by Jo Raven
“Are you okay, man?”
“Peachy.”
“What happened to your leg?”
He casts me a flat look. “Nothing. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
Yeah, as if. I fall in step with him, and we make our slow way to the house from where music and loud voices are spilling in the air.
“What the hell was that with your dad and his friends the other night?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“He lets you drink.”
He hisses, slows down more. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“What if I don’t want to, Kash?”
“Don’t want what? To try me?”
“No, jackass. To tell you about it.”
I shake my head. The music grows louder as we enter the house. Nobody appears to check who we are. Kids throng the entrance hallway, spilling out into the lawns through open sliding doors and windows.
For a moment, my breath stutters. I can see myself among those kids, walking about carefree, fucking shit up and not having to pay the price. Having folks who care for them and look after them. Kids acting their age.
I see a head of red curls and turn that way, thinking it’s Sydney—and bump into Nate.
“Fuck, watch where you’re going.”
“Relax, man.” Nah, it’s not her. “Let’s grab something to drink. Do you think they’ve got beer?”
“What do I know? You’re the one who dragged me here.”
“Look, I didn’t know you’d hurt your leg, okay? Come on.” I grab his arm and haul him toward a table with drinks I’ve just spotted. “Let’s get you settled in.”
He jerks his arm free of my hold and shoots me a death glare. “I don’t wanna get settled. Fuck off.”
“Whoa. You’re one grumpy motherfucker.” I lift my hands, annoyed. “And here I thought West was the cranky one.”
“You know nothing about West.”
“That so? Enlighten me then.” I grab a beer for myself, snap the lid off at the edge of the table and take a long swig.
“He’s… got a lot going on.”
Oh, unlike you? I wanna say but don’t. He’s wound up too tight as it is, and chasing him away would defeat the purpose of this whole evening out. “Really?.”
“Yeah. His granddad is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and his sister is fucking nuts, and… why the hell am I telling you all this?”
I shrug. “Because you wanna show me you two are besties, and I’m not part of the clique?”
He blinks owlishly at me and grabs a beer from the table. “No, man. Don’t be an ass.”
“Okay.” I look down at my beer, consider my next words. “Because you want to be friends with him again and need someone to tell you how?”
He opens his beer. Says nothing.
“What did you two fight over?” But as I look at him, I know the answer. “It was Sydney, wasn’t it?”
“No, it wasn’t…” He huffs, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah.”
Right. Hell, I don’t really wanna know what happened. I bet he’d deck me—or try to—if he knew I kissed the girl they’ve been butting heads over.
Damn. Using my beer bottle to hide behind, I search the room for a redhead and a tall dark-haired boy. Sydney, where are you?
I can’t wait for this night to be over, and it’s only just begun.
“Hell of a party.” Nate thumps me on the back, and I choke on my second beer. “You were right, dude. This…” He waves his bottle, barely missing a passing guy’s head, “is fucking great.”
“Good, good…” I’m starting to lose hope that Sydney will appear. “Getting late, though. Time to go home. Your dad will be worried.”
“My dad?” Nate doubles over with laughter. “Fuck… You’re cracking me up.”
“I am?” Never been the funny guy in any group of people. “Nate—”
“Don’t.” Straightening, he wipes a hand over his mouth, waves the bottle around. “Don’t ever mention that fucking asshole again.” He claps my shoulder, and I groan. Guy is strong. “Okay? Good.”
“You’re drunk off your ass,” I mutter, resigned. “Why do I think this was a bad idea?”
“Oh come on, Kash.” He’s grinning, and he looks so damn young like this, without the lines of anger and fear normally etched in his face. “What’s that short for, anyway?”
“Kevin Ashton,” I reply absently, my standard reply. My standard lie.
Nate howls with laughter, hanging off me, his beer spilling to the floor. “No fucking way. That’s hilarious.”
Dammit. “Why? It’s just a name.”
“Two names.” He has to let go of me to lift two fingers in the air, and that sets him off again.
“Okay, you’ve had enough.” I try to pry the bottle from his other hand, but he won’t let go. “Nate. I said it’s time to take you home.”
“Yeah? Only you’re not my dad, and my dad doesn’t give a damn about me, so how about I stay until I pass out here on the fucking floor? Who’s gonna notice, huh?”
My throat closes. I shouldn’t care about everything he says, but it resonates so much with me I’m vibrating like a plucked chord. Like with Sydney, I can read between his words, hear the dark melody running underneath, and something in me answers.
Bad, bad idea.
“Stay then,” I snap at him, so confused I’m fucking angry. “See if I care. Stay and get shitfaced on your own. Have fun.”
“Kash…”
But I’m already moving away, shoving a path through the stupid drunken kids with their stupid simple lives.
I have to score some dope and get back, and never allow myself to get roped into a goddamn mess like this one, pretty girl or not.
Chapter Twelve
Nate
Drinking isn’t good for me. I know it. I know it every time my dad makes me drink, every time I swallow the burning liquid. It’s probably why my vision is flashing with spots of bright light right now, while black holes are eating at the room, creating areas of nothingness.
