Like Lana

by Danielle Leonard

  LANA: I don’t want to go home. My mom will hide my phone from me. She’s so annoying trying to figure out what’s going on in my life. I worry she will start snooping and read my texts. I wd die!!

  DEMIT: K. Go to my house. It’s empty. Nobody will be home until at least 4. There’s a key in the garage under the stack of flower pots.

  LANA: Really? That would be awesome. U sure????

  DEMIT: Of course. Go sleep in my bed. I’ll be home around 3. Get better. And stop worrying so much!!!

  LANA: I’ll stop worrying once I find out what happened with Stu and when Alysa stops begging me for pills. Things are very strange with her. I think she’s losing her mind

  I regret the text the second I hit send. Completely forgot that Demit’s father has gone crazy. Groaning, I consider sending an apology. But what would I text? Oops, I forgot your dad is a lunatic, too. I’m sure he’s one of the good lunatics out there. The damage is done. Just let it ride.

  DEMIT: Yeah, she’s crazy all right. No doubt. I’ll talk to her later today. Try to reason with her about the stupid pills. I wouldn’t worry about Stu. It’s not your problem. Remember what he did to you. Maybe he deserves what he got. I know that sounds mean, but so be it. Forget about him. U have enough to worry about.

  Setting the phone on the cot beside me, I lie back down and close my eyes. It’s hard not to think about Stu. And Fitz, for that matter. Two ex-boyfriends. Both responsible for doing horrible things to me. One is dead, the other in a coma. Both seem to have overdosed on something. I don’t want to connect anymore dots. Nobody wanted them dead more than I did, except maybe one person. But Demit would never do something like that. Would he?

  Demit had access to drugs. He knew that they’d both hurt me in one way or another. I remember the look on his face when I got in the car Saturday night. The accusations. Could he have been so jealous and angry that he visited Stu later that night? Somehow put drugs in his drink? Cut him with a knife? I shake my head. It’s too implausible. Unless he used the gun? Forced them to do what he demanded. I bend my knees into my chest. Bile is rising from my nauseous stomach. I force it back down, and let myself fall asleep.

  When I wake up, another hour has passed. This time, my head is no longer aching so I rise from the cot and grab my phone. It’s fully charged now. Awesome. I quickly review the last few texts from Alysa.

  ALYSA: I hear you’re sick. Passed out or something. That sucks. Have u talked to Demit? Need the pills asap

  ALYSA: U still in the school? We need to talk. Need the pills. Dying here.

  ALYSA: Forget it. I’m meeting Demit later today. You’re off the hook for now.

  ALYSA: Meeting the cop later today I think. Hmmmm. Better make sure Demit knows to bring the pills. Don’t want me to tell cops about your blog do u?

  LANA: Go to hell

  I drop the phone in my bag. So much for not giving into the hate, but she fills me with such fury. Making her ridiculous demands. Acting like she owns me. I’ll let Demit talk to her. At least then he’ll get an idea of what kind of psychopath I’m dealing with. I need to stop worrying. That’s one thing Demit said that I can fully agree with. At least for a couple hours. I sign out of school and wave goodbye to the secretary. She asks if I have a ride home. I reply yes and walk out the door.

  ***

  I toss and turn in Demit’s bed for about an hour, then give up on trying to sleep. The painkillers I’d found in his bathroom have started to kick in now, anyways, and I feel almost normal. Wishing I’d brought my laptop, I look at my website from my phone. There are seventeen comments on my last blog post. I decide to read them later. It’s very likely I will get Demit to shut everything down before the end of today, so why bother reading them? Tapping on my messages, I finally read Mom’s texts.

  MOM: What’s going on? I got a phone call that ur sick. Do you need me to drive u home? At work now.

  MOM: Still waiting to hear back from you. Assuming u r fine now?

  MOM: If ur going home, bought lots of fresh fruit. Have an orange! New knife is still in package. I think on front hall desk. Text me pls!!

  LANA: I’m fine. Will b home later this aft. Don’t worry.

