The Fire Between High & Lo

by Brittainy C. Cherry

  I should’ve told her no. I should’ve ignored her invite. But there was something about how sad she looked, how her pained soul seemed to burn like mine. So I grabbed my duffle bag, tossed it over my shoulder, and I followed Sadie to the land of forgetting.

  ***

  “We’ve attended the same schools for years,” Sadie said as we laid in some piece of shit motel room. I’d been in the motel before, many moons ago, passed out in a filthy bathtub. Being there didn’t bring back the best memories, but I figured since I returned to Wisconsin after five years, everything would be covered in crap recollections.

  Her wine-stained lips moved as she stridently smacked on her gum. “Senior year you copied my test for every math exam. I was legit the reason you graduated.” She pushed herself up on her elbows. “I wrote four of your English essays. You can speak Spanish because of me! Sadie? Sadie Lincoln?”

  Not a clue.

  “I can’t speak Spanish.”

  “Well you could. You really don’t remember me?”

  Her eyes were saddened by this, but she shouldn’t have been sad. It was nothing personal. There was plenty that I didn’t remember.

  Then there was everything I wished I could forget.

  “To be fair, I spent most of my high school career fucked up.”

  That wasn’t a lie.

  “Or with that Alyssa Walters girl,” she remarked.

  My chest tightened right along with my jaw. Just hearing her name made my mind flood with memories.

  “Is she still in town?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Alyssa stopped leaving me messages months ago, and whenever Kellan called me, we didn’t speak on the subject.

  Sadie nodded. “Working at Hungry Harry’s diner. I saw her working at Sam’s Furniture store, too. She plays piano at some bars. I don’t know. She’s been all over the place. I’m surprised you didn’t know that. You two were pretty much glued to each other, which was weird because you had nothing in common.”

  “We had plenty in common.”

  A sarcastic chuckle fell from her. “Really? The straight A music kid and the straight D—thanks to me—druggie with a crackhead mother had a lot in common?”

  “Stop talking like you know shit,” I hissed, growing annoyed. Back then, Alyssa and I had more in common than any two people on this earth. Plus, Sadie didn’t know a damn thing about my mother. Screw her for thinking that she did.

  I should’ve walked out of the motel room. I should’ve told her to piss off and find another person to harass, but I really hated being alone. I’d spent the past five years alone, except for the occasional mouse that came to visit every now and then.

  Sadie stayed quiet as long as she could, which wasn’t long at all. She didn’t know what peaceful silence was. “So was it true? That you were in rehab?”

  She was talking more than I was comfortable with. I hated talking about rehab because half the time I wished I was back at the clinic. The other half of the time, I wished I was back in the alleyway, with a line or two on a garbage can. It’d been so long since I’d used, and I still thought about it almost every damn day. Dr. Kahn said it would be a tough transition coming back to the real world, but she believed I could handle it. I promised her whenever I felt like using, I’d snap the red rubber band she gave me against my skin, as a reminder that the choices I made were real, just like the sting against my skin.

  The band read, ‘strength’, which was weird because I felt like I had none.

  I’d been snapping the band against my arm since Sadie began speaking.

  “There was a bet going around town that you were dead. I think your mom started that one,” she said.

  “Do you know how beautiful your eyes are?” I asked, changing the subject. I began kissing her neck, listening to her moan.

  “They’re just green.”

  She was wrong. They were a unique shade of celadon, holding a bit of gray and a touch of green to them. “A few years back, I was watching a documentary on Chinese and Korean pottery. Your eyes are the color of the glaze they used to make pottery.”

  “You watched a Chinese documentary on pottery?” She muttered with a chuckle, trying to catch her breath as my lips moved to the curves of her collarbone. I felt her shiver against me. “You must have been pretty messed up.”

  I laughed because she has no clue.

  “They call it celadon in the west but over there, it’s qingci.” I pressed my lips against hers. She kissed me back, because that was the main reason we were there in the dirty motel room. We were there to mistake a few moments of touch with the idea of love. We were there to mistake kisses for some kind of passion. We were there to mistake loneliness for wholeness. It was crazy what people would do—who people would do—to avoid feeling so alone.

  “Can you stay the night?” she whispered.

  “Of course,” I sighed, rolling my tongue against her ear.

  I wanted to stay the night with her because loneliness sucked. I wanted to stay the night with her because darkness spread. I wanted to stay the night with her because she asked me to. I wanted to stay the night with her because I wanted to stay the night.

  She slid my shirt over my head, and her fingers rolled against my chest. “Oh my gosh!” she squealed. “You’re buff!” Then she giggled. Fuck. Did I really want to stay the night?

  Without replying, I took off her pants, and removed my own. As she lay down, I hovered over her, moving my lips from her neck, down to her chest, across her stomach, and pausing at her panty line. As I rubbed my thumb against her panties, she moaned.

  “Yes…please…”

  God, she was my addiction that night. I felt a little less alone. I even daydreamed about calling her tomorrow, meeting her back at the motel and screwing her again in the crappy bed.

