by KV Rose
Praise.
He doesn’t try to contact me.
I guess the game the three of us played really is over.
No one won after all.
Sometimes, I’ll rub my thumb over my hip, and I’ll remember it.
I remember his words from that time he came to my apartment, “Those scars are beautiful, baby girl. “
I guess I really was just a distraction for him. A game for him to play.
Now, Jax and Kylie and my professors are the extent of my social interactions, and I avoid the latter as much as possible. I go to class, slink out, do my work in an Adderall-induced haze, glug down cough syrup and go to sleep.
I’m responsible though. Wednesdays I don’t take anything. Wednesdays are to reset.
Wednesdays are fucking trash.
I also try to get to the little park that edges campus every day. The weather is turning cool, and it’s nice being outside for it.
A few of my old friends from ECU text me sometimes, asking me to come down for parties. I still don’t have a car. Or a job. I still don’t want to get one.
I’m doing a paper on Epictetus, a slave-turned-philosopher who said, “You cannot learn that which you think you already know,” but I kind of wish I could hold a séance and ask him what happens when you don’t think you know shit and you still don’t learn a damn thing.
I don’t know shit.
I’m not learning.
Seems like a good Stoic philosophy, always being open to wisdom because you know nothing. Turns out, though, it’s not helpful in my everyday life. I don’t think I’ll ever learn.
Two Fridays before Halloween, I shoulder my bag after leaving a seminar on ancient Greek philosophy, hands jammed in the pockets of my black and white zebra-striped hoodie. A gift from my mother that I actually really love.
We’re talking again, and she seems happy.
That’s good, I guess. But I kind of just don’t care about much of anything. The high I felt after that night with Eli and Alex before it all went to shit, it’s long gone. And not even the drugs can get it back. But I keep doing them anyway, hopeful they’ll spark something in me.
I’ve got my hood over my head as a light mist descends upon campus, and I’m not really paying any attention to where I’m going, just staring at my black wedged boots, when I almost walk right into a fucking light pole.
I lift my head up, startled and glancing around to make sure no one saw me. The campus is dead. It’s four in the afternoon, which means most people are probably on their way to their parties or games—there’s a home game tonight, based on all the Caven blue I saw around campus—and no one gives a shit about a girl almost walking into a pole anyway. I wonder if Alex is happy to be playing again.
I push him from my mind as I stare at the light pole, really seeing it for the first time.
There’s a sheet of paper taped to it and I stare at it for far longer than I should.
It’s Rihanna.
The photograph is black and white, but I know that long, shiny hair of hers is brown. I think her eyes were blue or maybe they were green, or maybe I really don’t know at all. She’s smiling, dressed in her blue and orange cheerleading uniform, kneeling on one knee with her pom poms in her hand.
There’s some loopy type that just says, “Live life to the fullest!”
I want to rip the paper down, but that seems mean-spirited. I guess it is. I guess I am, but staring at her, alive, makes me think of her, dead, and that makes me feel uncomfortable.
Makes me think of Alex’s words, too. “If you touch her, I swear to God, Rihanna, I’ll fucking drown you in my pool.”
Why didn’t I tell the cops that? I don’t know. I’m sure it doesn’t matter. I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone.
He stopped Eli. That night, and the one at the beach. He stopped him.
And as far as I know, he and Eli still live together. They were able to push me aside and become bros again. Yeah.
Alex Christian Cardi is not the murdering type.
But sometimes I still get sent that video of him yanking down my bikini top, the gloating smile on his face, the way he bent his head down to my neck. My wide-eyed stare, like I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
Mainly because I didn’t.
I remember his words to me, too, before he pushed me in that pool, when I told him I was too drunk to swim. “Yeah, here’s the thing, princess. You should’ve thought about that before you put Jamal’s dick in your pretty little mouth.”
Eli did way worse, but I don’t think of him.
He was a distraction too.
