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Slowly, calmly, I talk myself through it. Just another line. Just to take the edge off, to stop the past from creeping up. I suddenly see Dar’s dopey smile as she winks at me, laughing at something totally random and stupid. My dad, bent over a mirror, snorting a line of white powder. Him tossing his head back, seeing me…and winking.
The two memories collide. Flickering like an old movie reel.
Everything was always in the open. No one in my life held back dirty secrets. It was life, normal, who we were. All this rehab and counseling shit, and Boone’s constant, uptight presence in my life is what’s skewing my perception.
And I don’t even know why I care. I’ve never cared what anyone thought of me—especially some temporary guy. And really, if I’m fucked up in his book, just what does that make him? He fucking wails on people, inflicting pain, trying to inflict it on himself, as some form of punishment or redemption.
That shit is far worse than getting a high on and not wanting to settle down anywhere. Who the hell wants to be just like all the rest of the lame asses out there? All tied down to some loser who comes home late every night, two kids on either hip, miserable, discontent.
Fuck that.
I march toward the counter and grab the baggie. Wiping away any dust from the yellow marble, I clear a spot and empty half the contents onto the hard slab. I reach into my back pocket and tweak out my photo ID (my license still in the process of being suspended).
I don’t think while I chop. The hard plastic card cutting through the tiny white nuggets, turning them into fine powder, makes me sweat. I feel it beading along the back of my neck. Anxious to taste the bitter numbness.
My life is no harder than the average Joe working a nine-to-five—it’s just…a different kind of hard. People come in and out of my life. Floating along the timeline like little warped butterflies. Some I care for, some I love, some I even despise. But at some point—
Everyone leaves.
I drop my head and snort right off the counter.
The burn races up my nose, my eyes water. I blink, my breath stuck in my chest as I swallow hard. Force saliva down my dry throat. I gasp when my lungs free up. Rub at my forehead, already feeling the numbing. Tingling my skin. My cheeks are pale, and I cough to finish clearing the initial rush.
I turn on the faucet and run water over my fingers, then twist a pad around the inside of one nostril, then the other. I pinch my nose and sniff. Suck up the rest of the crank to clear away the white residue. Another big hit goes into my system, and I stumble back. Water always ramps the buzz.
My nose feels so fucking numb, but as I look in the mirror, I notice trace blood. It’s been a minute since I’ve done anything this harsh, and having taken some time off from everything, I’m just a little sensitive. I rip some toilet paper from the roll and pat the red away.
As the high takes full effect, I press my back against the wall, deciding I could stay in this tiny ass bathroom all night. Only the thought of Boone sitting in my living room gets me moving.
I can’t have him out there, wigging, calling an ambulance or some shit if I don’t come back out.
But before I leave, I secure my pink bandana around my wrist. One last thought of Dar, touch her tree charm necklace—I still can’t remember where she got it—then push all thoughts to the back of my head. Store them away. With all the other people no longer a part of my life.
As I enter, I see Boone staring down at my phone. I didn’t realize I set it on the bar. With my keys. Right. I saunter toward him, feeling weightless. “Something interesting you got there?”
His head snaps up. Brows pulled tight. Awareness lights his hazel eyes. He’s not stupid, and knows I just refreshed my high. “It was beeping. I didn’t mean to look…but the screen displays texts as they come in. It sounded urgent since the person kept hitting you up so hard.”
I nod, not caring in the least if he searched my phone. I don’t have anything to hide. Not really. I walk past him and scoop my iPhone from the countertop. I hit the button to light the screen and see five texts from Sam.
Shit. She’s worried, saying that she’s been sending me emails and texts and hasn’t heard back once. That she’s seconds away from hiring a private investigator to hunt me down. Or call the police. I smile at the thought; she so would, too.
I wasn’t trying to avoid her…not really. I just didn’t want to go through the whole explanation of Dar’s death yet. Not to her, and not to anyone else. Not yet. But I quickly type out a response because I don’t want her any more upset than she already is.
Me: I’m fine, girl. Just between places right now. Will call with the deets once I’m settled.
She replies instantly.
Sam: Finally! You had me scared shitless. Wild biker girls cannot leave the rest of us lamers out of the loop, ya know? We tend to freak. I even sent Darla a message! She won’t reply to me either ? Did she get my birthday present to her? Anyway, let me know when and where you settle. Holden and I are thinking of taking a trip soon. Would be awesome if we could meet up ?
A searing fire travels up my chest, closing my throat on a sob. I can’t even think about trying to tell Sam why Dar will never respond to her messages again. It just feels so far removed from reality.
But then…Dar’s birthday. During the week she died. We partied so hard, and she did get a package. I was messed up then; can’t remember who she said it was from. But it was Sam. She must’ve told Sam where we were staying. My present to her was a week of partying. I cringe and fight back the tears.
Blistering at my own softness, I type out a final text: You’re on, girl. Will get you word from the road soon.
I set the phone back on the bar. Without another thought wasted on hard truths and inevitable, fucked up shit that I have no control over, I try to focus on Boone. On the guy who, for a brief moment today, revealed this completely different side of himself. When he encouraged me to ride. Patient, stimulating, intelligent. Self-aware. And totally in tune with me and what I needed in that moment.
Smi