  It didn’t take long for my boxers to come off and for me to climb on top of her. I tossed on a condom, and right before I slid into her, she yipped.

  “No, wait!” A fear shot through those qingci eyes. Her hands flew over her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  I paused, frozen over her. Guilt sucker punched my stomach. She didn’t want to have sex with me. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “I’m in a relationship,” she said. “I’m in a relationship.”

  Wait.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend?

  Crap.

  She was a liar.

  She was a cheater.

  She has a boyfriend.

  I removed myself from over her, and sat up on the edge of the bed. My hands gripped the sides of the mattress, and I listened to her moving around. The sheet winkled with her every move.

  She softly spoke, “I’m sorry. I thought I could do it. I thought I could go through with it, but I can’t. I thought it would be easy with you, ya know? To let go, and let loose. I just thought I could forget for a while.”

  Not turning to her, I shrugged. “No big deal.” Pushing myself up from the mattress, I moved toward the bathroom. “Be right back.”

  The door closed behind me and I ran my hands across my face. I removed the condom from my cock and tossed it into the garbage can before I leaned against the door and stroked myself.

  It was pathetic.

  I’m pathetic.

  I thought about cocaine as I jerked myself. The strong rush it used to deliver to warm me up. The feeling of complete peace and bliss. I stroke harder, remembering how it took away all of the problems, all of the fears, all of the struggles. I felt as if I was on top of the world, unstoppable. Euphoria. Jubilation. Love. Euphoria. Jubilation. Love. Euphoria. Jubilation. Love.

  Hate. Hate. Hate.

  Deep breath.

  I released.

  I felt empty in every way possible.

  Turning on the sink, I washed my hands and stared into the mirror, looking deep into my own eyes. Brown eyes that weren’t important. Brown eyes that were sad. Bro
wn eyes that were overshadowed by a vague depression.

  I shook off the feeling, dried my hands, and returned to her.

  She was getting dressed, wiping her eyes.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “You”—I cleared my throat— “You can stay the night.” I promised again. “I’m not some dick who would kick you out at three in the morning. Besides, it’s your motel room. I’ll leave.”

  “I told my boyfriend I’d be home after I got back into town,” she said to me, a forced smile on her lips. Wearing only her bra and panties, she moved toward the balcony, opened the door, but didn’t step outside. It was a deluge, raindrops hammering against the metal cage. The rain always reminded me of Alyssa and how much she hated sleeping during a rainstorm. I wondered where her mind was tonight. I wondered how she was dealing with the sounds against her windowsill.

  “I can’t sleep, Lo. Can you come over?”

  Alyssa’s voice played like a recording in my mind, over and over again her sounds took voyage in my brain until I pushed her out.

  Sadie combed her fingers through her long locks of hair. Her forced smile fell to a frown. “He probably isn’t home yet. I hated sleeping alone when I was single. And now that I’m in a relationship, I still feel alone.”

  “Am I supposed to feel bad for you because you’re a cheater?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t love me.”

  “I can tell how much you love him, though,” I mocked.

  “You don’t understand,” she defensively stated. “He’s controlling. He’s pushed everyone I ever cared about away from me. I used to be clean, like you are right now. I used to never fuck with drugs until I ran into him. He trapped me, and now when he does come home, he’ll smell like a perfume that I don’t own. He’ll climb into bed and not even touch me once.”

  Thoughts started running through my head that I knew were a bad idea.

  Stay with me tonight.

  Stay with me in the morning.

  Stay with me.

  Loneliness was the voice in the back of your head that made you make bad decisions based solely on a broken heart.

  “Does it feel weird? Being back here?” she asked, changing the subject. Smart move. A slow turn of her body and we were staring into one another’s eyes again. A crimson color affected her cheeks and I swore I felt my heart break with the mere idea of her being alone.

  “A little.”

  “Did you see Kellan yet?”

  “You know my brother?”

  “He plays at open mics around town. He’s really good, too.” I didn’t know he’d been playing music again. She arched an eyebrow, curious. “Are you two close?”

  “I’ve been in Iowa for five years and he’s been here in Wisconsin.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, we’re close.”

  “Best friends?”

  “Only friend.”

  “I’m really freakin’ shocked about your friendship with Alyssa not lasting. I thought you would’ve had her knocked up or something by now.”

  There was a time when I thought that, too.

  Stop talking about Alyssa. Stop thinking about Alyssa.

  Maybe if I stayed the night tonight with Sadie, I wouldn’t let Alyssa fill my mind. Maybe if I fell asleep with her in my arms, I wouldn’t overthink being back in the same place where the one girl who I’d ever loved still resided. Stepping closer to Sadie, I brushed my hand over my chin. “Look you can—”

  “I shouldn’t,” she sighed, cutting me off. She was strange. Our stare broke as she looked to the ground. “He’s never cheated on me. He’s… He loves me.” Her sudden confession made my mind race.

  She was a liar.

  She was a cheater.

  She’s leaving.