I scuff my shoe against the brick walkway, still staring at that piece of paper. A girl died in a pool and I found her, and I feel nothing.
Maybe I think she got lucky, really.
Death is the easy way out.
If that Narcan hadn’t been administered because a sober girl at the party I went to in the spring was paying attention, I would’ve gotten to taste it too. To drift off into a beautiful oblivion.
It would’ve been all over then. I’d have never met Alex or Eli. Never fucked up their worlds. Hell, maybe Rihanna might even still be alive.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I tear my eyes away from the picture.
I pull my phone out, glance at my text. There’s an earlier message from Mom. I’m meeting her for dinner next week because I really want someone to buy me a dinner out and I really don’t want to ask her for any more money lest she suspect I’m spending everything she sends me on drugs, which I am. And a text from Jax.
Him: Wanna come over?
I haven’t partied with him in a while. I’ve been by, of course. Walked over. Had Kylie drive me over, telling her I had to pick up some notes for school, even though he doesn’t fucking go to school.
All lies to get what I need, but I haven’t spent any time with him.
Kylie is already gone for the weekend though, home to have dinner with her parents and Ian. I wonder if she still spies on me for Alex, but I have a feeling he doesn’t care. I almost want to ask her, but it doesn’t matter now.
None of it fucking matters.
I look back down at my phone.
What time? I ask Jax.
What am I going to do otherwise? Sit in my room and drink NyQuil until I fall asleep, or until my liver fails me.
Jax: I’ll pick you up in ten?
I smile at my phone in the rain, the quiet campus serene around me.
Me: Make it twenty.
I shove my phone in my back pocket and book it to my apartment.
38
Zara
Jax and I are the first people there, and I’m glad.
He offers me a drink as soon as we step inside his kitchen, but just before he goes to pour the mixer in, Diet Coke, I shake my head.
“Nah. It’s been a rough few weeks. Give me straight rum.”
Jax eyes me with a little half-smile, scrubs his hand over the back of his neck and shrugs. “All right,” he says lazily, capping the Diet Coke and tossing it back in the fridge.
While he’s busy with that, I just help myself, pouring the rum until it fills up half the cup.
“Yo, chill,” Jax says with a little laugh. “You don’t wanna get sloppy.”
I’m always fucking sloppy. Instead of saying that, I just tip back the cup and drink as much as I can stand before I feel like I might vomit. I slam the cup down, sloshing the contents inside as I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.
Jax sips his own drink. A beer. He’s much more responsible than I am. “So, you’re really through with that quarterback cock suck?” he asks me calmly, leaning against the kitchen counter.
My stomach burns with the rum and it churns, too, with Jax’s question. He doesn’t know the truth, of course, because I suck at telling the truth. I shrug. “Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “We’re through.”
Jax lifts up his beer in a ‘cheers’ motion, and I touch my cup to
his and drink again. “Good.” He swallows his beer. “Didn’t like that guy.”
I laugh a little, setting my cup back down. I’m already feeling a little tipsy, and I use the counter to hold me up. “You didn’t even know him,” I point out.
Jax shrugs, quirks his mouth to the side. “Yeah, well, fuck ‘em anyway.”
I burst into laughter and take another drink to hide my smile. Fuck it. I might as well finish the entire thing. I don’t really like being awake much nowadays anyway. If I black out, Jax will put me in the spare bedroom and I’ll just drift off into sleep. I finish it off, wincing a little as it burns down my throat, and then start spinning the empty cup on the counter.
“Jax,” I start, swallowing and looking down at my black shoes, “you ever wanna be sober?”
At that moment, the door opens, and I glance over my shoulder as I feel the cool October air rush in.
A couple of guys lift their hands in greeting and I nod.
“Start up the music,” Jax tells the guys. “Make yourself at home. There’s pot on the table.”
