Page 80 of The Last Special Thing

Art finished his line and gave her a curious look. She could say no. He only encouraged her to do drugs because he thought she would enjoy them. Her eyes fell to the powder. She had to make the decision now. It would be fun. Right?

Just once.

She held her hand out for the bill, and a flash of pride crossed Art’s face.

The paper scratched against her nose as she inhaled. As with the ketamine, it burned all the way up her nose and then caught in the back of her throat. Unlike Ketamine, her eyes went wide like she had taken a shot of adrenaline.

“Fuck,” she couldn’t help but say.

The band politely laughed, and Art put his arm around her reassuringly. “It’s good shit.”

They went around the table again, each inhaling their second line. The guys made conversation about a video game they had played earlier that day.

Amelia’s leg jittered. It was like Adderall times ten. She babbled to the group about how cool it was to be there. How impressive.

She stared at Evan, who was reclining on the couch. “How tall are you?”

“Uh, 5’9.” He chuckled and glanced around the group, as if unsure what to make of her interest.

“Same as me.” She nodded eagerly and stood, nearly knocking into the table. “Stand up.”

“I’m good,” Evan chuckled before looking at Art.

That was fine.

Who cared about him? She didn’t want to be confined to the room any longer. Energy pulsed against her chest; she was a lion in a cage. She needed out. Now.

“I’m going to get a drink,” she announced.

Art kissed her on the cheek, then returned to the conversation with the band.

She walked to the door, then, as an afterthought, called over her shoulder, “Break a leg!”

At the bar, Amelia ordered a double gin and tonic. As she had already gotten past the bouncer at the back, the bartender didn’t know to ID her. Regardless, Amelia was sure she didn’t look eighteen. Her lips were a dark red, she wore her favorite Good American jeans, and her new black corset top pushed her boobs up. In hindsight, the bandmates had gotten a show when she leaned over to snort the cocaine. A smile crossed at the idea of being desired. She was fucking invincible.

Amelia took a spot in the growing crowd next to a tall guy dressed in jeans and a black Guns ‘N' Roses shirt. He had cropped blond hair, and the curve of his biceps stretched against his sleeves. They stood off-center from the stage, with a direct view of the drum set. The guy nodded at her, and his steel blue eyes lingered on her chest before he raised a beer to his lips.

“What brings you here?” she chatted.

“My brother’s in the band.” He smiled at her.

A guy used to attention. While he wasn’t quite as tall as Art, he was still over six feet. In another life, perhaps she would have found him attractive. But in this life, cocaine fueled, with her amazing boyfriend going to be playing his first show, her thoughts were leashed to Art.

“Wait, that’s cool! My boyfriend is in the band! Who is your brother?” She grabbed his arm, thrilled by the coincidence that they both knew members of Honey Cat.

He glanced at her hand on his bicep, then back up at her. A smirk on his lips. “Evan.”

Amelia removed her hand quickly. She hadn’t meant to have her gesture misread. “Yes, he plays one of the guitars.”

“Bass,” he clarified.

“Sure, sure.” A guitar was a guitar. “What’s your name?”

She hadn’t asked, and she needed to know. She wanted to know everything, experience everything. Fucking fly. She was larger than life, surely, too big to be standing on the ground.

“I’m Joe.” He extended a hand to her.

“Amelia.” She shook it, then turned back to the stage. She lifted her drink, and her tongue circled the straw. She slurped her gin and tonic. She couldn’t wait for Art to be on the stage, drumsticks flying.