Innocents

by Mary Elizabeth

  “Do you have an extra smoke?” I ask.

  She passes me a cigarette, and I take it, avoiding the length of her crossed legs and wiggle of her red-painted toes.

  “Want another beer?” She stands and takes the empty from my hand.

  “Yeah.” I keep my eyes to a weed-filled lawn.

  The high from the prescriptions has died, and feelings of betrayal and desperation press down on me. I take deep drags from the shitty cigarette and grip onto the arm of the chair to keep myself in one spot. My heart beats love’s name, but my craving’s ruler shreds conviction to pieces.

  The Slut in the short dress comes outside with a fresh beer and a packed bong.

  I drink while Mixie lights the bowl. After taking a few hits and throwing the empty beer container in the corner, I get up.

  I’d rather be miserable with Bliss than miserable alone.

  “I need to go.”

  “You can’t go,” Mixie says. She stands in my way.

  She pushes me back into the chair. As soon as my body collides with brittle plastic, it breaks and I crumble to the ground with it. Mixie doubles over in laughter.

  “I swear I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Without inhibition, without pretense, without shame, for a moment, she’s innocent.

  Up on my feet, I brush dead grass and dirt from my jeans. Mixie tries to help, but laughs every time she touches me. Tears of happiness fall from her dark eyes, and her cheeks blush with untouched charm.

  “I’ll see you later, Mix,” I say once I’m clean.

  “Wait.” She grabs my arm. “Can we talk?”

  “Talk?” I ask, shrugging her off. I reach in my back pocket for my cell phone. There’s a message from my girl.

  Come home.

  I slip my phone back into my jeans. “Sure.”

  Mixie lets me sit in her chair, and she drops to her knees in front of me.

  “I thought you said you wanted to talk?” I ask, scratching my hands down my face.

  She’s leaving you, cocaine reminds me. Come home.

  “I do,” this Slut says, unbuttoning my jeans.

  “To my dick?” I laugh.

  The girl with empty eyes starts to unzip me, but I capture her wrists and hold her hands away. Unconnected, the Mixie who laughed until she cried is gone, replaced with the one who searches for acceptance in the most sickening ways.

  “I’m not in the mood,” I say, pushing her back until she falls on her bottom.

  Rejection appears on her face in the form of a sly smile, and she opens her legs to show me what I’m ultimately missing.

  But I’ve had it, and I’m not interested.

  I open the sliding door and close it behind me before Mixie can follow me in. I’m walking and re-buttoning my jeans when I hear Kelly moan. Petey’s ass is out and her dress is pushed up, and they’re fucking so hard the couch pounds against the wall.

  I’m about to leave when the front door opens and Casper walks in.

  “Whoa,” he says, taking a step back.

  The pusher laughs and holds up a bottle of Johnny Walker. “Help me celebrate since our friends are preoccupied.”

  He joins me in the kitchen and we go shot for shot.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” he tells me between pulls, “but I want to go to college. I’m going to be a teacher.”

  I almost spit booze all over the table.

  Mixie stumbles in from outside, and Petey and Kelly finally stop fucking long enough to join us. Valarie, Katie, and Ben show up, completing our party. We drink and talk, and it feels like we’re a bunch of stupid kids getting into a little bit of trouble. I manage to push back some of my worries.

  Until Mixie creeps under Casper’s arm and whispers into his ear, “Do you have any of our girl?”

  His eyes quickly shift down to her stomach, but he nods.

  Before he can cut up temptation, I walk away with a throat that burns and an inner demon that screams for me to take her.

  “You good?” Ben asks as I pass him. He has his arm over Valarie’s shoulders.

  “I have to take a leak,” I answer casually.

  Petey’s bathroom smells like piss and puke, and the linoleum floor is peeling in the corner. It’s covered in dirty clothes, but the bathtub is clean. My best friend can’t stop his mom from getting shit faced and throwing up everywhere, but he can make sure his shower is kosher.

  “Hi, Mom,” my girl answers with upbeat wittiness.

  “Are they around?” I sit on the edge of the tub and close my eyes with echoes of my friends through the walls.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is he near you?”

  “No.” Her answer is quick and unemotional.

  “Toss the fucking quarter, Bliss,” Becka says in the background. “Sorry, Mrs. McCloy.”

