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Standing on the sidewalk, watching the cars drive by, I try to gather my scattered wits. I just need somewhere to hole up, lick my wounds, wait for the howling pain to lessen so I can think.
In the end, I work on instinct alone. I limp down some streets, across a boulevard, turn into a narrow alley with the smell of Chinese cooking and fried meat from the restaurant kitchens.
The spot where Shane and I used to sleep. Not far from the apartment. Maybe that’s why I hesitated to move away. The place’s more familiar to me than my mom’s house.
I slide down the wall and curl up, holding my arm folded over my stomach.
My shoulder’s killing me. I know that eventually I should head to an emergency room, but pain isn’t helping my brain think, and besides, now it’s too late.
Too damn late. Can’t get up again. The mere thought make
s me break out in cold sweat.
Need a minute. Just a little longer, to catch my breath. Then I’ll get up and make myself go, get checked out.
It’s not that cold back here, in the alley. The warm air from the kitchens wafts out, and the smells would have made my stomach growl if not for the goddamn pain. Fuck, it’s bad. Like slivers of glass slicing into my flesh, into my joints. Cutting me up. Pouring burning sand into marrow of my bones.
The pressure is back in my chest, the deadening weight of a misery that’s suffocating me. My eyes burn, but no tears fall.
What’s the use, anyway? Won’t help. Never has.
Something creaks in my back pocket. With an effort, I pull it out. My cell. It’s cracked, falling to pieces. I stare at it, not sure I can find it in myself to care.
I let it fall. See the pieces scatter, glittering dust.
Reminds me of the shining flecks of gold in Manon’s eyes. The brightness of her smile.
I lean back. So fucking tired. Time lurches, jumps. I open my eyes and it’s afternoon. I open them again, and it’s dark all around me, the lights from the restaurant kitchens and the boulevard spinning in circles.
Manon…
Fuck, the last days with her were beautiful. I won’t have the chance to hold her in my arms again. The happiness I felt then has to last a lifetime.
Chapter Twenty
Manon
That night I can’t sleep, and the next morning I wander in a daze. Yesterday I was angry, angrier than I’ve ever been. Angrier than I was with Fred for cheating on me.
Because my feelings for Seth are deeper, stronger. What he did, hiding the truth from me, hurts much more than anything Fred could ever do.
Drug dealing. Jesus. An ex-convict. How didn’t I know? How do I reconcile Seth with this? He has the tattooed bad boy image going for him, that’s for sure, but he’s quiet. Gentle. Intense sometimes, but wouldn’t I have noticed if he took drugs?
Or if he dealt them?
But today I don’t know how I feel. Doubt sets in. What am I missing? Something doesn’t make sense. So I skip classes and stay home, thinking.
Wrapped up in a long sweater and in my old Ugg boots, I curl up on the couch and Google the crap out of drug use. Try to find the missing clues.
Is Seth a user? Then maybe I should have noticed needle marks on his elbows, on his thighs, on his hands, in his feet.
But I didn’t see any.
He should experience intense mood swings.
Haven’t noticed that. Not if you take account of the context—like the things he told me at the zoo. Not unless you count swinging from sad to horny and then to happy.
Oh God. I rub a hand over my eyes. Not going to cry again for him. I’ll get to the bottom of this, though. Need to know.
