Page 21 of Was I Ever Free

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says somewhat stoically.

“No, you will not,” I say it so quickly that I even surprise myself and cringe internally. “I—I just mean, we—we are two adults. We can share a bed without making it weird. I used to share a bed with Lenix all the time.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Not that you are like a sister, but… uh.” I snap my mouth shut, hoping it will help with my rambling. When I notice that I am clinging to the straps of my backpack just like Lenix did in the video of when she went skydiving, I let go and try to shift my stance into something a little more casual.

Iammaking it weird.

Either, Bastian does not notice or does not care—could be both—because the next thing I know he is pulling his grease-stained t-shirt over his head, heading to the bathroom.

I stare at the now-closed door, then down at my feet. They feel rooted to the faded gray carpet. My mind latched on to the image of Bastian’s naked back walking away from me. I listen to the pipes groan and then the faint hum of the shower before I gather how to move again.

I am trying to figure out how to turn on the TV when Bastian reappears. The remote nearly slips out of my grasp when I take him in. My eyes do not know where to look and I freeze, but still take time to gape.

I notice his wet hair first, pushed off his face. My gaze then tracks a single drop of water gliding down his toned stomach. I barely have time to register his pierced nipples, and what looks like his only tattoo—some lettering across his chest that saysmemento mori—before my attention zeroes in on the dark trail of hair disappearing into the white towel tied around his narrow waist. Seeing him like this sends the same thrill I felt earlier zipping down my limbs. It makes me want to do something spontaneous, adventurous even, like walk up to him and trail my finger down the ridges and valleys of his naked torso.

When logic finally decides to catch up to my wandering thoughts, I suddenly realize I have been staring at Bastian for the past thirty seconds, but my eyes still linger. Finally, I peel my gaze away and snap back up to his face. My throat goes dry when I find heat in his dark assessing eyes.

“Your turn.” His voice is low, but it is missing its usual chill.

“My turn?” I repeat without really registering what I am saying.

His head slowly tilts toward the bathroom and I land back on earth.

“Oh! Right.” I smile, snapping out of my trance. “Shower. Good idea.”

Releasing the death grip I have on the remote, I scamper past him without saying another word, avoiding his piercing look and locking the door behind me.

Under the hot jet, I try to wash away my wandering thoughts, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. But no amount of scalding water will wash away the image of Bastian from my mind. I let it take root, finding it a home, safe and far, far away from all the other memories that still continue to haunt me.

The vision of me discovering how Bastian’s skin feels under my touch comes back in vivid colors. By the time I have dried myself off, I have decided that reality must feel even better than the imaginary.

11

Seventeen years old

Reality still feels like a dream.

The kind where the mind simply drifts, unencumbered and free. My eyelids are heavy, my blinks slow and unhurried. I perceive the haunting dance of the music still playing on my old stereo before I register where I am.

My bed.

My bedroom.

And my girlfriend Anna sleeping, her back turned, beside me.

I realize I’m still holding the needle in my hands, the shoe string loose, but still around my arm. Groggily, I take it off and rub the area distractedly. With strength I barely possess, I push myself up and sit against the headboard, patting for my pack of smokes beside me as I do so. My black-out curtains are drawn shut. It could be the middle of the afternoon—I wouldn’t know. I snap my zippo shut after lighting a cigarette and take a long drag, pushing one of my palms into my eye socket. Reaching for Anna’s shoulder, I give her a small shake.

“Wake up,” I croak.

I’m not sure what I notice first.

Maybe it’s all of it at once.

How her body feels under my touch. Her skin cold under the pads of my fingers. Or how her limbs feel rigid while I turn her towards me. Or maybe it’s her pale blue lips when I finally see her face.

Whatever it is. It doesn’t matter.

Anna’s gone.

And I was the one with the needle full of death.

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