  Walking downstairs into Demit’s kitchen, I realize I’m starving. I open the refrigerator and pull out a carton of orange juice and a jar of jam. I feel like having a peanut butter and jam sandwich. After opening a few cupboards I find everything I need to make it. Setting it on a white plate, I notice a serrated knife on the counter that I use to slice the sandwich in half. Holding it in the air, I stare at it for a few seconds after using it. A door seems to open inside my head, letting in a whiff of understanding. Dropping the knife, I pull out my phone and read Mom’s text again.

  The paring knife is still missing, that’s why she replaced it. Trying to remember when they first started blaming each other for its disappearance, I think it was the Saturday morning. Alysa had been in my kitchen the night before. And Demit? I suppose he could have stolen it, too. A few days earlier. If anyone took the knife, it was definitely gone before Saturday night. Brought to Stu’s party?

  A flash of red comes to me. Alysa’s sleeve, soaked in blood when I grabbed her forearm. Did she cut herself with a knife? The same knife that was used to cut Stu? I slam my fist on the counter. I’m thinking like a crazy person. How would she ever cut Stu? He’s twice her size. I wish I’d asked Officer Maloney about the cut. Where it was. How big a cut was it? What if he cut himself? But that makes no sense either. Why would he do something like that? The questions are rushing in like waves, crashing into my brain, but leading nowhere other than a raging sea of confusion. Shut up. I try to silence them as I eat my sandwich. My phone dings. A new text from Demit.

  DEMIT: Are you awake?

  LANA: Yep. Eating a sandwich.

  DEMIT: ok. Got news on Stu.

  LANA: Yeah? What is it?

  DEMIT: He’s dead.

  I read the words again. Unable to believe them. Dead? A cold draft has suddenly invaded my body. I drop to the floor and wrap my shivering arms around my shins, tucking my head into my knees. This can’t be happening. I feel responsible. As though all the horrible things that have been happening to me have somehow been projected onto all those around me. Who will die next, I wonder morbidly. And, how soon before the cops decide to charge me with murder?

  LANA: I can’t believe it.

  DEMIT: I know. Crazy. I’ll be home soon. Am meeting Alysa after school to talk. K?

  LANA: K

  I feel helpless. Like somehow, I’ve played a role in this horrible outcome and yet, there’s nothing I can do to make it all stop. I notice a desktop computer in the living room through the kitchen doorway. Walking to it, I move the mouse and watch the screen light up. I can write one final blog post. Not sure what I’ll write, but decide to sit down, place fingers on the keyboard and see if anything comes.

  October 28, 2013

  The End is Near

  Two people are dead and, for the record, I didn’t do it. You know that saying too close for comfort? Well, this is one of those times when a meaningless saying suddenly makes complete sense. My life has gotten messy. Scary frigging outta control messy.

  I keep running the same questions through my head. How did this happen? And why am I in the middle of it? If this is the bad dream I wish it was, then now would be an ideal time for me to wake up. (Cue the arm pinch... ouch.)

  I’m scouring my mind to connect the dots. Struggling to even find the dots. All I wanted was to be myself. To finally stop caring about what other people wanted of me.

  And just. Be. Me.

  When I started this blog, I promised to tell my story. At that time, I’d wanted revenge. Yah, I admit it. I was angry. Bad things were happening to me, so why not want bad things to happen to all the people who were out to ruin my life? Now all I want is my happy ending. I gave up the need for revenge a long time ago.

  Stupid me. Thinking if I’d learned to be myself, everything else would fal
l into place. But no. The truer lesson is that life doesn’t work out the way we want it. No matter how hard I tried to rewrite my story, I couldn’t do it. There are too many twists, characters, and plot lines. I’ve lost control. Maybe I never had any in the first place.

  This story is no longer just about me. And it sure as hell isn’t written by me. There’s a larger hand at play. Everything is driving toward a horrible tragic conclusion. So I’m making this blog post very simple. One request to the hands at play. If you are reading this, please let no one else die.

