Glass - 02

by Ellen Hopkins

  Two separate trusts,

  broken.

  I mean, Brad accepts that

  I’ve got a major thing for

  Trey. But will Brad accept

  the fact that Trey has climbed

  into

  the bed we shared last night?

  Will sharing a bed, sharing

  someone they love, blow

  their closeness into distant

  pieces?

  Brad Stirs

  I’m not sure I’m ready to test

  his reaction, so I push back against

  Trey, shove him gently out of bed.

  He goes into the bathroom and I

  follow, turn on the shower, climb

  inside, hoping the noise doesn’t

  wake Brad, but knowing it will.

  At least we won’t be a sandwich.

  I’m shaky. Scared. Is this the end?

  I put my arms around Trey’s neck,

  lean my head into his chest. “I’m

  sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  It’s okay, Kristina. We never

  made any promises. Anyway,

  I know Brad’s lonely.

  I look up, hook his eyes. “I’m

  lonely too. And that’s all this is.

  I love you. But you aren’t here.”

  I want to ask if he’s been with other

  girls. [Don’t.] Need to ask. [No.]

  Have to know. [No, you don’t.]

  He tells me anyway. I love you,

  too. But I can’t tell you I haven’t

  been with other girls.

  [See? You didn’t want to know.]

  Anger scalds, hot and white. But

  why? And what can I say?

  Now I want to know who. [No,

  you don’t.] Need to know if it’s

  Robyn. [No, damnit, you don’t.]

  He tells me anyway. Not Robyn,

  in case you’re wondering. Guess she

  left school. Her apartment is empty.

  “So who is it, then?” [Not that it’s

  any of your business.] “That girl

  you told me about?”

  She’s one. But there have been

  others. Nothing serious. Sex

  only. I love you. No one else.

  White heat stings my eyes. Not fair!

  [Sure it is.] Shut up! [What comes

  around goes around.] Shut up!

  My heart does wind sprints. My

  brain somersaults. The tub is slippery

  and I start to fall. Fall. Fa…

  Where Am I?

  Everything is dark. Mostly dark.

  There’s light somewhere,

  like at the end of a tunnel.

  Am I dead?

  Someone is talking. Calling.

  Calling my name.

  Kristina? Kristina!

  Trey? Is he dead too?

  My head hurts. There’s a

  thumping. A noisy thrumming

  against the lining of my skull.

  Can you hurt

  when you’re dead?

  Wait! I don’t want to be dead.

  Don’t want to walk in darkness—

  semidarkness—alone.

  Death is lonely.

  Lonely? Lonely. Why is lonely

  familiar? I know Brad is lonely.

  It’s getting lighter. Light.

  Maybe I’m not dead.

  But I still can’t move. Don’t

  dare move because it hurts.

  My head hurts. My back hurts.

  Maybe I do wish I

  were dead.

  Are my eyes open? It’s light

  but I still can’t see. Kristina?

  Look at me, Kristina.

  I don’t want to look at Trey.

  If I do, I’ll really wish

  I was dead.

  His Face

  Materializes, wraithlike.

  “What happened? Am I dead?”

  Don’t even say that. You

  slipped and fell, that’s all.

  No wonder my head hurts. I reach

  up, touch the gestating lump.

  I start to sit up, but my head spins

  and I fumble back against the floor.

  Trey strokes my cheek, moves

  my hair from my eyes. Stay still.

  Stay? Like a dog? Monstrous

  anger grips me, shakes me.

  Are you cold? He jumps to his

  feet, runs into the bedroom.

  I use the time to try my legs,

  which refuse to cooperate.

  Back comes Trey, blanket in hand.

  Please don’t move, Kristina.

  I reach down inside, find Bree,

  grab her strength. “Leave me alone.”

  Flip onto my belly. Push to my knees.

  I’m shaky. But damnit, I’ll stand.

  Trey steadies me best as he can.

  You are so fucking stubborn.

  Stubborn. Aching. Straight out

  pissed and the worst thing is,

  I have zero reason to be. Well,

  other than the fact that the monster

  coldcocked me and I feel like

  a steaming pile of manure.

