“It was good seeing you,” he murmurs, looking only at me before abruptly vanishing. Andrea’s mouth is moving but I’m not hearing anything she's saying. The sounds of the party as a whole have been drowned out as the echo of his voice rings in my ears.
“Rem.”
I shake my head, obnoxious music, yelling and laughter at full volume again.
Andrea is peering up at me with dangerous levels of concern. But my mask keeps slipping from my grasp. The gin is catching up to me— it’s hitching a ride with adrenaline on the express lane to my reeling brain.
“We’re leaving,” she declares and tugs me to the exit.
I’m floating. My feet aren’t on the ground. What are legs? Don’t have those. I’ve become nothing more than a scrambled consciousness wading through incongruent reality and flickering memories.
From far away, I hear Andrea's wavering voice again. “You’re scaring me.”
The ocean breeze toys with my hair; blissful relief of air not contaminated by Win’s scent.
Win.
Win, Win, Win.
My broken mind latches onto his name like a life raft. Then chucks it away like a scalding pan. I tear my wrist from Andrea’s hold and grip my hair by the roots.
I haven't realized until now that I’m hyperventilating and pacing in the sand. When did we get to the beach?
Her lower lip trembles. “Say something.”
Grains of sand caught in the wind sting my face and burn my eyes. No, those are tears spilling free. Soaking my cheeks. My lips.
“I was wrong,” I say to the crashing waves.
“What are you—”
“I hate him,” I choke. And I mean it. “I hate him so fucking much.”
My best friend's arms circle me from behind and…
I break.
6
Remy
Six Years Ago
Clusters of students linger in the shade by the pick up line gossiping and laughing with their designated cliques as Win and I descend Kingsbury’s front steps after an incredibly boring day of classes.
Last year, I would’ve been flitting from group to group, lost and desperate for acceptance. But ever since Win showed up, I stopped caring. Aside from Andrea, he’s the only person I'm comfortable enough with to be myself. Unless I'm imagining things, the feeling is mutual.
Around everyone else, he’s quiet, content to observe rather than participate in a conversation. But when we’re alone, he won’t shut up. He does this ridiculous giggle-snort at my atrocious jokes. He rants about conspiracy theories ranging from government experiments to the pyramids in Egypt. Sometimes he even whips out V and plays covers of his favorite songs— I never expected to crave such mournful music. Andeven though I should feel guilty for ditching Andrea again to hang out with him, I don’t.
I like having Win all to myself.
The shadow of V’s case stretches and contracts like elastic across the pavement as we skirt a hoard of jocks. Something crackles obnoxiously in his free hand.
It's one of those rice crispy treats he’s always stealing from the lunchroom. The wrapper catches the afternoon sun, forcing me to squint.
“Your metabolism is gonna slow down someday, you know.”
His nose wrinkles with a frustrated little huff. “Gotta make the most of it until then.”
