She takes a big hit. “They’re busy dealing with Fuckhead One and Fuckhead Two.” And she exhales a huge cloud into the matching sky. “Besides, my head hurts too bad to care.”
With a sigh, I snatch it from her and take a hit when she nudges the joint my way. I pass it back to her as we step over the curb to the parking lot. “Where are you parked?” I ask.
She points to the far side of Lot B. “Where are you?”
“Lot A. What time should I come over?”
“Any time.”
“Okay, I’ll just grab my shit and head that way. I’ll text you.”
Once I get to my car, I make sure she gets to hers safely, as always. I hate that she’s so fragile, so damageable. But even more, I hate that there’s nothing I can do to guard her from the screwed-up inhabitants of this world. The only way to protect her, it seems . . . is to beat them to it.
You can’t break someone who’s already broken. This, I know to be true.
EIGHT
When I get home, Eileen and Corbin are planting stuff in the garden. Corbin has his blue and yellow plastic shovel, digging up dirt for Mom by the teaspoon. “See-see!” He tosses it down when he sees me at the garage door and races toward me.
“Hey, Corb.” I scoop him up and perch him on my hip, awkwardly, wondering how the hell moms do this all day. I kiss his cheek, then put him down, and he scampers over to Eileen.
“How was your day?” She waves a garden gloved hand at me.
“Fine. Another fight, though.”
“Really?” She stops digging and folds her hands into her lap. “What is that, three this week?”
“Four.”
On the other side of our ten-foot security fence, the neighbors scream at each other again, while off in the distance, a procession of emergency vehicle sirens light up the horizon with what has been everyday background noise for too long.
Eileen shakes her head, then brushes a stray curl from Corbin’s eye. “What’s the world coming to?”
“Shit.” I start up the path toward the door. “I’m gonna go pack my overnight bag for Eve’s.”
“When are you going?”
“After I pack and have a snack.” I let the door slap the frame when I go inside, instead of the thoughtful way Eileen guides it to so as not to make any unnecessary noise.
But I’m all about the noise. In a world full of filth, pollution, and uproar, the only way to rise above it all is to fight fire with fire. Aislynn told me that before hers was snuffed out.
I snatch the last strawberry poptart from the box and leave the empty package in the pantry. Eileen hates that, but I do it anyway. Don’t ask me why. It’s not that I want to piss her off, it’s just that . . . my contempt keeps me in control.
I eat the poptart on the way to my room, breaking another rule—no eating in your room because of this fancy new carpet they got five years ago. That rule’s begging to be broken, it’s so stupid and pointless. An entire bottle of black nail polish spilt in the corner, along with red wine (which I lied and said was grape juice) as well as mud stains, because I broke the no shoes in the house rule that time, after it rained, and I don’t see the point anymore. It’s carpet, for fuck’s sake. Get over it. The whole world is falling down around us.
I load my craft items into a small duffel bag, along with a few clothing items, my pipe and weed, a couple of Xanax, and a small bottle of chardonnay for the comedown. I duck under my bed, hunting for the box I’ve been afraid to open for the past few years since Aislynn died. I slide it out with shaky hands, wipe off the layer of dust, then trace the white star amid the ring, the pentacle set against the faded black background. My hands go for the lid, but stall. I haven’t opened it since her foster mom gave it to me the day of her funeral. In her suicide note, she’d told them to give me her sacred spirit board, along with the rest of her craft items and crystals.
Beside the box, I take out the black velvet bag that had been one of those items. I set it on top of my other belongings in the duffel bag, along with the spirit board, then zip it up before I have a chance to change my mind. Time to face my own demons, as well as Aislynn’s, and Eve’s. Time to harness their power, use them to our advantage. Time to give back to this world what it’s been dishing out my whole life: Darkness.
After a quick makeup check, I grab my keys from the dinner table. Henry comes in the front door, home early because his white-collar CEO thinks his little sheep deserve short Fridays to compensate for the seventy hours of bullshit they shovel the rest of the week.
He always looks so worn out. But in a world where crime is the norm, selling burial plots is a gold mine, apparently. It steals away most of Henry’s life, counting down the days to a hopeful retirement, where he can then put his own burial plot on layaway.
“Hey, Grace.” He waves.
I return it with a clamped jaw because he called me Grace and I’m trying to be nice today. “Hey, Henry.”
“Daddy!” Corbin barrels through the back door and trots to his dad, muddy hands raised.
“Hey, little guy, how are you?” He picks up his miracle boy and gives him a kiss. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes, Daddy. I help Mommy dig.”
“Oh, you helped Mommy plant in the garden today?”
Eileen comes in, removing her gardening gloves. “Yep. He helped Mommy plant pumpkin seeds today.”
“Awesome, Corb, good job! Such a big helper.” Henry hugs him tight, then sets him down. “I need to sit and take my shoes off, my feet are killing me.”
“I gotta run, I’m staying at Eve’s tonight.”
“Oh?” He lifts a foot to his knee and unties the short, leather laces of his dress shoes.
“Eve’s mother invited her.” Eileen smiles.
“Well, that was sure nice of her.” He removes his shoe and sets it beside the chair. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, it has been.”
“What time will you be home tomorrow?” he asks me.
“Not sure.” I bend and give Corbin a kiss on his head. “Later, Corbs.”
“Go bye-bye, Sissy?”
“Yep, I’m going to Evie’s. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye!” He waves two hands at me.