  Chapter 21

  Cuts Like a Knife

  Demit hasn’t come home yet and I haven’t received a text from him since he told me about Stu’s death. I feel paralyzed. Like I can’t go home and I can’t go to school. I’m afraid to walk anywhere for fear the police are looking for me. I’m hanging on to a crazy hope that Alysa didn’t tell the cops anything about me since she knew she would be meeting Demit after school. Surely, she can, at least, wait to see if he would supply her more drugs. Because that’s what all this is about for her, isn’t it?

  I text Demit for the fifth time in the past hour.

  Where r u?

  He finally responds this time.

  DEMIT: In car with Alysa and Sarah. Going to her place now. Things were getting too heated at school and a teacher was starting to walk over. So we took off.

  LANA: What? Don’t go with her! She’s crazy.

  DEMIT: LOL. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself. Just stay in my room. My mom won’t even know ur there. C u soon.

  My nerves are taut with tension and fear. It’s ridiculous that I’m fearful for Demit. What could she possibly do to him? My stomach feels like a snow globe, its contents shaken and unsettled. I run to the bathroom and throw up the peanut butter sandwich that I’d eaten only an hour ago. My gut is warning me that Alysa has been behind Fitz and Stu’s death. And, quite likely, Demit may be her next victim. After washing my mouth out with tap water, I go upstairs to Demit’s bedroom and look for his gun. He’d once pointed out that he hid it in the bottom desk drawer. I open it and lift a small stack of books onto the floor. Reaching my hand to the back, I feel a cold handle. Got it. Stuff it in the back of my pants like they do in the movies, and head to Alysa’s house.

  I decide to borrow Demit’s bike because the walk would take too long. Something tells me I need to get there quickly, even as my more practical voice accuses me of being the biggest lunatic of them all. My phone dings as I sit on the bike seat. I quickly look at it. A text from my mom.

  A policewoman is here looking for you. Where r u?

  My chest tightens. Alysa must have told them something. Why else would they want to ask me more questions? I need to find out the truth before it’s too late. Visions of me in an orange prison suit parade through my mind. My life is over.

  I hear Alysa and Demit arguing as I ride up the driveway of her house and dismount from the bike. Leaning it against the side of the house, I quietly step toward the front door which is wide open. Now that I’ve arrived, I’m not sure what to do. I edge along the house until I’m just outside the front entranceway and listen.

  “There’s no deal here!” Demit is yelling now.

  “You’d rather your girlfriend go to jail? Is that what you’re saying?” Alysa cries back. “Just get me the fucking prescription and this can all end for everyone.”

  “Lana doesn’t want to be your slave. Not today, not ever. And I won’t do it either. We already did it once. Now you want more. And when this refill is done, you’ll want more. When does it stop?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that Lana actually might be guilty? That I’ve been protecting her all this time?” Alysa asks, calmly now. My heart is beating wildly. How dare she accuse me of doing any wrong! I fight my desire to step into the entranceway and instead stay put, listening to what she has to say.

  “This is so stupid I can barely stand to listen to you anymore,” Demit is laughing harshly. “Just shut up.”

  “The knife used to cut Stu is from Lana’s own kitchen,” Alysa says. “I have it! She may have grabbed her scarf but she left the knife. The idiot.”

  “What are you talking about?” Demit asks. I was right. It was my knife that was used on Stu.

  “She probably told you she stayed for a few minutes then left. Sure she left. But did she mention she came back with a knife later that night? That she was part of the partying? Why do you think she was so sick Sunday? It wasn’t the flu, you idiot.”

  “You’re a liar!” Demit yells. I hear him walking toward the door. “Stay out of her…” I don’t hear him finish the sentence. It sounds like glass shattering and a thump. I step into the doorway. Demit is lying in a heap on the hardwood floor of their hallway. Alysa is standing a few feet back with clenched hands pressed against her forehead. Broken glass glimmers around Demit.

  “What the hell?” I stare at Alysa who finally notices me standing before her. She drops her hands to her sides.

  “Oh hey, Lana,” She says calmly. “He is a very unreasonable person. How can you stand it?”

  I drop my knees to the floor as Demit starts to stir. “You’re crazy! You could’ve killed him.”

  “I’m crazy?” She laughs. “You’re the one who’s going to go to jail for killing Fitz and Stu. I spoke to the cops today. Told them about the knife. That you were the one who carved lines on Stu’s body.”