  “They don’t actually believe your mom is calling you this late, Bliss,” I say.

  “Maybe,” she answers indifferently. “But I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Tell Dad I love him.”

  “Sure,” I say. Opening my eyes, I squint against the brightness of the exposed light bulb hanging from the mold-covered ceiling.

  “I love you, too,” she replies. Her voice is soft enough to belong only to me.

  I take a breath to say I’m coming home when Oliver’s voice comes through the phone, and he’s right beside love.

  “Hang up,” he says.

  I don’t give her the chance to end the call first.

  Back in the kitchen, Casper asks, “You in on this?”

  There’s no hesitation.

  The moment She hits my nose, I’m in complete and utter bliss.

  “Go around him.” Casper nods toward the sedan ahead of us.

  Tipping dawn, we’re in my car but I don’t remember leaving Pete’s kitchen.

  “Holy shit, that’s Leigh’s pops!” Petey says from the backseat, his eyes following the passing sedan.

  Laced with all of the strength of the world, time moves in quick flashes and colors are bright, unreal. There is no hurt here, only quick oblivion.

  Pete, Kelly, Val, Mixie, and Katie are all piled in the back of the Lincoln, and Ben’s sitting between me and Cas in the front. He has a 40 oz. between his knees and a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Little Leighlee McCloy?” Casper asks.

  Petey’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. I clear my throat and sit up in my seat, focused on driving.

  “She isn’t little anymore,” Casper adds with a smirk.

  “Cas,” Pete speaks up. “You’re cool, but little sisters are untouchable, my man.”

  Thaddeus McCloy moves over to the left lane. I speed up. The energy in the car becomes suffocatingly silent and stiff.

  “Dusty, slow down,” Ben whispers.

  But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m being strangled. I’m stronger than Leigh’s dad. He may have the upper hand now, but one day I’m going to take his precious Bliss away from him.

  Then what?

  I smile at the Judge as we pass.

  He waves.

  And I wave back.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Four in the morning,” Valarie answers.

  We’re all sitting around Ben’s dinner table. The dining room is lit up and food is everywhere. A big plate of spaghetti sits in front of me. It spins my stomach.

  “Is this mine?” I ask V.

  Nodding, she laughs. “Ben woke his mom up and told her we were hungry. This is leftovers!”

  The prince sits at the head of the table with his fat Italian mom squeezing his cheeks. “Il mio bambino,” she gushes.

  I’m in my car with Casper, Valarie, and Mixie. It’s daylight, and I’m driving.

  “Where are we going?” I ask anyone.

  “Portland.”

  I’M IN a stranger’s bedroom, in a stranger’s bed.

  “Come on,” Valarie whispers.

  She’s undressed. I’m not.

  “Val
, get off me.”

  I’M IN a stranger’s bathroom, naked in the shower.

  I’M IN a stranger’s kitchen. Doing lines off of the counter.

  Time has no meaning, faces have no names, and I’ve driven miles and miles through hollow cities and unfamiliar towns.

  But my heart still beats her name.

  Come back.

  Soon, I reply to love’s text right before my phone dies.

  I go back inside.

  And it doesn’t feel a thing like falling.

  There’s an entire list of people I need to thank—people from different countries and continents who have touched my heart with their support and encouragement.

  I’ll start with Maxann Dobson, the one person who makes me a better writer every time we interact. Thank you for passing your knowledge on to me. Thank you for sharing your wisdom. And thank you for giving me a chance. I look forward to what we create together in the future.

  Arijana Karčić, I hope you realize how incredibly talented you are. I am grateful for your help and your friendship. The cover is amazing.

  Melissa Duncan Jones—you are a life saver. Thank you for rescuing me, and thank you for making everything better. Where would I be without you? I don’t want to know.

  Thank you to Thaigher Lillie, Kim Swanson, and Valentine S. for making graphics in a pinch.

  Thank you, Amber L. Johnson, for being a phone call away. Thank you for the text messages about nothing. And thank you for writing Beatless. You are a great author, and hard work pays off, my girl.

  To my oldest friend, Filia. No one believed in me more from the get-go than you. I am literally the writer I am today because you’re my friend. Learning about dialogue tags via Twitter private messages is a memory that will stick with me for the rest of my days. Love is friendship.

