Page 60 of What’s Left of Us

I turned down every drink she offered.

It wasn’t until she and Nat snuck to a back room that I caved. I wanted to leave, but I knew Nat would never forgive me if I made a scene in front of her friends. I also didn’t dare follow her into that back room. I didn’t want to know what she was doing, let alone witness it.

While I waited for her to come back, I drank two beers. It wasn’t much, but it was faster than I’d ever drank before. And, as I’d learn tenfold in college, once I started drinking, it was hard for me to stop. It was simply fun, the way my entire body relaxed. All that stress I’d been carrying melted away until I understood why my sister liked this so much.

By the time Nat and Shayna returned, the party didn’t feel like a big deal at all. It felt like a good thing, so when Shayna offered me another drink, I accepted it. For once, I wasn’t having to think or worry or do anything but exist.

At some point, I crossed from tipsy to way, way too drunk. I didn’t even remember getting home. The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache of my life. My mouth tasted of vomit, but I didn’t remember throwing up. I didn’t remember a lot of the night before, and shame curdled through me.

Instead of keeping Nat safe, I’d become a liability right alongside her. I wanted to stay in bed for the rest of the day, both to nurse my hangover and my self-pity, but I made myself get up and act like everything was normal. Luckily, that was one skill I had mastered.

That night, Nat and I sat in my room. I was propped against the headboard, strumming my ukulele, while she doodled at the foot of my bed. Her spare phone must have been hidden away with her party clothes.

Nat had only said a few words to me since coming in, but I was stunned she was here at all. It had been months since she’d done this, since she’d shown any interest in my existence. If nothing else, the previous night had earned me her favor.

“I don’t remember getting home,” I admitted after a stretch of silence.

“You were trashed,” she said, and she said it fondly, like it was endearing. “Atlas had to carry you inside.”

“What.” It was a question, but it didn’t really sound like one. My entire body froze, and my ukulele fell from my lap. Nat continued her mindless doodling. I nudged her with my foot until she looked at me. “What’re you talking about? Atlas?”

“Yeah, he came out when we were getting home. Not sure why. But thank god. I don’t think I would’ve gotten you in without Mom and Dad waking up.”

I didn’t respond, too terrified to reveal the wrong thing. Nat didn’t seem concerned that Atlas had seen us stumbling home drunk from a party last night, but I knew he’d be furious. I’d just told him I wasn’t doing the stuff Nat was—and I wasn’t—but maybe it didn’t look that way.

I grabbed my phone off the charger. It died while we were out with Shayna, and I’d been procrastinating turning it on. Now that I had, I expected dozens of concerned texts from Atlas. Instead, there was only one new message waiting.

We need to talk.

My heart thudded as I read over the text, again and again, until the words blurred together. He was right. We did need to talk. I needed to convince him that I was fine. Nat was fine. Everything was fine.

Instead of doing any of that, I impulsively turned my phone back off and resumed playing the ukulele. I didn’t want to face his judgment. I didn’t want to admit that he might be right.

The next day, Nat and I went on an errand for Mom. When we returned, an array of plastic baggies were on the dining room table and everything was forever changed.

Chapter 26

now

Iwake up to the gentle press of Atlas’s thumb against my cheekbone. He traces my jawline to the other side of my face. It’s reverent, the way he’s touching me. I should pull away, but I don’t. I blink sleepily at him, swallowing to keep myself from crying. If I start again, I’m afraid I won’t stop.

Atlas smiles at me, soft, gentle. There’s no judgment in his expression, and that only makes me feel worse.

“How are you feeling?” He continues touching my face, the pad of his thumb brushing over my lower lip.

“Did Hayden call you?” I glance at my closed door. Through it, I can hear the soft clink of dishes being unloaded from the washer.

“Yeah.” He cups the side of my face. For reasons I can’t fathom, he leans forward and gently kisses my forehead.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask. The question cracks halfway through, and I swallow roughly. “You should hate me, Atlas.”

His jaw hardens.

“Never. Nothing you could ever do⁠—”

“I ruined everything.” I cut him off. “I ruined Nat. I ruined us. And I made you into the villain, just to spare my own feelings. I’m…”

I trail off. A hot tear leaks down the side of my face, and I swear under my breath. So much for keeping it together.