Life of the Party

by Christine Anderson

  “Good.” He kissed me again. “Well, I’ll be in the VIP. Come get me when you’re done. I’m taking you home with me tonight, boyfriend be damned.”

  I giggled as he left me and was shortly swallowed up by the crowd. I could still spot him, though I couldn’t see him. I just had to watch for all the females craning their necks for a better look.

  CHAPTER 53

  The days passed, falling into a pattern of sorts, one that I took up quickly and happily. Whenever Grey and I woke up, either at his house or mine, we’d shoot up almost immediately. It wasn’t even so much as a want anymore—it was a need, for the all too familiar sickness was always at bay, waiting to strike if we went without for too long. The rest of the day would pass in total, utter bliss, a blur of happiness and contentment. The thought of quitting heroin didn’t even occur to us anymore, not if we could manage to function as we did. We forced ourselves to function, determined to have the best of both worlds. If I had to work, I’d start doing cocaine towards the evening to get ready for my shift. It gave me the energy I needed, the spunk required to make it through the long, sometimes tiring shift.

  The tips were even better at the Aurora then they had been at the Red Wheat, on the weekends anyway, so I could manage to support all my drug habits and pay my rent. Grey’s band played there a lot—some weekends, some weekdays—so I was essentially getting paid to watch nearly all of their shows, and he in turn was getting paid to play them. It was the perfect scenario. I’d stay just high enough on cocaine and drunk enough on alcohol during the evening to placate my constant craving for more heroin, but as soon as my shift was over I’d hurry to meet Grey at home, where he’d be waiting for me with a fresh batch all prepared, and then we’d shoot ourselves into oblivion once again. It was a fine balance, one that was always teetering towards the loss of control. But somehow we were able to make it work. We had to make it work.

  Charlie was trying desperately to get over Zack. The evidence was obvious. If Grey and I stayed at my house overnight, it was inevitable the next morning to see or hear some strange guy heading out the door. Grey didn’t really like it, he didn’t like the thought of strange men coming and going at all hours of the night. We started spending more nights at his house because of it, which I thought was a bit of an overreaction, but one I didn’t mind a bit. I was worried about Charlie but she seemed happy—she seemed to be doing much better than she had been, anyway. So I just let it go.

  Courtney was now a constant in our lives. She and Charlie were nearly inseparable. I always felt a pang of jealously when I saw them laughing and joking and talking together. They always had private jokes. It reminded me of how Charlie and I used to be, before all the unpleasantness. Even though we’d managed to patch up our relationship, we were never as close as we had been, and I feared we never would be again. That’s why—though it did hurt my feelings—I wasn’t really surprised when Charlie asked me if Courtney could move in with us.

  “But, where will she stay?” I wondered.

  “She can sleep in my room.” Charlie suggested. “Or … if, I mean, since you’re at Grey’s house all the time anyway … maybe she could stay ….”

  I didn’t let her finish. “I’ll talk to Grey.” I interrupted.

  He was amazingly receptive to the idea. I was surprised; I thought guys weren’t into that kind of thing, not until they were ready to “settle down,” anyway. But Grey just smirked at me.

  “You should move in. You’re here all the time anyway.” He shrugged.

  “Are you sure you’re not just saying that?” I argued. “If I hadn’t asked, would you have asked?”

  “Yeah, sure. I just didn’t think about it.”

  “Really?” I wondered doubtfully.

  “Yes.” He rolled his eyes at me. “Would it help if I said it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mackenzie, would you move in with me? Please?”

  “Why, Grey,” I exclaimed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  By the end of November, I was officially living with Grey. It really was no different than before, since I’d spent almost all my time there anyway. I was sad to move out though, every excited giggle on Courtney’s lips hurt me just a little more, shoved the knife in just a little deeper. She was always hanging around on the edges, watching as we loaded up my things, impatiently waiting for me to get the hell out of there. Charlie hugged me at least when I left for the last time.

  “I’ll miss you Mac. And this doesn’t change anything, you know.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded glumly. She punched me playfully in the arm.

