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Indy

They should have been more careful about who they let in here.

A room full of fragile, recovering addicts should not have been open to a backsliding junkie with a fun tablet dissolving in his mouth.

My mouth. I sat in the back row of the community center room in a cold metal folding chair, working my tongue around the pill that grew more chalky and bitter by the second.

I wanted to hate it.

Really, I did. And the flavor was definitely not growing on me, but I was willing to endure it, treating the damned thing like a breath mint and somehow savoring it.

It was worth the taste that made me want to gag.

Worth lying to Sully about being clean.

Worth staring dead in the eyes of everyone in this meeting and nodding while they talked about their journey to sobriety.

Because drugs helped me remember my life before the overdose.

Drugs helped me fill the blanks in my crossword puzzle of a memory.

Drugs would help me find Loren.

I hadn’t been sober since he left.

By the time I got back to New York, I was well on my way to undoing what I’d accomplished in eight weeks of rehab.

I’d also overcome the fear of accidentally killing myself again.

Dying was apparently the thing I did best.

I wasn’t sober, but I came to the meetings because Sully insisted on it.

It was a condition of staying in her apartment because I didn’t want to be in the trailer alone.

And it was good for me.

Even if it didn’t do any good.

Venturing away from Sully’s place two nights a week gave me an excuse to meet up with Chaz.

Thankfully, he’d taken to rendezvousing in the alley next to the club so I didn’t have to pay the cover charge every time I needed a fix.

After three weeks of routine use and steadily upping my dose, those urges came more frequently than ever.

Expensive ass habit.

I needed to sell more art to afford it, which meant I needed to paint because I wasn’t about to break into that vault of a storage unit Loren took me to.

I didn’t want to see paintings of him when the real him was glaringly, painfully absent.

I needed new work, but it seemed my muse had gone along with everything else.

Another piece missing from my life.

At the front of the bland white room, the moderator was talking about next steps.

Everything was a step.

Forward, backward, fucking lateral…

Because even staying in place was better than falling behind, and didn’t I know it?

But he didn’t understand.

I was different. I was a fucking magical phoenix with literal fire power and cleansing tears and a reset button that put me back to zero every ten years.

I died, I lived, and I forgot, but drugs helped me remember.

I rolled my tongue over the shrinking pill that would take me to a place higher than this one.

It would let me dream of people and places I knew in lives before this one.

Sully told me I’d had several.

Incarnations, she called them.

When I was high, I could revisit them and, briefly, relive them.

But I couldn’t control them.

It wasn’t something I could channel, so my mind tended to wander to warm, cozy moments, recalling nights spent tangled up in bed, dragging my fingers through Loren’s long hair while his tanned skin skimmed over mine.

I felt him so near it was like he’d never left, like he was still holding my hand and cradling me close.

Mate .

The voice in my head sounded weak and withering.

It had faded along with my hopes of seeing Loren again in this lifetime or the next.

On our way out of Pennsylvania, Sully and I found his truck, or what remained of it after a multi-car pileup on the interstate reduced it to scrap metal.

Black blood had splattered the bench seat and driver’s side window, but there was no body.

The cleanup crew trying to clear the mess said there never had been.

Like the driver had vanished.

Or been dragged to Hell.

The last time Loren left, he came back in tatters.

Scarred and scared after being caged for days by a cruel owner I knew little about.

Sully was a bit more informed and had shared details that made what Loren had already told me a thousand times worse.

What I felt most keenly, though, and remembered most poignantly, was seeing the hellhounds piled on top of him at the automotive store in Ohio, tearing him open and making him bleed.

Because of me. He was protecting me, crossing the country for me, and he got caught instead.

The moderator finished his speech and beckoned us to our feet for dismissal.

I stayed seated, watching the others file out.

Mostly familiar faces.

There was a gaunt woman who’d lost most of her teeth to the battle with meth and a girl who quit crack for her daughter.

Cute kid. I’d seen pictures.

One of the last to leave was a soft, pillowy-looking dude a few years older than me.

He had a full beard and a tuft of hair creeping out of the collar of his polo.

Grizzly bear situation.

I didn’t know much about him.

Drug of choice, reason for change, none of that.

Padding down the narrow aisle between the chairs, he slowed as he drew close to me.