  Brad Has Vacated the Room

  Trey helps me across the

  endless

  stretch of carpet, to the

  empty,

  tousled bed. A soft

  cloud

  of pillow lures me toward

  dreamless

  sleep. As I sink closer to

  oblivion

  I breathe Trey in, desperate

  inhalation.

  I want him beneath my skin,

  held

  fast by my bones,

  absorbed

  by my body like

  oxygen.

  “Please don’t go.” A slow

  exhalation.

  I won’t. He is tender,

  warm.

  And I believe him.

  But of Course

  He has to go.

  I wake, knowing this.

  He is sitting by the bed.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  I know. But I’ll be back

  in a couple of weeks.

  I have to think why.

  Oh yes, spring break.

  I talked to Brad and told

  him I’m okay with you two.

  I’m not okay with any

  of it. “Why is it okay?”

  Because it has to be.

  School will be out in less

  than three months….

  “I can wait three months

  for you, if you just tell

  me you want me to.”

  He takes my hand, kisses

  it gently. Let’s play it by

  ear, okay? No worries.

  No worries? “How can

  I not worry about you?

  I love you, remember?”

  Now he pulls me from bed,

  into his lap, cinches me with

  his arms. Kristina, I love you,

  too, really I do…

  Okay, there’s a major

  “but” coming. [Yeah, like,

  But I’m a major player,

  and want to play around.]

  …but this is totally new

  territory. I’ve always loved

  girls for what they could give

  me, not for who they are.

  I understand what he

  means, but still don’t get

  where this is headed. “So,

  what are you saying?”

  I’m asking for some time

  to figure out if I love you

  for what you’re giving me,

  or for who you are.

  Over a Week

  Since Trey went off

  to decide why [you mean if]

  he loves me. Messed up!

  Brad and I have kept

  our thoughts regarding th
at

  night to ourselves, not

  easy to do when you’re

  spun, and we have been spun

  on an ongoing basis.

  It’s maintenance spun

  now, not really enjoyable spun.

  I can nibble soft foods,

  sleep fitfully, brain

  begging to shut all the way

  down. But I’m scared

  to shut all the way

  down. Scared I might dream.

  Scared I might not

  wake back up.

  It’s About Noon

  On Thursday. I’m fumbling

  around in the kitchen, trying

  to figure out what to make

  for dinner. My head is in

  the freezer when the phone

  bellows. It takes four rings

  to find it, and I’m totally

  surprised at who’s on the other

  end. Hi, Kristina? It’s Robyn.

  Okay, she’s after something,

  and I can guess what. I don’t

  know if you heard, but I left

  UOP. I’m working out here

  in Moundhouse, and was

  hoping you could hook me up.

  Moundhouse = whorehouse.

  There are several in the little

  community, not far from

  Nevada’s capital, Carson

  City. One was even featured

  on a prime-time cable show.

  Now, it doesn’t necessarily

  surprise me that Robyn is

  whoring for the monster, but

  I never would have guessed

  she’d sink so low as to whore

  for truck drivers and tourists.

  “Well, maybe I can help you

  out.” Don’t want to give it all

  up the first time we talk.

  “I’ll have to check on it.

  But if it’s doable, it will

  be on the pricey side.”

  Very cool. Some other girls

  are interested, too. Can you

  and I work out a quantity?

  Just like that, I move from low

  to midlevel dealer. Good thing

  Brad’s connect is bottomless.

  Can you come out to the ranch?

  I’ll tell them you’re my sister.

  Oh, you have to ask for Aphrodite.

  If You’ve Never

  Been to a fancy whorehouse

  (and believe me, I never have

  before!), you might be surprised.

  I’m nervous, thinking the Pink

  Pussycat will be scary—dark, sweaty,

  with lots of peepholes, maybe. But a

  better word to describe the place

  is gaudy, with plush pink carpeting

  and silver and gold brocade covering

  the walls. If there are peepholes, they’re

  hidden behind paintings of busty

  naked women, like in an Old West

  saloon. Only pinker. Pink. How

  appropriate. It’s early for truckers.

  Only a few haunt the “parlor,” perusing

  a menu of services and a couple of girls.

  Neither men nor girls are what you’d call

  attractive. This is no place for romance.

