Page 21

TREY

I’ve figured out the perfect concoction to manifest my hallucinations of her and still remember them. I need exactly two bottles of vodka and a dose and a half of jaderro. Anything less than that and she doesn’t appear. Anything more and I pass out before I can see her at all.

Whenever I do see her, she never says anything.

She just lies there, caressing my face. Sometimes I talk to her.

I tell her about the moments we’ve shared that live in my mind rent free.

I tell her how much I miss cooking dinner with her in my kitchen.

I tell her how much I used to love seeing her in my shirt that covered everything from her collarbone to her upper thighs.

She never responds with anything but a sweet smile.

Whenever I’m not talking to her, I just lie back and admire her beauty.

After I wake up from the high, I usually go get a sandwich. Then I write notes on a bunch of postcards I’ll never send and fall into another high where I’m happy and get to talk to the only person who’s ever truly healed me.

These postcards have turned into a therapeutic exercise. I write things on them I wish I could say to her. Then I shove them into my bedroom drawer and never look at them again.

I’ve just shoved my most recently written card into that drawer when I drop to my knees to dig under my bed for my supplies.

This will be my last high for the week because Liz is coming to visit me for my birthday.

Whenever I wake up from this one, I’ll have to get my place cleaned up for her and pretend like everything is fine.

Three days later, Liz strolls into my place with a smile. “Happy twenty-seventh birth—” She gasps. “Oh my god.”

I’m in my messy kitchen, getting myself a glass of water, when I stop. “What?”

She drops her suitcase onto the floor, then stares at me with her anxiety nipping at my head.

I wait for her to explain why she’s looking at me like that. When she still doesn’t say anything, I urge her to. “Liz?”

“Oh, T. You’re using again.” She says it like a statement, not a question.

How the fuck does she know? I feign innocence. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Did you forget that you were an addict when we first met? I know what you look like right after a high.”

Well, shit. I only woke up a few hours ago. My eyes are probably still sunken, and my skin is probably a little gray.

Liz heads straight to my couch, then pats the space next to her. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a request. Reluctantly, I join her with my glass of water, feeling like a student in trouble with the principal.

“I’m not mad at you,” she says, making it worse. “I just want to know what’s going on. How long have you been using?”

I hang my head low as I place my water glass on the coffee table. “Not long.”

“How long, T?” Of course, she’s not gonna let me off the hook that easily.

I sigh heavily. Lying never works with Liz, so I go with the truth. “I started the week after I came to New York.”

Her face screws together. “That was back in November. It’s March.”

“Yep.”

Her jaw drops. “Were you using when I came for Thanksgiving?”

Yes. “Probably.”

“Then you were using when I came for Christmas?”

Yes. “Most likely.”

“T, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d make me stop. Why do you think I worked so hard to hide this from you?” Obviously not hard enough.

“Of course I’m gonna make you stop.”

I shake my head. “I don’t wanna stop.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” I say like a whiny child.

“Because it’s not good for you.”

A scoff. “I don’t care what’s good for me.”

Liz rolls her eyes like that’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. Little does she know, I mean that statement with everything that’s left in this dark and lonely hole in my chest.

“Which z-drug is it?”

“Jaderro.” There’s no use lying now. She already knows.

I hate my body for giving her the clues so easily.

I was able to hide it during her last two visits.

Why couldn’t I this time? Is it because I’ve been using it longer?

Is it because I didn’t wake up sooner? Is it because my apartment looks like a trash dump?

A sharp gasp leaves Liz’s mouth. “Jaderro? T, that shit is the worst of the worst. If you inject even the tiniest bit too much, it can kill you.”

I fucking hope so. Although, it hasn’t killed me yet, so maybe I’m immune.

Liz scolds me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look happy about the thought of dying.”

It’s not the dying part that would make me happy. It’s the part where I could stop living this worthless thing I call my life. The air between us goes stale as my unspoken words stay behind my lips.

“Where is it?” she asks.

“Where’s what?”

“Your supply.”

I scoff-laugh. “Like I’m gonna tell you.”

Before I can stop her, Liz hops onto her feet and storms into my bedroom. I catch her by her waist just as she tears the top drawer of my nightstand open—the drawer where I keep all those handwritten postcards. She doesn’t know about those, and I don’t want her reading them.

“Put me down!” she shouts as I throw her over my shoulder.

I march out of my bedroom, then wave a hand at the door. The wood slams behind me as I return Liz to the living room.

She smacks my back so hard, it stings. “Put me down, or I’ll drench you with a waterball.”

This time, I listen. I set her feet onto the carpet, then stand in front of her with my arms crossed. “I’m not letting you in there.”

“You can’t keep doing this, T.”

“I can, and I will. It makes me happy, Liz. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Of course, but this isn’t the way.” She doesn’t get it. She’s never done drugs, so she doesn’t know what it’s like. She doesn’t know how good it feels.

“This is the way. It’s the only way. When I’m high, I’m almost as happy as I was when I was with her.” Actually, it’s not even close, but it’s something . And something is better than nothing.

“But this isn’t healthy for you. You need to find happiness another way.”

I cross my arms over my chest like a challenge. “Fine. How?”

“Come back to LA.”

“I can’t.” But I want to so fucking bad.

“Yes, you can.” Liz softens her stance. “I miss you, T. The whole band and crew misses you too. It’s not the same without you.

Our band needs all five of us to function properly.

It’s not good for you to be alone out here.

You need something to do and to surround yourself with people who care about you. ”

I miss my friends too, but not enough to make me move back. “Nope. Sorry. Can’t.”

“Like ever?”

“Maybe if she moved out of the state.”

“What if she never moves?”

“Then I guess I’m never going back.” If I do, it’ll be too easy for me to end up sitting in my car outside her apartment, waiting for her to come out, just so I can catch a glimpse of her. Then I’ll truly become the stalker she thinks I am.

Liz pouts a little. “When you told us you were leaving, you said it was only for a while. Not forever.”

“But here in New York, whenever I get the urge to see her, I’ll have a whole plane ride to realize it’s a bad idea. Here, I can see her when I’m high and she never looks at me like she doesn’t know who I am.”

“Wait. You see her? As in, you hallucinate her?”

“Yes, and it feels so real! When she touches me, it’s like she’s really there. I’m happy again, Liz.” I put my hands together like I’m praying. “Please don’t take that away from me.”