory, correctly assuming his last name when he adds, “Mr. Rushing.”

  Cory looks mighty pleased with himself. “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well, Zara,” he says, then looks to my mom and puts a hand on her shoulder.

  My mother moves away from his touch and sighs, but she’s glaring at me. “Feel better, Zara.”

  Cory turns to go but Mom hangs back and then she says, “I’m sorry, Zara.” She looks up at Eli. “Take care of her,” she nearly whispers.

  Eli’s fingers tighten in mine. “Of course, Mrs. Rushing.”

  All I can manage is an eye roll.

  28

  Zara

  As soon as we get back inside Eli’s car, I turn to stare at him. “Take me for a drink now, please.”

  He laughs, reaching for his seatbelt. But before he puts it on, his phone rings through the Bluetooth in his car.

  I see a string of numbers flashing on the center screen, an area code I recognize as Raleigh.

  He presses a button on the steering wheel, answering the call with a quick glance toward me.

  “Dad,” he says, turning to gaze out the window. His tone is unreadable. I have no idea if he’s happy to hear from his dad or not.

  It doesn’t take long to find out.

  “Eli,” his dad breathes his name out like a sigh of relief. I stare at his clenched jaw, his white knuckles on the steering wheel.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “I sent a few texts,” his dad continues, sounding nervous. I thought he was a lawyer. I didn’t think lawyers got nervous.

  Eli still doesn’t respond.

  His dad sighs on the other end. A sigh I know too well, because I’ve heard it from my mother enough times to recognize just what it means. I’m tired of your shit but I’m your parent so I’m going to keep trying here.

  “I was just calling to remind you of your appointment tomorrow.”

  I glance at Eli. He’s still staring out the window. But finally, he says something. “Got it.”

  “It’s important you go, Eli, you’ve missed the last two and Dr. Shaw is—”

  “I said I got it.” Eli’s voice is quiet, as it always is, but it sounds almost venomous.

  I stare straight ahead, try to tune them out. Giving them some kind of privacy. I have the distinct feeling I shouldn’t be listening to this conversation.

  I look at the brick walls of Crate & Egg. I imagine my own mother inside, flaunting around with her new nuclear engineer husband, imagining their combined wealth and her temporary rush of happiness.

  We’re all addicted to something. Drugs just happen to be illegal.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Eli’s father asks, bringing me back to this car.

  “Goodbye, Dad.”

  The call ends.

  Eli doesn’t look at me.

  He puts the car in gear, and then drives off, turning the music up loud.

  Into the Dark by Point North fills the interior of the car and as we head toward my apartment.

  I’m not sure what he’s addicted to, but I have this strange feeling that if it were me, that might not be a good thing at all.

  29

  Zara

  I spend Sunday night curled up in bed, knocked out from two doses of NyQuil.

  Kylie came home sometime late last night. I heard her knocking on my door but rolled over and jammed a pillow over my head. I’m not ready to confront her on her bullshit.

  I didn’t hear from Eli after he dropped me off, apparently wanting to be alone after that phone call I probably shouldn’t have overheard.

  Monday and Tuesday pass in a blur, but a decent one. I didn’t bomb my philosophy exam after all. I made a nice, healthy “C.”

  Wednesday morning, I wake up to several missed calls from my mother. I don’t call her back, but she’s sent a few texts too, probably knowing I wouldn’t answer.

  Probably because she’s called all week, and I haven’t fucking answered.

  Mom: We need to talk.

  Mom: I’m sorry, Zara, it was a rushed thing. Let me explain.

  Mom: Zara Rose, if you don’t call me back, I will CUT OFF YOUR PHONE

  I laugh out loud at that one because it’s bullshit. If she cuts off my phone, then she can’t reach me at all. I ignore all her texts too, and then I see I’ve got one from Eli, and one from Alex.

  Alex has been at the coast with his parents, keeping me up to date every day. But I guess he’s back because he said, I miss you, baby. Are you coming to the beach with me this weekend?

  And Eli’s text says, Come this weekend. I won’t make it weird.

  My mouth turns dry.