Fuck… Auras. This is bad. Potentially super fucking bad. No way can I catch it now before it lands me on my ass.
And I don’t give a shit. If nobody else does, then why should I, right?
Smoking is not good, either, but I bummed a smoke off Kash earlier, and I suck on the cigarette as if it will save me.
I spot a bottle of whiskey on the table with the drinks and wince, nausea rolling in my stomach. Dad’s favorite drink. Sticking my cigarette in my mouth, I move past the whiskey and grab a bottle of tequila.
Might as well go all in. Can’t be any worse than it already is, can it?
Wait, don’t answer that. Like I said, I don’t give a shit. I don’t care about tomorrow, and it’s a relief. Such a relief not to care, not to be afraid for once.
I’m so sick and tired of fear.
The tequila goes down easily, sliding down my throat to warm up my chest. The smoke makes me high, the booze low. A precarious balance of moods.
Briefly I wonder where the homeowners are, the parents supposed to keep an eye on their crazy offspring and their friends. Probably out of town.
Well, they might be in for a surprise when they’re back, I think, watching some suspicious action taking place through the French window overlooking the pool. Small plastic bags are changing hands, bags filled with powder or pills.
Or am I seeing things? I rub at my bleary eyes, unsure.
“Hey, cutie.” A girl has come to stand in front of me. She winks with super-long black lashes. “Wanna dance with me?”
Her outline shimmers.
I want to say no—but why the hell not, right? My best friend hates me, the girl I want doesn’t want me, and it won’t be long before I’m laid out anyway, too sick to think.
Her hand slips into mine, and I barely have time to put my cigarette out in an ashtray before she tugs me away from the window. Her grip is cool and dry, and she smells of perfum
e, something musky and heavy. It makes the nausea worse, and in any case… what the hell am I doing?
Something holds me back. The same thing that has held me back for this past year. And it’s not a thing, it’s a girl, and not just a girl.
A feeling.
I yank my hand away as if hers burns. “Uh, no can do, sorry. I’m waiting for someone.”
“A girl.” She says it with disdain, as if she doesn’t fit in that description, too.
“That’s right.”
I stumble back, black eating patches of my vision, and turn away. Drink more tequila, or find a dark corner to curl up? Maybe in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Or better yet, a bathroom. Bile is souring my mouth already, and I should have seen this coming. Stress triggers it every damn time. Alcohol was just the last push into hell, and I’m about to tumble down all the goddamn way.
As if all this wasn’t bad enough, as if my descent into hell wasn’t enough punishment, a familiar face swims into view as I make my way through the laughing, yelling, dancing crowd:
West.
He makes a grab for me just as my stomach finally rebels, and I puke all over his shoes—the shoes of my best friend who doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.
Jesus, I must have really kicked someone’s whole litter of puppies in a past life.
“How much did you have to drink?” West is asking as I finish puking for the third time and sit back on my ass in front of the toilet.
“Two beers. A tequila.”
“A bottle of it?”
“You’re so fucking funny, Weston, anyone tell you that?” I wheeze. “Nah, I only had two shots.”
Ow, my head. I put my hand over my eyes, the light is like a red-hot poker being shoved slowly into the right side of my head, and it’s all I can do not to howl.
“Then why are you puking your guts out? Wait a sec…” A grunt. A slither. He’s sat down beside me. “Sensitivity to the light. Nausea. A migraine?”
I know without looking that those too-perceptive blue eyes are on me. “Yeah.”
“You haven’t had one in a while.”
I say nothing. I wince.
“Dammit, Nate. You’ve been having them but hid it from me. Why?”
See, I don’t even have to try to fuck up. I’m a natural. Piece of cake.
Someone opens the bathroom door.
“Occupied,” West says flatly, and shuts the door again. Quietly.
He knows loud voices hurt my brain when I’m like this. Back when I first had one of these bitches, he Googled everything he could about them.
My eyes sting. “Thanks, West.”
“What for?”
“Talking to me again. I know I fucked up.”
“It wasn’t that bad. Look…” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t just you. I fucked up just the same.”
The pain in my skull spikes. I swallow hard. “Not so sure about that. And sorry about puking on your shoes. I know you like cleanness, and this is… well, it’s the opposite of cleanness. I’m the opposite of all you need. How did you know I’d be here?”
I should stop talking. My words echo inside my head, making the pain worse. But I can’t stop.
And then West says, “That’s bullshit. You’re exactly what I need.”
It makes me wanna smile, despite everything.
“As for your question,” he goes on, “Sydney dragged me here.” A chuckle. “Said I was miserable without you.”
Yeah… “Kash dragged me here.” I lift my gaze cautiously. We exchange a suspicious look. “You don’t think…”
“What?”
“They set us up. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It’s possible.” His face is serious, but not angry, as much as I can make out through the double vision.
Phew. “And where’s Sydney?”
“Said she’d look for Kash.”
Fuck. “Right.”
“Do you really think there’s something going on between them?”
I shrug. Cover my eyes again. “Don’t you?”