  “Don’t be like that. You know you’ll be happier over there.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll miss you.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll see me all the time.” She promised.

  I knew I’d see her at work—I’d see both of them at work—but I also knew it wouldn’t be the same. That it would never be the same. I forced myself to smile at her as I left, heading down the old rickety stairs, leaving my first apartment behind me. I tried not to remember how excited Charlie had been when I first moved in, how eager we’d been to get high, how we’d spent that whole first night giggling ecstatically. Suddenly I sympathised with Katrina or whatever the hell her name had been—Charlie’s first roommate. I wondered if, like me, the door had been shut on her before her first foot hit the ground.

  Grey tried to comfort me. He cooked up an extra shot that night just to raise my spirits. It worked too. I lay back on his bed with his warm arms around me, and suddenly I didn’t care about Courtney and Charlie anymore. Suddenly, they just didn’t matter. I was with the man of my dreams—like, I was actually living with the man of my dreams. I couldn’t believe it. I propped myself up on my arm and just stared at him, amazed.

  “What?” Grey asked me casually, suddenly aware of my scrutiny.

  “I can’t believe I found you.” I said with awe. “How am I so lucky?”

  He smirked at me, his blue eyes shining, and tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind my ear. “I wonder the same thing every time I look at you.”

  That night was a memorable one.

  But they all were really. I’d never known such contentment … sleeping in Grey’s arms every night, waking up to his gorgeous face every morning, spending every minute we possibly could together in a state of constant happiness. His room grew much messier after I moved in, my clothes were all over the place, underfoot, strewn across his chair and his bed. My make-up took up a dominant spot on the bathroom counter, my shampoo and conditioner and body wash left “slippery shit” all over the bottom of the tub, and my shoes practically overflowed the entryway. But for all this, Alex and Zack complained more than Grey did, and even that was done in jest.

  Though I do wish someone besides me could’ve seen the look on Alex’s face the first time he discovered my box of tampons under the sink.

  Living with three guys was surprisingly easy. They may have been messier than girls in most respects, but they were also painfully easy going. And if they had a problem with something, they’d say it to my face instead of talking behind my back. We settled into a nice, harmonious arrangement. I’d even managed to forgive Zack for breaking my best friend’s heart. We never talked about it or brought it up or anything, we just … agreed to disagree. And I had always loved Alex. He was just too sweet; he was too much fun not to fall in love with, with his lank brown hair and his winning smile. The only disagreement we ever had was whether or not I should be allowed to knock down the beer-can castle, which had grown larger over the months, now dominating the little dining room. I voted strongly in favour of the action, but he had yet to be swayed.

  Winter hit with full force. Its icy claws clung to the windows, glazed up the sidewalks and frosted over the stubble fields surrounding our little frozen town. But I was oblivious to it. I was up above the clouds, sailing beneath an eternal summer sun, anchored to the earth by nothing more than Grey’s strong arms around me. Heroin was like a beach in
a needle. It was the only vacation I needed.

  At times, when we were more lucid, Grey would take out his guitar and work on his music. That was my absolute favourite. I could sit on the bed and just watch him for hours as he practiced and composed, leaning over his guitar and deftly forcing notes from the strings. Grey would sing to me until I cried, overcome. He’d work on lyrics too, curled up with me on the bed with a pen in his hand. He could write the most beautiful poetry, I was in awe. He tried, unsuccessfully, to teach me how to do it, how to create.

  “Just write what you’re feeling.” He encouraged. “It doesn’t have to rhyme. Just make it … flow.”

  I took the notebook from him, chewing on the end of the pen for a moment.

  “Write what I’m feeling?” I asked again.

  “Yeah.” He nodded.

  Immediately, I put the pen to the paper, scrawling out one single word.

  Happy.