  “What are you talking about? What lines? Why would you tell such horrible lies about me?”

  “I told them I would get them the knife. I told them I have it. And I’m sure they’ll quickly realize it came from your house.”

  “The blood on your arm,” I say to myself. “That blood is from you cutting yourself. I don’t get it. Did you get him to cut himself? Did you both cut yourselves?”

  “You’re such an idiot. You were always so much stupider than me. Yet somehow you always came out looking better than me. I’ll never understand it. Yes, I cut myself. We were drinking gin and I popped a couple pills. Stu was so drunk by then he barely noticed when I gave him two. It was all just fun, you know? Then it was easy to give him the knife and get him to try cutting. All I had to do was dare him. Do you know how stupid guys are when they’re drunk? They’ll do anything if you dare them.” She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t tell you all this, but what the hell. He went upstairs, thinking I’d left. But I hadn’t. As soon as he was snoring, I cut a couple more lines on him. One horizontal line, one vertical line. A capital L.”

  “What?” I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Despite speaking nonchalantly, the right side of her face is twitching madly. “You killed him.”

  She shakes her head viciously. “No. Wrong.” Demit is sitting up now, so I rise to standing. “I didn’t kill him. That was an accident. His dad found him as he was suffocating on his own vomit.”

  “It was your fault!”

  “No!”

  “And what about Fitz?” I ask. “Was that your work, too?”

  “They were both accidents. I’m not a killer,” Alysa waves her hand. “You’re a killer, Lana. At least that’s what the cops will think once I give them the knife. But this can all go away. I won’t say another peep about the knife. Just supply me with my pills until I get my university acceptance letters. That’s all. Another couple months. I swear!”

  “That’s what this is all about? Getting into university? You’re ruining all these lives so you can get into a university program?”

  Alysa sighs deeply, her shoulders droop. “Don’t you get it? Have you met my fucking parents? One is a psychiatrist and the other is a brain surgeon. Do you think they’re okay with me being average?” She scowls as she annunciates the last word. “I need to have at least ninety-five in every course. The last time I brought home a mark lower than ninety-five, my mom laughed at me. I told her I studied for hours and I’m sorry it wasn’t high enough. And she laughed at me, like I’m some kind of joke. Then she threw it in the garbage without saying a word.”
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  “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar. And you’re sick.”

  Alysa tips her head back and laughs, “It’s all true. Ironic, isn’t it? That my parents are so busy fixing other people’s fucked up brains that they can’t even see their own daughter is having a nervous breakdown?”

  “But why go after me? Why am I any part of this? I thought we were best friends.”

  “You were just another reminder of what I couldn’t be. I could never look as pretty as you. Or get the guy. I was always the second choice. Always a little fatter. Always a little uglier. You got to live this charmed life. Guys loved you everywhere we went. Fitz could never stop staring at you, even while we were dating. And Stu was another one. He would have done anything to have you back.”

  “That’s not true. None of that is true.”

  “You’re an idiot. Of course it’s true. I tried to like you. I really did, over the past few years, but everything changed in high school. And I started to hate you. I’m sorry, but I did. I wanted you to suffer the way I have. But I can put all that behind me now. I swear I can. Just give me my pills.”

  I look at Demit who is now standing next to me. He’s shaking his head. “The pills are making you worse, not better,” he says. “You’re completely crazy.”

  “So what,” she retorts. “Please, please, please,” she begs, clasping her hands before her chest. “Just give me what I need.”

  “Where’s the knife?” I ask, slipping my hand to the back of my jeans.

  “You think I’m going to just give it to you?” She shakes her head. “No way. I’ll keep the knife until I no longer need the pills. You supply and I keep quiet.”

  “Not good enough.” I pull the gun from my waistband, hold it with both hands and point it at her. My hands are trembling, even though I know it’s not loaded. I hear Demit catch his breath beside me.

  “Whoa,” Alysa lifts her hands into the air. Her eyes skirt from the gun to Demit and back to the gun. “What the fuck, Lana. Take it easy. I’ll get the knife.”