A huff.
Time passes in blessed silence, and I’m strangely happy—though I’d be happier if I was in my bed with all the lights off and pills strong enough to knock me out until tomorrow. The red-hot poker inside my head has turned into a drill trying to get to the back of my eyes. My teeth are grinding together.
God, I’d actually fucking kill for some painkillers.
“Hang in there, man,” West mutters. “I texted Sydney. We’re taking you home.”
Home. There’s something… something I need to ask him, even as the darkness draws me down, as the pain flares so bad I think my head will explode.
“West… You and me… we’re friends, right?” I need to hear it, need to know it.
“Best friends, man,” he says. “Forever. No matter what. Come here.” He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I slump against him, relieved.
“You should have told me about the migraines, Nate,” he says after a long moment. “I could have helped you.”
“No one can,” I whisper and close my eyes, shutting out the world, trusting him to have my back.
The cab ride home feels like one of West’s nightmares. The bumps in the road, the vibrations of the engine, the flashing lights streaking by, the smell of pine air-freshener, all threaten to send me hurling all over West again.
And Sydney, who’s also in the cab.
And Kash.
It’s weird, and mortifying. Even more so when Kash and West have to help me out of the car and into the building because I’m too dizzy to stand up straight.
Awesome.
They drag me up the stairs, and into an apartment. It takes me a moment to process that we’re not inside mine.
“Where?” I mumble.
“My room.” West guides us through the living room and through a familiar doorway. “Where I can take care of you.”
Your granddad, I want to say. Your sis. Did you ask them? Is this okay?
But just the thought of asking out loud, and even worse, the thought of crawling to my own empty bedroom exhaust the last of my reserves. I’m sat down, then laid back on the bed from which someone has thoughtfully pulled back the covers—Sydney?—and my shoes are removed.
A glass of water appears by my hand, and pills. I don’t ask where they got them, or what they are. I’d take radioactive sludge by this point if it meant the pain and dizziness might stop. My head hurts so much that the pain in my back that has plagued me all day and night has faded to the background.
Time skips and rolls, and I find myself on my side, covers pulled up to my chest, a cold compress on the back of my neck. I can barely feel the mattress I’m lying on, or my limbs. Whatever they gave me, it’s good stuff.
“West?” I croak.
“Right here.” He pats my arm. He’s sitting beside me on the bed. The curtains are drawn, and his face is a pattern of shadows, the only light coming from his phone. “You okay there?”
I think of nodding and change my mind. “Yeah.”
“You sound rusty. Want some water?”
“No.” My stomach is still twisted up. “Syd?”
“Here,” she says, and unfolds from a chair by the window, coming toward me. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like roadkill, I bet,” another male voice says, and I blink.
Kash?
He saves me the trouble of asking, coming around the bed and folding his arms over his chest.
Is this some weird dream?
“I left a note under your door saying that you’re staying here tonight,” West says. “In case your dad’s worried.”
I’d laugh if I thought my head wouldn’t explode.
“His dad isn’t home this weekend,” Kash says. “Won’t be back for days.”
And that’s a relief.
He’s studying me like he can read my thoughts. He’d be disappointed. It’s a swamp inside my head, murky and dangerous, filled with monsters.
&nb
sp; “Hey, Nate,” Sydney says softly, crouching in front of me, and her face is the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever rested my eyes on. It sure beats my cracked ceiling. “Next time, you let us know, yeah?”
“Okay.” I can’t refuse whatever she asks of me. No wonder she got Weston to come to the party.
And when she leans in and kisses my cheek, her lips soft and warm, I shiver—with reaction, with pleasure, with want, with fucking gratitude. “I’m right next door. Just text me if you feel it coming on.”
Maybe. Why not? She can put a compress to my neck and draw the curtains. Her kiss still burns on my cheek, a ghostly touch.
As for the really bad stuff? She knows none it, and no one ever will, if I have any say in it. There’s nothing she or anyone else can do.
Long ago, I tried telling people and nobody believed me. Now it’s too fucking late to undo it all. The rock hanging around my neck is getting heavier. I’ve sunk so low I’m not sure anyone could pull me up before I suffocate.
“Now fess up, Syd,” West says, yanking me back from the chasm my thoughts were tumbling into. “Did you two set us up at the party?”
“It was Kash’s idea, actually,” she says, and I glance at him, though my eyes are closing again.
Man, I’m so damn exhausted, but I manage a frown. “You serious?”
“Well, you kissed and made up, right?” Kash says, lifting his chin, scowling at me from under his fringe. “So my work here is done.”
He offered to help West and me make up? Ignoring the kissing bit, of course. Why would he? He doesn’t really know us, and I got the impression that he didn’t… really care. Didn’t want to get involved.
In this messy triangle.
Unless he’s trying to impress Syd. Fuck, if that’s what this is all about…
“Cool your jets, dude,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. “I’m not going to stick around here for much longer. What you guys have…is special.” He shakes his blond head. “Just don’t fuck it up again when I’m not around to fix it.”
Chapter Thirteen