Dodging his gaze, I hooked my thumb under one of the suspenders running up my torso and gave it a snap.

It stung the bare skin of my stomach, and I pulled harder the second time, stretching it inches away from my body then letting it fly.

“Hi.”

I peered up.

The bear stood before me with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low.

He gave me a sheepish smile.

“You’re Indy, right?” he asked.

Besides a serious case of self-loathing, the other reason I’d taken to keeping my mouth busy during meetings was to stop the flow of word vomit that found its way out of me at every opportunity.

Talking about my problems raised questions I couldn’t answer.

But I’d rambled enough at some point that this fellow had clearly managed to learn my name.

Gulping down the speck of E that remained intact, I rose from my seat.

“Got it in one.” I flashed a grin.

“Don’t think we’ve met, though.”

The other man’s face splotched with blush that spread all the way to his hairline.

“I’m Travis,” he said shyly.

“Good to know you,” I replied.

The other attendees made their way to the exit, stopping at the folding table against the back wall to polish off the donuts and coffee.

I joined them and grabbed a Styrofoam cup from a stack beside the scuffed metal airpot.

Travis crowded in behind me and stood silently while I pumped decaf into the cup, then threw it back like a shot of liquor.

I swished the lukewarm brew in my mouth to wash the pill’s residue off my tongue, then spat it back into the cup.

When I turned to toss the expelled coffee into the nearby trashcan, Travis’s pudgy form blocked my path.

He smiled as awkwardly as before, then gave me an appraising once-over.

“You’re cute,” he blurted.

His face went crayon red.

I glanced at my outfit.

Besides the pants and suspenders, I was marginally covered with a cropped babydoll tee the same deep plum color as my hair, and my toes sparkled purple where they peeked between the straps of a pair of stiletto heels.

While the other man looked so abashed he might have shriveled inside his skin, I cocked my hip forward in a coquettish pose.

“Thanks, Travis,” I said.

“Always nice to meet a fan.”

He stayed in place while I wove around him, discarding the backwashed coffee and heading for the open door.

I made it out of the room and down the hall to the entrance of the community center, which let out onto a brightly lit street.

I thought I’d left my not-so-secret admirer behind until I heard his footsteps scuffling in pursuit of my heels clicking on first the linoleum, then the pavement outside.

On the sidewalk, Travis came alongside me.

He cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt in a familiar, nervous gesture.

“Hey,” he began after we’d traveled a short distance.

“Do you have plans tonight? I could walk you somewhere, or we could get something to eat?”

I paused.

Lucky for Travis, I had a certain fondness for bashful boys.

Plus, I loved to eat and calling me cute was as good an opening bid as any.

But his luck ran out when it came to comparisons because I was hung up on a long-legged, long-haired, olive-skinned deity to whom teddy bear Travis didn’t hold a candle.

With a lung-swelling breath, I swiveled to face him.

“Sorry, but I’m all booked up. Got a hot date with an existential crisis.”

I didn’t owe Travis an explanation for my comings or goings, and I didn’t go to NA meetings to make friends.

It seemed like a bad idea, anyway, buddying up to people with the same habits and vices you have.

Like the blind leading the blind.

I tugged on my suspender strap again, ready to add another red mark beside the one welting on my stomach.

Rather than set it free, I cocked my head at the plump man.

“Gonna wander around Central Park till I find someone more washed up than I am,” I continued.

“Makes me feel better about myself.”

My smile had faltered, and Travis’s was long gone, if it had ever been there at all.

He was probably starting to regret talking to me about now.

I wasn’t the best company lately.

Rather than take the easy out, Travis surprised me by offering once more.

“You sure I can’t walk with you? It’s getting late.”

At 5’6” and a whopping 125 pounds, I made for easy pickings for ne’er do wells who lurked in the city after dark.

Travis presented a much more foreboding figure.

Heavier, at least. Harder to pick up and carry off.

But agreeing to his company would give the wrong idea.

I was wholly off the market, and it wouldn’t be kind to waste his time.

I shook my head. “Thanks for looking out, but I prefer to wallow in private.”

Travis’s face fell, and his gaze dropped along with it.

“You’re cute, too, though,” I added.

A small consolation.