The guys give a thumbs up and shuffle off to the living room, closing the door before they do. One catches my eye. He’s got dark blonde hair, dressed all in black. He looks a little older than me, and I’m positive he doesn’t go to Caven. His eyes linger on me a moment before he finally follows his friend into the living room, disappearing from view.
Music starts up in there, but as I turn back to Jax, it kind of fades away. He’s quiet a moment as he stares at me, and the strange silence is almost deafening, even though it isn’t real. Even though the guys are talking in the living room and the music actually gets louder, it still feels silent.
I’ve noticed lately that most things are like that for me. Almost like I’m dissociating from myself.
I wonder if it’s all the drugs. I wonder if I’m making myself schizophrenic or something. I wonder if I’ve just always been like this. I can’t really remember.
“Nah,” Jax finally says, sighing as he does. “I remember what being sober was like. I didn’t feel good in my own skin.”
I look up and return his small smile with one of my own. But the truth is, I still don’t feel good in my own skin.
Right now, though, I feel a little wobbly.
Unsteady on my feet.
I grip the counter and Jax flicks his brows up. “You need something to eat?” he asks, still working on that first beer. Meanwhile, I’ve downed about half a dozen shots in about as many minutes.
I shake my head, smiling at him. “No. Who was that guy?” I ask instead, pointing my thumb over my shoulder, toward the living room. “With the blonde-ish hair?” My words are already slurred, and I laugh a little as Jax smiles slightly. “Who was he?”
Jax sighs, sets his beer down. He takes my hand in his. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
The guy’s name is Ben, and Ben owns a farm. An honest-to-God farm. He tells me so and I slap his knee, laughing on the couch beside him.
A few more people are here, some of them on the floor around the coffee table, playing cards and doing drugs. I see someone snort a line and my eyes instinctively find Jax, although my hand is still on Ben’s thigh.
“Can I get a bump?” I ask Jax, who is on my other side. I nod toward the table where the line has disappeared, but I know Jax has more.
Jax just shakes his head. “I think you’re good for now, Za.”
When he calls me that, I think of Alex and my throat feels tight.
I turn back to Ben, who is staring at me with big blue eyes. He’s thirty, he told me. He’s thirty, which is ten years older than me and I’ve never hooked up with someone that much older.
I tell him so.
He puts his hand over mine on his thigh. “Slow down, babe,” he says with a small smile. “I don’t think you’re quite sober enough for all that.”
The noise is loud around us and I know no one heard him reject me, but I don’t like it. It makes my cheeks flush, and the water in the cup Jax gave me sloshes as I lean an arm through two people sitting at the table in front of me and set my cup down.
I turn back to face Ben, wrap my arm around his broad shoulders. He has a lot of stubble on his jaw, and there are faint lines under his blue eyes.
I’m just glad they’re not brown. If he looked like Alex, I couldn’t do this.
“I don’t need to be sober to fuck around,” I tell Ben, leaning in close to him, my words against his ear.
Jax clears his throat on my other side. “Hey, Za, I wanna show you something.”
Ben looks past me, exchanging a look with Jax. I think they’re talking about me, but I don’t know what they’re saying without words.
I don’t like it.
But when Jax grabs my hand, I turn to him and let him pull me to my feet.
Maybe Jax will fuck me.
Carefully, he guides me through the crowded living room, and then we disappear down a hall. I’m unsteady on my feet, leaning against Jax, linking my arm through his.
“You wanna sleep with me?” I mumble, resting my head against his shoulder. “Because you can, you know. I always thought you were hot.”
Jax laughs, shaking his head a little as we come to a stop in front of his spare bedroom. “Did you now?” he asks, pushing open the door.
I nod, turn to kiss his cheek.
He lets me, and then he closes the door after we get inside the room.
I flop down on the bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling as it seems to spin overhead. Jax turns the lamp beside the bed on, and sits down beside me.
“Touch me,” I whisper, eyes still on the ceiling. “Touch me, Jax.”