  Hey, sis. Long time no see. Robyn escorts

  me to her room, much like she did several

  times in the past, only this time she’s dressed

  in a purple silk teddy. Her legs are too thin,

  her own chest flatter than I remember, and

  a thick layer of makeup barely disguises

  sores. Monster sores. I chide myself

  to slow down before I end up with sores.

  Or here.

  Unlike Her Apartment

  Robyn’s room is neat.

  Guess perverts dislike

  having paid-for sex

  amidst piles of clutter.

  Like everything else here, it’s pink and gold

  and sparsely furnished.

  It smells of old sweat

  and cheap perfume.

  Robyn locks the door

  and we sit on her bed,

  just like in the good ol’

  days. I’m pulling grave

  yard so we don’t have

  to hurry. Anyway, the

  manager is a friend.

  That’s how I wound

  up here, in fact.

  She tells me how she

  met the guy, how he

  talked her into “easy”

  money, working in the

  “entertainment industry.”

  As she talks, I notice

  the way her eyes beg.

  “You sure it’s okay to

  do the deal in here?”

  Her head bobs. No

  problem. I told them

  you have some private

  news about our mother

  and not to interrupt us.

  They probably think she

  has cancer or something.

  Sweet. A little sympathy

  goes a long way here.

  I can only imagine. I

  produce a quarter ounce

  of excellent glass and

  immediately Robyn’s

  hands begin to shake.

  She doesn’t only want

  the meth. She needs it.

  “You can try some if you

  want. Where can we go?”

  In answer, she opens the

  window, turns on a fan

  that sits on a small table

  by the door. Right here

  is the safest place. I’ll

  get the pipe. I watch her

  inhale, eyes popping

  pleasure. Thank God

  it’s not street crank.

  She talks about the last

  crank she snorted, a tip

  from a customer. Oh

  yeah, truckers love their

  crank. And when they’re

  all cranked up, they love

  other stuff too. The ice

  opens her mouth and

  she tells me all about it.

  Some of ’em are really

  gross. I always make

  them shower first. No

  way will I let something

  dirty up inside of me.

  Condoms? Yeah, they’re

  supposed to wear them.

  But they pay a lot extra

  if you don’t make them.

  They also pay extra for

  oral sex and unusual sex,

  including threesomes

  with other girls. Robyn

  claims she’s judicious.

  But I know how your

  caution can slip, when

  you have a threesome

  with our pal, the monster.

  I Leave

  Feeling slightly better about

  myself and a whole lot better

  about my own client list, which

  has just grown exponentially.

  Robyn knows girls at some

  of the other ranches too.

  Meth is one way they handle

  what they do. I guess you could

  say it isn’t much different from

  trading sex for companionship.

  Okay, it’s a helluva lot damn

  different. I mean, screwing nasty,

  smelly men [without a condom,

  yet] to feed your meth habit [no

  worries about feeding your face].

  The word “condom” reminds

  me again that I need to get

  in and get on the pill. I’ll

  call tomorrow and make

  the appointment. And that

  reminds me that Trey should

  head my way next week. No

  calls to confirm, as yet. Anxiety

  swims up like a giant squid, snakes

  tentacles around my throat. Squeezes.

  Easter
Sunday

  Brad took the girls to

  an Easter egg hunt.

  I thought about taking

  Hunter, but it’s cold

  and he’s just a baby,

  anyway. Like he’d

  know the Easter bunny

  from some giant rodent.

  Anyway, it’s a long

  drive and I think I’ll

  use my time alone to

  crash and experience

  the snooze of the dead.

  Brad traded speed for

  some downers. Guess

  I’ll have to borrow a

  couple. I want to be

  good and rested by

  the time Trey arrives.

  Not that I know exactly

  when that might be.

  Not that I have a freaking

  clue what he might be

  up to in the meantime.

  I pop an Ambien and

  wait, thinking about Trey

  and what he might be

  doing at this moment. My

  head starts to spin, like

  riding a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  I close my eyes, hang

  on tight against loop

  the loop in my head.

  I’m over the edge….

  It’s Gray

  I rise

  up out

  of the

  depths

  into flat

  pale light.

  Where

  am I?

  Is it

  morning

  or night?

  Why