Monday, July 28
OMG, it hurts. . . . It hurts, and they won’t tell me where Carson is. I can’t I can’t I can’t.
Tuesday, July 29
Carson is in a coma. They won’t let me see him. I’m on some kind of psychiatric hold in the hospital. My mom says they’re worried I might try to kill myself.
I don’t even know where to start.
Carson and I went out to Aldo’s, that Italian restaurant where my dad takes my mom on their anniversary. It was so nice I felt out of place, even in my good black skirt. But it didn’t matter, because Carson was wearing a blue jacket and a white shirt looking like he was going to the Grammys or something. His beauty totally made up for my lack thereof. He broke the ice with the waiter when he ordered a bottle of their finest cola, and after that, I relaxed. It was just so nice to be out. To be with him. To see him again. I felt like the last few weeks had been some horrible nightmare and now I was back where I should be.
Then he got a text. He looked at it and put it back in his pocket. I asked who it was, but he wouldn’t tell me. He got another one, and I started to get suspicious. Was he seeing someone else? I felt hot all around my neck and under my arms. When the third text came in, he said he’d turn his phone off, but I made him show me the phone. All the texts were from Reid. He was at a party and wanted us to come. You’ve never seen so much good shit, the text said. With four exclamation points. The shit he was referring to, of course, was drugs.
My mouth actually started to water. The party with Jess and Kelly was a little weird with the parental rollers and all, but I wanted to do molly with Carson again. I knew that if I did, it would make the icky feeling from yesterday go away.
Let’s go, I said to Carson. He said no way. He told me tonight was just about being with me, and he didn’t want to betray my parents’ trust. I laughed. Screw my parents. They had kept me locked in my room like a caged animal for DAYS. And if he wanted to be with me, why not be with me on molly so we could really relax? It took a lot of convincing, but finally he said okay. Anything for you, he said.
Oh, god. It kills me now, just writing that. Anything for me. We’d gone there for me. It was my idea. I’d pushed it. And now. . . . Oh my god, what if he doesn’t wake up? What if he . . .
I can’t.
Okay, so I grinned and kissed him right there over our pasta dishes. I texted my parents that we were about to order our second course, and Carson asked for the check.
The party was in the woods off the hiking trail where dad used to take us as kids. There were dozens of people there, and everyone was completely high by the time we arrived. Reid was jumping up and down and bouncing around like a jumping bean. He’d taken off his T-shirt and tied it around his head. When he saw us, he threw his arms around us and kissed us both on the mouth. He tasted like beer and tuna fish.
Carson just laughed. Reid’s pupils almost covered the blue in his eyes. My skin prickled. I wanted to feel as good as he did, though hopefully not look as stupid.
Where’s the molly? I asked.
Reid dragged us over to this guy sitting at the base of a huge oak tree. Two girls were lying next to him, one with her head on his thigh while he turned the other way and put together pouches of molly. He was big and really fat and he had a black leather vest on over a white T-shirt that was stained and rising up to expose his belly. For a split second everything felt wrong. Who was this guy? We didn’t know if his molly was safe, and there was no one here to test it. But then, all of a sudden, Carson shouted, Is that Big Dave?!
The guy looked up and smiled, and the two of them slapped hands. Carson told me that Big Dave used to coach his little league soccer team and still lives down the street from his house. I relaxed a little after that. If Carson knew him, he couldn’t be a bad guy.
Big Dave handed us pouches of molly and bottled water. Carson paid him. When he handed the money over, Dave held his hand for an extra minute, and I could tell he was passing Carson something. I should have asked what it was, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to sound like the drug police or something. Besides, all I could think about was getting high as fast as possible because the party was crazy. People were half dressed and moshing, and there was a fire in the middle of the clearing. It all looked vaguely Lord of the Flies-ish, and I had a feeling it would be a lot more enjoyable once the molly kicked in.
Which it was. Carson and I were slow dancing in the middle of all the crazies when I felt my brain go light and the flames of the fire went blue and purple and green. I leaned my head against his chest and heard his heart pounding over the electronic drums in the music. He buried his hands in my hair and massaged my head and the feeling of my own hair rubbing my scalp was like a million fingers tickling my skin. When he tipped my head back and kissed me, it was like our lips were exploding together into a million prickling particles of energy.
I saw Carson down a second hit of molly and asked if he had more. He gave me another, and after that everything just got more and more intense. Suddenly I started feeling jittery. It was like my whole body was vibrating. Someone slammed into me from behind. I shoved back, and shoving felt good. It felt, for a second, like the crazy energy inside of me had a release. But then, it was back. My jaw clenched and my eyes were shaking. Someone knocked me from behind, and I rammed my shoulder into their back. Then someone else shoved me, and I hit the ground on my ass. I looked up, and all I saw were flailing limbs and closed eyes and fire. Then I saw Carson, downing another hit of molly.