Jax clears his throat. I glance at him, see his hands clasped together, wrists on his knees. “You’re really drunk, Za. We’re just going to relax, okay?”
My heart pounds out an uneven rhythm in my chest. “No. Touch me. Please.” My voice is hoarse, and my words are slurred, but he knows what I said.
He knows.
I grab his hand when he doesn’t do what I told him to, put it on my belly, where my shirt has ridden up.
His fingers are so warm.
They remind me of Alex.
I try to trail his hand lower, but he stops me. Just keeps his hand on my low belly.
“Zara,” he says softly, turning toward me, keeping his hand right there, right under mine. “I think you need help.”
I close my eyes and groan. “Not you, too,” I say, annoyed. “Not you. You’re my friend, Jax. You’re my friend.” I try to push his hand lower again, under the waistband of my jeans, but he keeps it firmly planted on my stomach.
I clench my thighs together, eyes still closed as I lie on the bed.
“I am your friend,” he assures me, his voice low and soothing. “I am your friend. And tonight, I think you should just sleep this off, okay?"
I let go of his hand and drop my own by my side as I look at him again. His eyes are a dark blue. Like the ocean.
The ocean reminds me of Alex. And his dad. And his mom.
And how he left me.
“I miss him,” I say suddenly.
Jax’s eyes soften. “Who?” he asks quietly.
I stare at the ceiling again, my face flushing. “Alex,” I admit. “I miss him.”
Jax’s hand moves just the slightest bit on my stomach, like he’s reassuring me. “Do you?”
I nod without looking at him. “Yeah.” I bite my lip. “I miss him so much.”
A moment of silence, and then Jax says, “Where’s your phone, babe?”
I pull it out of my back pocket, lifting my hips a little and secretly hoping Jax will move his hand down my pants, but he doesn’t.
I hand Jax my phone, uncaring why he wants it.
He takes it, and I just keep staring at the ceiling. “Was Alex good to you?” Jax asks me.
My lower lip trembles. I nod again. “He was so good.”
Jax sighs. “I did some digging for you.”
My stomach clenches. I don’t take my eyes off the ceiling.
“About that party.” Jax blows out a breath, presses a little harder against my skin, but he’s still so gentle. “I don’t think it was him, Zara. I don’t think he did the bad thing.”
I feel tears well in my eyes. “Me neither, Jax. Me neither.”
39
Zara
I’m going home.
In the middle of the night, or morning I guess, Jax is taking me home. Because I begged him. I begged him to let me sleep in my own bed. He fell asleep beside me, not touching me, and I woke up begging.
Because I need to get to my supply, and I know he won’t give it to me.
Jax rolls down the windows of his Camaro, and I stick my arm out, letting the cool breeze blow against my skin. I don’t think he’s super happy to be driving me home at this time of night, but he’s doing it.
“Whatcha gonna be for Halloween?” I ask him, laughing at my own question even though it isn’t funny.
The fall air smells amazing; like woods and campfires and life, even though I don’t think there’s a single campfire happening along this stretch of the road right now. I can smell it anyway, the scents alive in my brain.
I love fall.
Mom used to love decorating for Halloween, too. She made her husband-of-the-year join in with that, too. I think I should call her soon. I think next weekend, I won’t cancel on her dinner like I usually do.
I think I’d like to see her soon. I miss her. I think I need someone now, and she’s my mom after all.
I close my eyes, floating my fingers through the air as Jax drives on. But behind the blackness of my eyelids, I see Alex. I see his deep brown eyes, those flecks of amber.
My stomach churns.
I open my eyes just as Jax finally answers, “A drug dealer,” in a flat tone.
I turn to stare at him, but I see the hint of a smile tugging on his lips.
I burst into laughter that rumbles through my chest and he joins in, one lazy hand on the wheel, his eyes half open as he drives.
“Really?” I ask him between fits of laughter. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Easy costume.” He glances at me before his eyes go back to the road. “What about you?”