  And I was. Things had never been more perfect. Day after day of wondrous, contented bliss passed us by. Everything I’d ever wanted. And with every one, I loved Grey just that much more. He was my world, my everything. I wished I had the capacity to write it all down, like he did. I wished I could express my feelings for him properly. Just the way his blue eyes lit up when I came home from work, or the way his arm would find me sometime in the dark reaches of the night and pull me close to him was enough to fill my heart with delight, to make me sigh with such happiness that I never thought possible.

  Poor Grey. He’d have to be satisfied with me showing him.

  The only real interruption to our comfortable little pattern was the coming of the holidays. I dreaded them, knowing I’d have to go and pretend the whole big-happy-family scenario at my parents’ house. I hadn’t spoken to any of them since my birthday. Not once. There’d been no invitations to dinner, no phone calls to check in, no unexpected visits. I wondered if they knew how much I’d stolen from them. Maybe they were so disgusted that they didn’t want anything to do with me now. I clung to the hope that somehow, someway I’d be able to avoid them this Christmas.

  Of course it was only a fool’s hope. Eventually my phone rang—as I knew it would—and my mother’s overly happy, chipper-to-compensate voice was buzzing in my ear, eager to find out what my work schedule was like and how long I’d be able to stay with them over the holidays. I gave her Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, knowing that if I stayed any longer Christmas would turn into a negative experience for all of us. She was satisfied with my agenda—though Marcy and Greg were going to be staying longer than I was, she’d take what she could.

  Grey actually laughed at me as I was packing. I shot him a glare and stuffed a sweater into my overnight bag.

  “You could come too, you know.” I threatened.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to interrupt your happy family time.”

  “Please?”

  “Sorry sugar.” He shook his head. “But the boys and I have plans.”

  “You do? What plans?” I frowned.

  “Die Hard. They always have a marathon on Christmas day.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to wreck that for you.” I scoffed. I really wasn’t upset that he didn’t want to hang out with my family. I couldn’t blame him, and in truth, it would bring down the awkwardness level by far if he weren’t around. But I was going to miss Grey, and miss him badly. I hadn’t spent one night away from him for months.

  I frowned again as he put my favourite pair of pyjamas in the bag for me. He smiled at my glum expression.

  “Hey, don’t be like that. It’s only for two days. We’ve done weeks at a time before, remember?”

  “Yeah, and I almost went crazy.”

  He chuckled. “Mackenzie, I’ll be right here, in town. I’m five minutes away. If it gets too bad, you can escape them and come see me.”

  “Yeah.” I relented. It was nearly time for me to go. I zipped up the suitcase and sat back on the bed, eager now, and excited, but for a different reason than seeing my family. I pushed the sleeve of my sweater up and glanced meaningfully at Grey. “Can we do some more now? Before I go?” I’d been waiting for this for hours, ever since we shot up the last time.

  “Sure.” He agreed, smirking casually. But I knew he was just as eager as I was. And then, a sudden thought occurred to me.

  “Oh shit, Grey. What am I going to do tomorrow?”

  “Open presents?”

  I giggled. “No, I mean … for heroin. I’ll have to do some. It won’t be a very Merry Christmas for anyone if I turn green and start convulsing on the floor.”

  I meant it as a joke, but Grey frowned at my predicament. “Well … is there any way you could leave? You could come here quick and I could … fix you up.”

  “But how would I explain that?” I wondered. “Maybe I should just take some with me. Then I can do it myself, I can just slip to the bathroom or something.” I looked down at my forearm riddled with little red, tiny dots. It couldn’t be that hard.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Will you be able to?”

  “Maybe. I’ve seen you do it like, a trillion times.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not deathly afraid of needles.” Grey frowned. “Here. Why don’t you try doing this one, then? See how you do.”

  “Okay.” I picked up the supplies and began, taking a small chunk of the dark, sticky, tar-like heroin and placing it on the spoon. I added a splash of water and then heated it all with my lighter until the mixture was a dull, oily brown. Taking a tiny piece of cotton, I placed it in the spoon and then, grasping the needle shakily, sucked it up into the syringe. This part I’d done a hundred times before, but I still looked up at Grey for reassurance.

  “How was that?” I wondered. Grey nodded thoughtfully.