  “Just stay.” I requested, and sounded more desperate than I wanted to. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” It wasn’t exactly a couch, but more of a broken down futon that had more stains than cushion. To be honest I’d probably be more comfortable on the dirty carpeted floor. Or, I could’ve called Kellan and slept at his place.

  But I wasn’t ready for that.

  The moment I saw someone from my past—someone I actually remembered—I knew I’d fall back into the old world. The world I ran from. The world that almost killed me. I wasn’t ready. How could one be ready to look their past in the eye and pretend that all of the hurt and pain was gone?

  She slipped into her dress and glanced over her left shoulder toward me. Eyes filled with compassionate sorrow. “Zip me?”

  It only took three footsteps before I was standing behind her, zipping up her dress that hugged every curve of her body. My hands rested against her waist and she leaned back against me.

  “Can you call me a cab?”

  I could and I did. The moment she left, she thanked me, and told me that I could stay the night at the motel—she had already paid and it shouldn’t have gone to waste. I took her up on the offer, but I wasn’t sure why she thanked me. I didn’t do anything for her. If anything, I made her a cheater.

  No.

  A first time cheater probably felt some kind of guilt.

  She just felt empty.

  I hoped I never saw her again, because being around other empty individuals was draining.

  After she left, I paced the motel room for an hour. Were there other people out there like me? Other people who felt so alone that they would rather spend meaningless nights with meaningless people just to have a few hours of staring into someone else’s eyes?

  I hated being alone, because when I was alone, I was reminded of all the things I hated about myself. I remembered all of my past mistakes that brought me to the point where instead of living, I simply existed. If I truly lived life, I’d end up hurting anyone that came near me, and I couldn’t do that anymore. That meant I had to be alone.

  In the past, I was never alone when I had my drugs—my silent, deadly, destructive friends. I was never alone when I had my greatest high.

  Alyssa…

  Shit.

  My mind was messing with me, the palms of my hands itching. I tried to watch television, but there was only reality garbage on the screen. I tried to draw for a while, but the pen in the room had no ink. I tried to shut off my brain, but I kept thinking about the best high I ever had.

  When would I see her?

  Would I see her at all?

  Of course. Her sister’s marrying my brother.

  Did I want to see her?

  No.

  I didn’t.

  God.

  I did.

  I wanted to hold her, yet at the same time never touch her again.

  I wanted to kiss her, yet at the same time never remember her curves.

  I wanted to…

  Shut up, brain.

  Lifting my cell phone, I held down the number two. The voice was different that time, but the greeting was the same. They thanked me for calling the drug and alcohol hotline. They welcomed me to talk about my current struggles and urges in a confidential setting.

  I hung up, like always.

  Because people like me, with a past like mine, didn’t deserve help. They deserved seclusion.

  My steps moved to the balcony, and I lit a cigarette, resting it against a dry spot on the ground. I listened to the rain hammer against the town of True Falls, and my eyes shut. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to hurt for the short period that the cigarette burned.

  I thought about Alyssa. I thought about Ma. I thought about all the drugs.

  Then, I always ended up thinking about the child that I could’ve held if it weren’t for the demons inside of me.

  Sometimes the cigarette burned for eight minutes. Other times, ten.

  One thing that never changed, no matter how long the cigarette lasted, was how my shattered heart still found ways to break into even smaller pieces.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alyssa

  Ea
ch day I carpooled to work with my neighbor, a seventy-year-old waitress named Lori. We both worked the morning shift at Hungry Harry’s diner, and hated every single moment of it. Lori had been working there for the past twenty-five years, and told me that her escape plan was to marry one of those Chris boys. Evans, Hemsworth, or Pratt, she wasn’t picky. Every day we’d drive over and Lori always complained about being five minutes early, stating that the worst place you could ever arrive early to was your place of employment. I didn’t blame her.

  I’d been working at Hungry Harry’s for the past five years. The worst thing about the job was I’d go in smelling like rose perfume and peach shampoo, and I’d walk out smelling like fried burgers and hash browns—every single day. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that every hour I worked put me closer to my dream of opening a piano bar.

  “You can do it, youngin’,” Lori said as we pulled up to the diner. “You’re still cool and hip. You got plenty of time to make that vision become a reality. The key is to not listen to the outside noise from those around you. People always have opinions on lives that they don’t live—just keep your head up high and avoid listening to their bullshit.”

  “Good advice,” I smiled, knowing she was only talking to keep us from having to walk into the building a second earlier than our punch-in time.

  “You know what my mama would say to me when I was being bullied as a kid?”

  “What’s that?”

  “One day at a time. That’s all it takes to get through anything. Don’t think too much about the future or keep your brain running on the past treadmill—just stay in the now. Be here now. That’s the best way to live life. In the moment. One day at a time.”

  One day at a time. One day at a time.

  I repeated those words in my mind when a rude customer screamed at me about their eggs being too scrambled, or when a baby threw a plate of food on the floor and the parents blamed me, or when a drunk dude threw up on my shoes.

  I hated the food service industry. But then again, it was good to see the ins and outs of such a place, because when I had the piano bar, such a big part of it would be about running the kitchen.