Someone stepped on my hand, and my fingers exploded in pain. Fear coursed through me, hot and feral and alive. I shoved myself up. The dancers around me had red eyes. They had fangs. They were painted with blood. I turned around to find Carson, and he grabbed me roughly, locking one hand around the back of my head and shoving his tongue so far into my mouth I thought I was going to choke.
I was high. Very, very high. But I still knew this wasn’t right. I shoved him off of me. He shoved me back. Hard. The back of my head slammed into the tree behind me. Carson laughed and took a fourth hit of molly, downing it with an entire bottle of water. He chugged it so fast, the water streamed down the side of his face and dripped onto his bare shoulders. When had he taken his shirt off? The water glistened like blood.
I grabbed his arm. The back of my head throbbed, and when I touched it with my free hand, it felt wet. I was bleeding. Carson! We have to get out of here!
The music was so loud, it was pounding inside my chest.
Carson flung me off of him. You’re the one who wanted to come here!
That was the last thing he said to me—You’re the one who wanted to come here.
He cackled and then turned around and ran. He sprinted around the party clearing in a circle, cheering and jumping and then running some more. He and Reid slammed chests, then both fell back on the ground, and were up again in an instant. I backed away from the other partiers, taking shelter under a tree as the world started to spin. My jaw was so tight, my temples hurt. I needed some gum or something to eat, but I didn’t know anyone and I could barely make sense of what I was seeing.
The next time Carson breezed past me, I grabbed his wrist.
We need to go.
Carson stopped. He looked at me and for a split second, his eyes focused. Oh, thank god, I thought. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe this stuff was harsh but went through your system fast, and he was already coming down. I gripped both his hands, waiting for him to say, Yeah. Let’s get out of here.
Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He went down so fast, I didn’t even have time to scream. His skull slammed into a rock and one of the dancing psychos stepped fully on his face with his huge sneaker. Blood seeped out of Carson’s nose, but he didn’t move. He didn’t twitch or writhe or anything. He was gone.
That was when I started to scream.
Later . . .
The doctor just told me I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t feel lucky. I feel like shit. I couldn’t
write anymore after that last bit. My dad says Carson is still comatose. He says maybe I can see him tomorrow. All I can think about is how handsome he looked at the restaurant. How he wanted to stay. How right now he would be home and safe if I’d just let him stay.
I don’t even remember how we got out of the woods. I just remember a lot of people running and me screaming into a phone and then flashing lights. I think I passed out after that. I remember flying down a hallway on a stretcher, my mom’s purse slapping against my arm. And I remember the stomach pumping. I will NEVER forget that. When some big male nurse shoves a tube down your throat and you wretch all over yourself, it’s not something you forget, even if you want to. The inside of my throat still hurts, and all I can eat is broth and Jell-O.
There was some kind of chemical in the molly. Something that makes it hit you faster, but can also cause bad reactions. Fucking Big Dave. I told the cops exactly where they could find that troll. I hope he goes to jail for life.
I just wish they’d let me see Carson. Maybe if he could hear my voice, he’d wake up. I just want to look him in the eye and tell him I’m sorry and that I will never, ever make him go to a party again. I just want to tell him I love him.
Wednesday, July 30
I’m home. Everyone’s tiptoeing around me like they think I’m going to explode. Exploding is the last thing I feel like doing. I feel like curling up in a ball and dying. Slowly. And as painfully as possible.
They let me see Carson today before we checked out of the hospital. I almost wish they hadn’t, even after all my begging. He had this big tube sticking out of his mouth and a bandage on his nose. That jackass broke it when he stepped on him. He looked so pale, he was almost green, and even though it’s only been a few days, he looked skinny. Shrunken. It was like his perfect, strong chest had gone concave.
His parents left me alone with him so I could talk to him, but when I opened my mouth, I just started sobbing. I clung to his hand and cried and cried and cried. When I finally could talk, I just kept saying I’m sorry over and over again. I wanted to say something encouraging. Tell him he was going to get better and that I’d be here when he did, but looking at him made it all seem impossible.
I don’t think he’s going to get better. But he has to. He has to. He’s Carson. He’s healthy and athletic and sweet and fun and kind and loving. He’s going to college in the fall. His life is going to be perfect.
It has to be. It has to.
Friday, August 1
Jess came by today. I didn’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I was staring at the TV when she came in. She told me she wished she’d been there so she could have helped, but I didn’t say anything. I’m glad she wasn’t there. If she was, maybe she’d be in a coma too. Or dead.
I love Carson so much it hurts. I miss him so much, and I’m so, so scared. I can’t think about anything else. I can’t talk to anyone because I’ll just start crying. He’s the only person I want to talk to, and I won’t talk again until I can talk to him.
Eventually, Jess gave up trying to talk to me and just sat there and watched TV in silence. I kept wishing she’d go away. When she finally did, I felt relieved.
Saturday, August 2
Carson is brain dead. My dad just told me. His parents are deciding whether or not to keep him on the machines. If they take him off, he’ll die. He’ll die. He’s going to die.
