With that, I spin on my heel and march the rest of the way to my quarters. I keep my ears on high alert, but thankfully, Amelia doesn’t follow.
I am horridly drunk.I have no idea what inspired me to be such a disastrous moron, but for the first time in my twenty-seven years, I am hopelessly intoxicated. I have slipped far past the point of numbing my mind, and that had been the reason for the first drink. Even the second.
Now, I’ve had five drinks and everything is spinning. I’m stumbling around my room like a toddler learning to walk, tears streaming down my face and an unpleasant nausea settling in my gut. I am, inevitably, going to puke.
“Fuck you, Amelia,” I say.
She’s not here. I’m not drunk to the point of delusion—yet—but the words feel satisfying all the same. Maybe evenmoresatisfying, seeing as she can’t defend herself.
“You’re stupid,” I declare to my empty quarters. “You don’t know anything.”
I stumble over to my wall of dead but thriving plants. Stick my finger deep into the soil. Dry. I forgot to water them.
“Stupid plants,” I say. I stagger to the kitchen, fill a pitcher ofwater, then stagger back. By the time I reach the wall, I realize I’ve lost a good amount of water on the floor. That’s a problem for tomorrow. “Here, drink your stupid water.”
I hiccup.
“Elliot was a friend,” I say. I don’t know if I’m telling imaginary Amelia or the plants. “Elliot was a stupid friend. And…and just because…If you saw the way he reacted now…Stupid.”
I hiccup. My stomach twists, and I briefly consider running for the toilet.
“No vomiting,” I instruct myself. Then, because I’m sloppy drunk, I start to laugh. My words are slurring. I hardly sound like myself, and though it’s probably not, itfeelshilarious.
I laugh as I return to the kitchen, leaving the empty pitcher on the counter. Then, I go to my bedroom and glare at the jars and jars of memories.
“Stupid,” I tell them. “All of you.”
I sit on the end of my bed and wrestle my tights off until they’re in a tangled heap on the floor. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, like I’m roasting from the inside out. I have no idea if this is supposed to happen when you drink alcohol. For all I know, I’m having a horrific allergic reaction and I’ll die before morning comes.
Here’s to hoping.
I peel my dress over my head. I’m in nothing but my underclothes, and I’m still hot.
I shove from the bed, run my fingers delicately over Elliot’s memories. I should watch each and every one of them. That way, I’d know which to show Elliot. If he even wants to see more. Maybe, hopefully, he’ll be scarred enough from today’s session that he’ll never want to see another memory. He’ll help me with sunwalker spells, and we can pretend our past never happened.
I assumed if I stuck to his twelve-year-old memories, we’d be safe. I didn’t know he liked me back then.
I wasn’t lying when I told Elliot I hadn’t watched his memories since the day I stole them. I haven’t watched myownmemories in nearly as long.
“Fuck.” I stumble past the jars around the doorway and move to the final wall of memories. These are mine. Dozens of them, silver-lidded. Detailed with ink. “I’m going to have to watch you, aren’t I? I’m going to have to take you back.”
Memories of every color thrash in their jars. Purples. Reds. Oranges. Blues. Greens.
They’re all desperate for escape, and right now, in this drunken stupor, I see them for what they are. Protection. The only way to protect meandElliot, is for me to remember what I’ve forgotten.
“Fine,” I tell the jars. I stumble along them, reading the labels until I find the one I want.
In the morning, I’ll be ashamed of what I pick. Maybe I feel the shame even now, but alcohol is nothing if not stubborn. It demands I pick this one, the same one I eye all too often.
Cora Reed
age 14
Astoria Lake*
This was a terrible idea.I knew it when Margot invited me. I knew it when I attempted to say no, and I knew it even more when I reluctantly agreed. There was never a point I thought this was a good idea. As I put on this stupid dress. As I let Margot apply goopy makeup on my eyelashes and sparkles on my cheeks. As I followed her and her friend group down to the shores of Astoria Lake.
Still, it’s never felt like a worse idea than it does right now.