  To my OGs, Alicia Y. Etheridge, Abdelis De la Rocha, Alicia DiDonato, Andrea Guzman Diaz, Debbie Wilson, Dee Griffith, Dina Hineman, Heather Foster, Heather Kastan-Litz, Joy DiPaola, Kelly Vasquez, Kimberley Daniel, Melanie King, Melissa Duncan Jones, Rochelle Walker, Romy Velo, Sharon Henderson, Silvia Simoes, Susan Adkins, Moni, and Carolina McGoey. We are more than friends; we are a “sophisticated” sisterhood.

  Thank you for pulling me out of the gutter. Thank you for constantly telling me I can do this. Thank you for your honest opinions and letters in the mail. Thank you for the Hangouts. Thank you for telling me I didn’t have shingles, and for reminding me that we’re all a little crazy.

  The Lord blessed me when he put each and every one of you in my life, and that road trip will happen. You have my word.

  Mom, you did a good job. I love you.

  To the rest of my family—10 copies each.

  To my assistant/ best friend/ cousin, Ashley. Girl-talk has never been our thing, but I cherish our friendship more than I could ever explain, especially in front of the world. Your generosity and sacrifice will be something I’ll strive to return … until the day I introduce you to John Green. Because after that, we’re even.

  Group A!

  Jason, I know I’m a lot to handle, but thank you for taking the job. I don’t know if these late nights will end, but I’m glad you’re the one staying up with me while I scream at my laptop. You’re hot, and I love you.

  My children, you’re too young to even be holding this book. Go to bed. I’ll be there to turn on your movie in a minute. And I’m sorry Mommy’s always on her computer.

  From the bottom of my heart, the most sincere and tearful thank you has to go to the Fandom. You taught me things about being an author I could only learn through experience. You taught me what it’s like to belong, and you taught me exactly what rejection is. You’ve taught me about the strength of community, and the grace of forgiveness. And you showed me that my words matter. Dusty is what it is today because of you—he’s not only a monster, but he is part of our souls.

  And to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I do not understand why you chose to give me this talent, but I trust the path you have planned for me.

  The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. —Jeremiah 17:9

  To Brand New, Damien Rice, Coldplay, Nicki Minaj, Taking Back Sunday, Sublime, Nas, Led Zeppelin, Fever Ray, Robert Zemeckis, Tim and Jean, Dispatch, Blink-182, Regina Spektor, Beastie Boys, Etta James, Lou Reed, Kid Cudi, Weezer, The Weeknd, Atmosphere, The Violent Femmes, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sleigh Bells, GROUPLOVE, Ben Gibbard, Pat Benatar, Neil Young, The Naked and Famous, Levi Weaver, The Kills, The Silversun Pickups, Nirvana, The 1975, Lykke Li, Live, The Head and The Heart, Tegan and Sara, The Neighbourhood, Tyler Knott Gregson, Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks, 9bitbluesky, Eli, Blake, Mr Jones, Blake, Christopher, Milan Kundera, Vladimir Nabokov, Damon Lindelof, Nayyirah Waheed, Amy Sage Webb, Atreyu the Warrior, Henry Rollins, Rodney Mullen, and Batman – you are the soundtrack, the notes, the encouragement, the light, the memories, and the words of honor that keep me going. Thank you for being great, for your risks and your work. Thank you for giving me strength. I love all of you.

  To Frenchie, Pico, Panda, Jac, Sara, Karla, danikool, Crystina Falero, Lauren, Erika, Peta, glowro, Mildred, mericuh, Rosalinda, Mandy, Bree, Berta Moore, so-next-level-fly, my mimosa, my darkling, my whole almond, and my carebear, for being there for me, for confiding in me, for sharing in the love that is Dusty with me. For listening, for celebrating, for support, for poetry, for music, for your friendship – from my heart to each of yours, thank you. I love you all.

  To Sammi for the time, love, and energy you put into creating a beautiful place and for loving all of these characters on a level that makes my heart swell. I love you.

  To AL, Riley, and Nicola, for common ground, for thoughtfulness, for inspiration, and for love that reminds me there is good in this. There is beauty and benevolence that’s more than worth everything that hurts. I love you guys.