Monday, August 4
It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m never going to hear him laugh again. I’m never going to hear him say my name, see him smile, touch his face. He’s never going to go to college or play soccer or get married or have kids. And it’s all my fault. Mine. You’re the one who wanted to come here, he said. And he was right. I made him go to the party. I made him leave the restaurant. All he wanted to do was sit with me and eat dinner and talk. That was what he wanted. And I killed him.
Friday, August 8
Carson is gone. His funeral is tomorrow. I can’t go. I can’t face all those people. They know what I did. They know it was me. I wish they’d put me in the ground with him.
Monday, August 11
My mother took me to see Tim today. I cried the entire time. Just sat on his couch and cried. He gave me a box of tissues, and I used the whole thing. Everything hurts. Every last inch of me. He kept saying, Tell me what you’re feeling. What are you feeling right now?
I told him I want to die.
Wednesday, August 13
Someone has been sitting by my bed at all times for the past two days. My mom, my dad, Ashley, Jess, Tim, even my grandmother is here. I haven’t spoken to any of them. I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t know why they’re here. I wish they would go away.
My mom keeps trying to make me eat, but I can’t. I won’t. Carson will never eat anything ever again. I wonder if he knew what was happening right before he passed out. I wonder if he was scared. I wonder if he hated me, in that moment. If that was why he looked at me so clearly right before he went down. Because he knew. He knew that his life was over and it was my fault.
Friday, August 15
Apparently I slept for two days and while I was sleeping, my mom read this journal. I woke up and she was sitting in front of me, crying, with the journal open in her lap. I sat up to shout at her, and my brain went fuzzy so fast I had to lay right down again. The room was spinning. I closed my eyes and brought my hands to my head, but it didn’t help. I could feel the bed underneath me turning, my organs fighting to keep up with the constant motion.
Mommy, make it stop, I heard myself say.
She gently moved my hands and kissed my forehead. I’d never felt anything so good.
That’s all I want to do, she said.
I can’t believe she read the whole thing. I can’t believe she knows everything. All the sex and the drugs and the insanity. I can’t believe she still kissed me after reading all that. OMG, I think I’m going to throw up.
Later . . .
Tonight my dad brought me chicken broth in a mug with a lid and a little spout, so I wouldn’t spill it, and said I had to drink it. I was offended at first. I’m not a baby. But when I tried to hold it, I was so weak I almost dropped it, so then I knew why. My mother and father sat on either side of my bed and watched me drink it. I felt like a prisoner again, but the warm liquid felt so good going down, I didn’t care. Then my mother took out the journal and handed it to me. She told me she wanted me to read it, from beginning to end, and then she wanted me to decide what I wanted to do.
What does that mean? I asked.
Well, I guess it means do you want to live, or do you want to die?
Then they both left my room.
Saturday, August 16
I stayed up all night reading. If some of the pages in this thing are smeared, it’s because I couldn’t stop crying. I’ve never felt so many clashing emotions at the same time in my life. I felt stupid and angry and indignant and sad and happy and excited and terrified and guilty. Carson never needed the drugs, did he? He was always fine just being with me. He did them for fun, but he never needed them to feel comfortable or happy. I never thought of myself as the one pushing this on other people, but that’s what I did to him and not just that last night. He wanted to be with ME. Not the me I was on molly. He loved me. He really loved me. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to him. Never.
Sunday, August 17
I just got into a screaming fight with Jess. I woke up and she was sitting in a chair, watching me. I asked her why she was here, and she said, You’re on suicide watch.
So? Wasn’t it my family’s job to watch me? What the hell was she doing here?
I asked her again, and she freaked out. She said, I care about you, you asshole! I love you! You’re my best friend, and I’m not going to let you die!
So, I told her she’d be better off without me. I apparently kill the people I love.
And she said I did not kill Carson. It was Carson’s decision
to do drugs. His decision to take four hits. And it was Big Dave’s decision to cut some crazy shit into the molly. If Carson was here, he’d tell you the exact same thing! YOU DID NOT KILL ANYONE! she screamed at me. GET OVER YOURSELF, AND GET THE HELL OUT OF BED!
Then she stormed out of my room, and slammed the door.
Tonight, when my mom brought me toast, I ate it. I almost threw it up, but I managed to keep it down. I kept telling myself just one more bite. Just get through one more bite. Then you can sleep.
Monday, August 18
I can’t stop thinking about what Jess said about getting over myself. I read through this journal again today, and I realized everything in it is about me. I mean, it’s supposed to be about my life and everything, but so much of it is about what other people are thinking of me. What they do to me. How they make me feel. Whether they like me or think I’m pretty or dorky or what. It’s like . . .
It’s like I never think about anybody else, or how they feel, or what they need or want. I swear there’s something wrong with me. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t. I feel so fucking stupid.
Dancing with Molly Page 16