“You’ll make a twink real happy someday. Just not this one.”

He huffed a laugh and nodded before turning to depart.

“Have a good night, Indy. Be safe out there.”

I watched as he shuffled down the sidewalk and hailed a cab.

When the yellow car pulled away from the curb to rejoin the endless stream of traffic, I faced forward once more.

Central Park was only a few blocks away, and the Ecstasy was starting to kick in.

The constant buzz of my thoughts was quieting, and the lights and colors on the buildings lining the street seemed to brighten, streaking into the sky like shooting stars.

I walked and tried not to think about anything, especially not how if one pill was good, two was better.

Sully would be asleep by the time I got back to the apartment and would never know if I sat up half the night staring across the city and flipping through memories like images in an old View-Master toy.

The chill of night pricked my bare skin, and I wished I’d brought something to cover up with.

I didn’t own much in the way of winter wear despite Brooklyn’s brutal lows during the latter part of the year, but I’d rescued a few sweaters from the plastic totes that had been in the back of Loren’s truck.

I bundled up in those at night, wrapping my arms around myself and pretending I was held.

Warm and safe.

I hadn’t truly felt safe since Loren hitched up the Airstream and drove us out of town.

Sully assured me her apartment was carefully warded, and I was, too but, on nights like tonight, I found myself looking around every corner for eerie red eyes or shadowy figures that might dart out and sink their claws into me, tear me apart.

Entering Central Park brought an abundance of grass and trees.

Benches and streetlamps lined the path ahead, with other walkers milling by.

I meandered, drawn to the crowd gathered around an unknown spectacle a few dozen feet away where voices chattered over the hiss of spraying paint.

I drew closer and squeezed in between the bodies flocked around a man kneeling on the ground.

A large canvas was spread out before him, blanketed with strips of newspaper.

He reached toward a line of rattle cans, taking one and giving it a shake.

Paint speckled the canvas, adding stars to a black sky.

When the artist peeled away the newspaper mask, the crowd applauded the unveiling of a cosmic scene complete with multicolored planets, bands of asteroids, and an iridescent moon in the background.

I clapped, too, as he slid the canvas aside and reached for a fresh one.

But, before he could put down a basecoat of paint, he glanced up.

He had close-cropped graying hair and icy blue eyes in a field of brown skin.

I recognized him.

“Indigo!” He grinned and sat back on his haunches.

Evander. I’d seen him only once at Sully’s art exhibition, but he’d made an impression in a short amount of time.

More accurately, Loren’s reaction to him made an impression, but it stuck with me regardless.

Evander pushed to his feet and nodded to the members of his audience, one of whom pulled out a small stack of bills to pay for the freshly completed galaxy piece.

“Gonna take a break, everybody,” Evander said while pocketing the cash.

“Catching up with an old friend. Stick around, though. More to see.”

Those gathered began to disperse while Evander cut a path over to greet me.

We’d had a pleasant chat at the gallery, but it wasn’t anything that I thought merited my distinction as his friend.

Though, with my memory being as watertight as a sieve, he could have been my best buddy in the whole world, and I wouldn’t have known it.

He came alongside me and ushered me toward a nearby bench.

Paint fumes wafted off him and sent a direct message to my brain: huffing was cheaper than pills, and it came with a free show.

Hopefully, my good “friend” Evander wouldn’t mind if I hung around after he got back to business and took a long, hard sniff.

We dropped onto the bench, and Evander clapped his hand against my back.

“How’s it been, man?” he asked.

“It’s Indy,” I said in response to his initial greeting.

His eyebrows furrowed, and the ring looped around the left one glinted in the light.

“Yeah?”

“You called me Indigo.”

Evander huffed a laugh.

“I meant your hair. You dyed it since the last time I saw you.” Reaching over, he gave my curls a tousle.

I didn’t bother telling him that indigo was a nuanced shade of bluish-purple, and my hair was every bit of plum.

Or eggplant because anytime I thought of eggplants it made me laugh, and I could use the humor these days.

“But seriously,” Evander continued.

“How are you? How’s Lorenzo?”

“Loren,” I corrected quietly.

The same Loren who warned me I shouldn’t associate with Evander.

No context; no explanation.

Typical.

“Did you guys swap bodies or something?” The other man chuckled again.

