Page 33 of Waters that Drown Us
Just because we’ve spent every free second of the last month and change together, doesn’t mean she’s obligated to continue doing so. It’s actually better if she left. She’ll probably avoid being collateral damage of my eventual confrontation with Ilya if she leaves now.
I cross my arms on the sticky wooden counter of Wayne’s, laying my head down and closing my eyes, like it’ll help calm my spinning thoughts. It’s not fair for me to be upset. She’s not mine, and I’m not hers. There’s no future between us, so what exactly am I grieving right now?
I don’t even have a phone to call her. This isn’t a relationship, it’s my last ditch effort to live a life cut short and for Emily it’s probably a random summer fling with one of the few age-appropriate people in this tiny town she’s stuck in.
“Another one?”
When I pry open my eyes, Genevieve is at the other end of the bar, trying not to look concerned. We’re the only ones here, and in the hour since I’ve arrived I’ve already consumed three Blackberry Bourbon Smashes, which Gen introduced me to during my first week living here. The idea of a bar this decrepit having fresh blackberry, lime, and mint is ironic to the point of comedy, but Gen loves craft cocktails. I’m pretty sure she picks the blackberries herself.
“Sure,” I groan, picking up my glass to suck the watery remnants of drink number three down as she starts making me a fresh one. One would think that consuming rattlesnake venom regularly would make me less susceptible to the effects of heavy drinking, but different toxins affect the body in different ways. I have not created a tolerance for this kind of poison.
Gen doesn’t ask me what’s wrong, and I’m thankful for it. She’s not my friend. Even as a child, I didn’t complain and gossip with the few friends Ididhave. Both my parents taught me early on that any information you give someone can be used against you, emotionally or physically. The only people you can fully trust, they told me, were family.
Sometimes I wonder if they isolated me intentionally. If they hoped that making them my only confidants would so drastically narrow my worldview, I wouldn’t question the path laid out before me.
I wish I didn’t think such terrible things about my mother. She’s gone, and I want to preserve the memory of her brushing my hair and singing me songs and taking me to stare at the ocean so I could see where the sirens live. But she married my father, and they loved each other, at least for a significant part of my childhood. She was proud to be the beautiful prize on his arm, and raised me to want the same.
???? Mikhail never told me why my father killed my mother, only that he did. And after Ilya’s final words to me, I knew betterthan to question whether it was true or not. Maybe, in the end, she wanted something my father couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. Or she asked one too many questions, pushed too hard.
The only people I’ve ever confided in are my parents. They’re the only ones who have known my secrets.
Until a month ago.
“There you are.”
The relief that floods my nervous system is instantaneous, and I really do hate myself for it. Emily’s voice is calm and sure, and I delude myself into believing she’s also relieved to see me. I don’t pick my head up to look at her, though, mostly because I’m having a little trouble remembering which way is up with the room spinning like this.
She slides onto the stool next to me as Gen places my drink in front of me, and suddenly I have the motivation to sit up straight.
“Where have you been?” she asks, her shoulder knocking against mine. I purposefully stare down at my drink, feeling pathetic and surly and all sorts of complicated emotions that only bourbon will fix.
“Here,” I reply curtly, sipping the sweet, smoky drink from the little straws. From the corner of my eye, I see Gen flash four fingers toward Emily. Traitor. I knew she wasn’t my friend.
“Why here?” Emily asks, and after a few spinning seconds, there’s a glass of water in my hand instead of my rocks glass.
“Why not?”
I know I’m being childish, the thing I hate being accused of most. But all my feelings are tied up and I can’t parse them out, can’t work my way through them. I keepfeelingthem, and it’s fucking awful.
“You weren’t at your apartment…” Emily trails off, and I hear a hint of worry in her voice. But I still don’t turn to face her,because I’m making a point. What point, I’m not really sure. I’ll remember eventually.
“You weren’t at your motel,” I shrug, spinning the ice cubes in my water with the straw, suddenly realizing I want my drink back. But I’m pretty sure Emily’s got it in her hand.
Gen will make me a new one. Where’s Gen?
“She’s taking a break out back,” Emily answers, which means apparently I asked that question out loud. Water is starting to sound like a good idea. “Did you come to my motel earlier? I ran down to Gold Beach to pick up a new battery adapter for the ROV, I must have lost track of time.”
Great, now I feel even more pathetic. She was only running errands, and my brain leapt immediately to the worst possible reason for her absence.
Well, second worst. I refused to contemplate the possibility that Ilya had already gotten to her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I slur, reaching for the glass in her hand and pulling it back to me. She lets it go easily, and I didn’t even have to touch her hand to get it. Very proud of myself.
The taste of blackberries and smoke doesn’t block out Emily as much as I hoped. I can still feel all her warmness next to me. Smell her cologne, resin and black licorice. Makes me want to taste that instead.
“Hey, look at me,” she says, her voice soft and demanding all at once. Why does that make tears well at the corners of my eyes? Why does she make me want to listen?
She drags her thumb against my turned cheek before slipping her fingers into my hair and gently turning my face. When I meet her gaze, she’s not nearly as calm and collected as I thought she was. There’s a frantic look in her eyes, edging on something that will shred her to pieces.