  To Maylin for believing I can do anything, and for a grey hat I still wear. I miss you, and I love you.

  To Ana Lisbeth for being a true friend, an open heart, and for hope. I love you.

  To PK for hugs, strength in understanding, sharing, listening, and trusting. I love you.

  To Cerece – thank you for reminding me the beauty and significance of dark matter, and for a quote that changed how I think about writing. I love you.

  To Ari for a cover that I love more than any other I’ve ever seen. Thank you for your patience, knowledge, integrity, creativity, time, support, and work with us.

  To Melissa for explaining things in words that make sense to me. For your patience, kindness, support, time, work, and belief in us. Thank you for all of your endurance, help, hope, and love.

  To the people who mean the most to me on the daily – Ernest, Katy, RayRay, Sherry, Heather, Sarah Palin, Michaelbear, Frederico, Emily, and Zero – the smallest conversations mean more to me than I know how to explain. Thank you so, so much for your sincerity, your senses of humor, your support, and your all around awesomeness. I love all of you.

  To Max – because somewhere between floppy eared lumberjack hats, a love like fire, and a pretty kind of dirty face, you came to mean so much to me. For wakin’ up in the morning feeling like E-Snowden and for introductory messages that revealed we’re eye to eye on so many levels. For getting it. For assurance and constant reassurance. For sharing your work with me, and for being someone I trust with mine on a raw level. For making me laugh. For making me cry. For your long hours, your meticulous work, your professional hat, your knowledge and experience, your forthrightness, your amazing taste in all forms of art, and your friendship. Thank you for being exactly you. I love you.

  To Sarah Fawaz, who filled three years of such a soft time in my life with a kind of love and devotion that is incomparable. I miss you. And I still love you like a cat. Or a dog. Whichever one sheds more.

  To my KRG for memories that will always live in my heart, and in Dusty’s. Thank you for sore throats and bruised ribs that I miss, car rides with the windows down and teen angst all the way up, and f
or being the first friend I wanted to share this with. I love you.

  To TK – it’s 11:11, and I love you. I love you.

  To Michelle for understanding that it hurts and for teaching me how much one little positive thought can change the course of an entire day. Thank you for nourishing my heart, my stomach, my happiness, my faith, and my hope. Thank you for getting obsessed with me, staying up late with me, inspiring me, reminding me, defending me, defending him, believing in me, and letting me in. I love you so much, brightheart, and I love all of your pieces.

  To Bunny for being my friend in when it’s awesome and when it’s not so much. For understanding relationships and addiction and general fucked-up-ness on a level above and beyond your age. For leaning on me, because I love to be there, and for letting me lean, too. For ships we’re the only ones on board. For long nights in restaurant booths and long talks in your front seat. For your birthday. For pink roses. For showing me how to build a bear. For being someone I admire. I love you so much.

  To Birzer, because I would be so lost without you. I probably wouldn’t be alive. Thank you for inviting me over to build a volcano on your living room floor seven years ago. Thank you for never saying no. Thank you for showing me what it means to be love, just by being exactly who you are. Thank you for leading by the best kind of example. There is no one in my whole life that compares to you, or what you mean to me. I admire you so much, Moses. I cherish you, and I love you (and tot, and muffin) with all that I am. I love you.

  To Bishop, who I most definitely would not be alive without – I’ve sat here drinking your rum for hours now, and still cannot find the words to wrap around what you mean to me. Without you, there is no doubt in my mind that my heart would give up altogether. I look up to you. I lean on you. I love you, and thankful is not nearly big enough to encompass how I feel both to and for you. Thank you for a place I feel safer than I have anywhere in my life. Thank you for shaking me when I needed it. Thank you for laughing at me and with me, for sharing in mini-feasts and the dark ages alike. Thank you for reminding me of what’s most important. Thank you for killing the spiders. Thank you for more inside jokes than I can count, for understanding without any explanation, for a sweater I could live in, for letting me use Sir constantly, for reminding me of what’s most important at every turn. Thank you for telling me so, for understanding the importance of how to tell a story, for letting me hug you, and for making me smile. Thank you for everything said and unsaid. Thank you for being my family and my friend. I love you like no one else ever.