  “You did good. Take a bit less though, if it’s just you. Just to be careful.”

  “Okay.” I breathed nervously and made a fist with my left arm, holding the needle in my right hand. I waited until a vein was apparent, glowing bluely beneath the translucent veil of my skin. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, that I could actually be capable of sticking a needle into myself. But I had to. Slowly, trying to keep my hand steady, I sunk the sharp steel through my skin, hitting the vein with ease.

  Carefully I retracted the plunger, watching as my blood splurted up into the syringe. Then, at Grey’s nod, I shot the drugs into my veins.

  It felt good, almost better than usual, because this time it came with an odd sense of power. I was able to do it myself. I could get myself high. I felt so independent, so … in control. I slumped over, a heavy smile on my face, and looked up at Grey.

  “How’d I do?” I wondered breathily.

  “You’re a champion.” Grey chuckled. He took a tiny chunk of the heroin and wrapped it up in a separate balloon for me, hiding everything else I’d need in the bottom of my bag. “Be careful, Mackenzie, and don’t let your parents catch you with this stuff.” He warned. “There’s only one conclusion they’ll jump to, and it’ll be the right one this time.”

  “Okay.” I nodded slowly. I watched, overcome by waves of bliss, as Grey got out some supplies for himself. He was so quick, such a pro, it took him seconds to inject rather than the minutes it took me. When he was done he fell back heavily, putting his arm around my shoulders and drawing me near to him.

  “Merry Christmas, Mackenzie.” He smiled drowsily, kissing my cheek.

  “Merry Christmas, Grey.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Christmas. So. This was it. I sat on the leather couch in my parents’ house, wrapped in a cozy blanket and watching the scene play out before me. I was happy. I had just shot up not ten minutes earlier, and I was in my happy place. A smile lit my lips as I watched my father pass out the presents in joviality. A fire crackled on the hearth. My mom had out the camcorder and every few minutes she’d scan the room, though nothing had a chance to change from last time. Marcy and Greg were snuggled up on the other couch; Greg was actually wearing a s
triped two-piece pyjama set with matching robe and slippers. That guy was sixty if he was a day, and every time I looked at him, I laughed.

  But Christmas did seem to hold some kind of special power, besides goodwill and peace and all that. Maybe the magic was all in the drugs, maybe my attitude had changed because I was too blissed out to resent everyone like I normally did. But it was like I’d been totally forgiven for the last six or seven months of what I knew had been less than desirable behaviour. My mom, my dad, my sister, her husband … no one seemed to harbour any ill will towards me, not like the last time I’d seen them. When I’d finally made it in the door last night, winded from the cold walk, my dad had actually hugged me. Mom was beside herself with excitement. Marcy offered me a drink, and Greg put his arm around me like it was a natural place for it to be.

  I couldn’t help but be touched. My family was brutal, they drove me crazy in thirty different ways, but it was hard to resent them when they were being so … nice, so accepting of me. It was like they’d had a meeting and unanimously voted to make me feel like I was loved, instead of the usual constant judgement passing and dirty, intolerant looks. I was surprised. Baffled even—and wary at first, just in case this was some kind of trick. After awhile though, I settled in comfortably. I couldn’t help myself. It felt good. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I belonged again.

  No one mentioned Craig. No one mentioned the wedding. No one mentioned my birthday dinner. Someone did mention Grey. It was my mother, her face totally devoid of any agenda or intent, asking if Grey were coming over for dinner. I was flabbergasted by the question.

  “No … no, I think he has plans.” I answered quickly, suspicious.

  “Oh, well. Maybe next time.” She had said. And it looked like she meant it.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was like aliens had come and taken my old family away, replacing them with identical twins—nice identical twins. As the time passed—harmoniously, for once—I felt all the anger I had towards them slowly fading away. Their treatment of Grey at the wedding, how they’d tried to set me up with Craig … it was easy to forgive them for all of it. Maybe it was the months spent apart that had cooled my jets. Or maybe it was a sign; maybe I was growing up or something. Maturing.