“You’re so intense.”

This was quickly turning into one of those conversations that could get me in trouble.

Dredging up things I couldn’t talk about.

My hellhound boyfriend was at the top of that list, followed immediately by the demons desperate to get their hands on a crybaby phoenix whose tears could wash their sins away.

“Nothing,” I replied at length.

“That’s not much answer for a whole lot of questions,” Evander said.

I wanted to tell him more.

Tell someone . The truth was eating at me like my spit had melted that damned pill.

God, I wanted another one of those.

Weak ass shit. I should have been blitzed right now.

They used to do more.

After a quiet moment, Evander leaned in to close the distance between us.

“Makes the world a little scary, I’d imagine. All that forgetting.”

My eyes angled toward his.

“What are you talking about?”

He dipped his chin in a nod.

“I bet you feel lost. Not sure who to trust or what to think.”

I hadn’t told him about rehab, or my amnesia, or any of it.

We’d talked for five minutes at the art show, and our conversation didn’t make it past surface-level small talk.

Besides, I didn’t broadcast my mental issues to strangers.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I know you , Indigo,” Evander smiled.

“I’ve known you a long time. Loren, too, though I think he’d rather I didn’t.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

He arched his pierced brow.

“Hmm?”

“Why doesn’t he like you?”

I got the impression Loren didn’t like many people, but he wasn’t often outspoken about it.

His warning about Evander and thinly veiled distaste for Chaz lumped them into a select group.

Considering Chaz was my dealer made me all the more suspicious of Evander.

Evander shrugged. “It’s the natural order of things. Demons and angels rarely see eye to eye.”

“Angels?” I echoed.

I should have questioned the demons part, too, at least tried to maintain my cover of ignorance about the supernatural world, but Evander’s sympathetic smile informed me I wasn’t keeping anything from him.

“Where is he, though?” the other man pressed.

“You’ve been alone a lot lately. I’ve noticed.”

Paranoid as I was about red eyes peering out at me from the shadows, Evander’s piercing blue ones suddenly seemed equally ominous.

I swayed back from him, doubting he would act on any malicious intent in front of the lingering members of his audience, but not too sure to let my guard down.

“You’ve been watching me?” I hissed.

In the face of my accusation, Evander didn’t even blink.

“Somebody needs to. The witch tries, but you’re a bit too crafty for her.”

Sully did try.

She offered to take me to meetings and around town, but she had work and no experience fending off hellhounds or demons or whatever other foul creatures might come after me.

Playing bodyguard would only endanger her, and I didn’t want to put anyone in that position again.

Evander’s bold statement made my nose wrinkle, but I couldn’t protest before he asked, “Does she know you’re using again?”

At that, I bolted off the bench and snorted a hot breath.

“Look, creep, I don’t know what you’re getting at?—”

“Relax. I’m not here to judge.” Evander raised his paint-spotted hands.

“But I am able to intervene if necessary. And, if something happened to Loren?—”

“He’s fine,” I snapped, on my feet and bowed up while Evander sat with one leg kicked over the other and a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t need him following me everywhere,” I continued.

“You, either. Back the hell off.”

Slowly, Evander rose with both hands lifted like I was a wild thing he was apt to tame.

“You’re in danger, Indy.” His low voice failed to soothe the anxious energy bubbling inside me.

“You know that, don’t you?” he pressed.

“Loren told you?”

I shook my head hard.

“I said back off.”

Spinning around, I found those who had gathered for Evander’s sidewalk show staring.

I clenched my fists and staggered back, nearly catching my heel on a crack in the pavement.

I puffed another breath and turned away from them while fishing into my hip pocket for the baggie of pills I needed to last me the rest of the week.

I rushed out of Central Park with my heart pounding and my fingers fumbling with the bag’s zip top.

Finally, I got it open and dumped the Ecstasy into my hand where I took a quick count.

Four pills designated Wednesday through Saturday…

or one desperate Tuesday night.

Scowling, I closed my fist around them.

Damn things weren’t doing shit anymore.

I was too aware, too alert, and too immersed in the present.

Demons were hunting me, angels were stalking me, and the one person I wanted around was profoundly absent.

Fuck this place.

Fuck sobriety. Fuck me.