  He won’t make it weird? What happened to “I like you a lot?” Does he expect me to go with Alex, and we’ll just act like nothing has happened? Is he bullshitting me? Is this a test? Why hasn’t he been in touch all week?

  I don’t reply to him.

  Instead, I sit up in bed and rub my temples, dreading my eight o’clock philosophy seminar. I’ve got an abnormal psych test tomorrow I really need to study for, although I really don’t want to.

  I don’t want to learn about why people are fucked up. I am one of those people, and I’ve realized the “why” doesn’t fucking matter.

  Knowing the root cause doesn’t change the disease where my mind is concerned.

  Knowing Alex’s dad is a cheater and that’s why he was such a dick to me doesn’t change the fact that he was a dick. Knowing that, according to Alex, Eli’s mom left him when he was a teenager doesn’t change the fact that he’s all messed up. Knowing I have daddy issues doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to fuck anyone who wants me because it makes me feel loved.

  I snatch my phone up from the bed and throw it across the room. It’s becoming a habit.

  Fuck this shit.

  I’m not going to class.

  I scrub a hand over my face, feeling really fucking low and debating going to Jax’s house. He’s the only person I know that might be down to have a party on a Wednesday morning but then again, he’s probably not up yet.

  And before I can decide if texting Eli back and telling him to meet me here so we can work this shit out or not is a good idea, my door creaks open and I tense, digging my nails into my palms.

  “Hi,” Kylie says, staring at me with her wide brown eyes. She’s dressed in a pink collared pajama shirt and matching pants, her glossy black hair sleek and straight over her shoulders, like she just flat ironed it but didn’t bother getting dressed yet.

  I don’t even know why she gets up so early. Her first class isn’t until ten. I want to ask her what the fuck she wants, and why the fuck she was talking to my boyfriend behind my back while pretending to hate him, but I don’t say any of that.

  It’s too early for that shit.

  “Hi,” I answer her, my voice groggy. I finished the res
t of the NyQuil last night. Mom is transferring money to my account Friday, so I’ll be able to get more then, but then again, maybe she won’t since I refuse to answer her calls.

  Guess I’ll have to get over myself and do that, in the interest of having money.

  I could just get a job but I don’t really want to. A wave of self-loathing washes over me as I look at Kylie, tiny and cute and put together even in her damn eighty-year-old grandma pajamas. She’s got her shit figured out. She’s going to pharmacy school. Ian is going to med school. They’ll have heaps of money in a few years and I’ll have, what?

  Probably even more self-loathing.

  She’ll forget about the girl she agreed to babysit and I’ll probably OD in Jax’s living room and ruin his life by racking him with guilt, too.

  “Are you okay?” Kylie asks in her soft voice, edging her way into my room with her hands clasped in front of her.

  I stare at her a second, my eyes narrowed. I think about telling her the truth for an entire minute: No, I’m not okay. I think I’m actually an addict again, but I refuse to go back to rehab. I think I want to fuck my ex’s best friend. I also want to get really fucking high right now, but my dealer is probably asleep and he’s the only person who might consider getting high with me on a Wednesday morning. Oh, and my mother got married for the fourth fucking time, in secret, and my father is doing God-knows-what on the other side of the country, so I’m just biding my time for his yearly Christmas card that he doesn’t even write anything in except his stupid, shitty name. And you’re a fucking liar and I want you to get the fuck out of my room.

  “Yes,” I lie to Kylie.

  She doesn’t buy it, I can tell in the way she squints her eyes just a fraction, but she, unlike me, isn’t rude, so she doesn’t say anything.

  She wrings her hands and I kind of want to break them.

  “You want to get dinner tonight?” Kylie asks me.

  No. For a long moment, I contemplate saying it. I contemplate telling her to go fuck herself. But instead, what comes out of my mouth is, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  I need to do something tonight and getting high probably isn’t ideal. My boundaries are all blurred and the schedule that I clung to in order to make sure I wasn’t really an addict is all fucked up. Maybe dinner with Kylie will be enlightening. Maybe I’ll find a way to absorb some of her perfection. Maybe I’ll scream at her and ask her why the fuck she’s talking to Alex.