“Please be careful tonight.” Eileen lays a soft hand on my arm.
“Of course. I’m always careful.”
NINE
My stomach flutters the whole way to Eve’s. What a night ahead. I hope she has plenty of weed because we’ll need it to chill the fuck out. I haven’t been this nervous about anything in a while, which is both fantastic and terrifying. Anything could happen tonight. The touch of Eve’s lips to mine is a ghost I don’t want to leave. I hate that I don’t want it to.
How pathetic. I’m so starved for affection that I’m falling for my best friend because she kissed me once when she was drunk. I need to let this go, it’s not healthy.
Eve’s on her front steps, smoking a joint, when I get to her house. I grab my bag and exit my car to the sounds of far off gunfire and sirens.
“Hey.” High as hell, she grins and takes another hit.
“Mom and Dad aren’t home, huh?”
“Nah, they had some banquet thing. They’ll be home late. Good thing she invited you over tonight, otherwise they would’ve insisted on dragging my ass there with them.”
I set my bag on the ground and sit beside her. She holds the joint to my lips and I take a puff.
“Nice.” She taps the bag with her foot. “Whatcha got planned for us?”
Thunder rumbles in the sky, and it sounds like Aislynn, either cursing me or reassuring me, but I can’t decipher which.
“I’ll show you when we get inside.”
She takes a final hit and mashes the roach out on the step, then slips it between the cardboard and cellophane of her cigarette pack. “Wanna smoke a cig before we head inside?”
“Yeah.” I take one and she lights it for me with her worn Zippo I got her for her birthda
y two years ago. The black-painted pentacle has almost entirely vanished from the silver metal.
We sit in surreal silence, smoking, and watching the storm roll in. The weed calmed me down, so there’s one good thing. The storm might dampen our plans some, but other than that, the night seems off to smooth start. Fat droplets hit the paved walkway, and the tips of my black-on-black Converse, but I leave them there. If Aislynn did send this storm, she’d want to touch me, soak her energies into my skin, my clothes. I’d want her to.
I move my bag up onto the porch, stand, and step out into it. When I do, it turns to a downpour. I spread my arms open wide to receive her.
“You crazy bitch!” Eve laughs, jumps from the porch, and takes my hand, swinging me around in the grass. Nearby lightning illuminates the gray and purple sky, a boom of thunder makes us squeal, and Eve drags me up onto the porch. I collect my duffel bag, and we leave a trail of wet footprints across the tile front walkway and living room carpet on the way to Eve’s room.
“I cleaned it in twenty minutes when I got home today.” She peels off her wet shirt and tosses it in the laundry hamper. “Just don’t look under the bed.”
I chuckle and shiver. “Got it.”
“Need something to wear tonight? Considering you dove into the rain like a water faery?”
“Ha, yeah, dry clothes would be good.”
I avert my eyes from her as she removes her wet bra, tossing it into the hamper, too.
“What time’s the party?” she asks.
“Let me text Stuart.” I unzip my bag and take out my phone.
Eve puts on a new bra, then slides on a black, skin-tight, velvet bustier tank over it. “He’d be cute if he’d wear clothes that fit.”
“Yeah, I guess. And shower, maybe.”
“That too, yeah.” She removes her wet pants next, and I’m about to look away, when I notice an enormous bruise on the inside of her thigh. I almost ask her what happened, but stop myself when I realize I already know the answer when I see the bruise on her arm to match.
Rage brings tears, guides my hand to my bag, where the stolen bottle of cheap chardonnay awaits. I unscrew the cap and gulp, until Eve’s clothed again, in her destroyed black skinny jeans; my favorite pants of hers.
When she sees my fury, she sits next to me. “You saw the bruise, didn’t you?”
I stare at the bed. “I’ll never forgive myself for letting that happen to you. I’m so sorry, Evie.”
She guides my chin up with a soft touch. “Quit blaming yourself. And quit apologizing. Okay?”
I nod, though I’ll never stop doing either of those things.
“Hey.” Her soft voice quiets my thrashing soul. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Why? Did you . . . like it?” She gives me a playful wink.
I don’t answer. Instead, I lean forward and guide her down onto the bed with a kiss, soft and slow.
“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” She giggles, kisses my neck and chest.
“Evie, I’m not gonna lie, this scares the shit out of me.”
“The only time you can be brave is when you’re scared.” She pulls me close. “You told me that, remember?”
Aislynn’s words.
“Yeah, I remember. But I . . . I don’t get close to people. It’s just not . . . a thing I do.”
She kisses me, and what little resistance I’d been holding on to dissolves. I let go and submit to my heart, to something beautiful born in the eye of a storm.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” she asks me, the cutest small mouse dancing for a crumb.
“It’s insane.” I laugh. “But yes. Of course I will.”
TEN
I slip on one of Eve’s black tanks and straighten my pentacle necklace. She gazes at me for a second from her desk before filling my pipe with bud, as her phone plays soft, electric beats.
“This is going to be . . . different.” I yank on the shiny black boy shorts.
“It’ll be great.” She touches the lighter to the bowl and takes a hit.
“Promise me you won’t decide you hate me and never talk to me again.” In Eve’s full-length mirror I check out my ass, which is nearly visible beneath these short ass shorts.
“It’s beautiful.” She winks and blows out smoke. “And I promise. I could never hate you.”
“You gonna tell your parents?”
“Oh hell no. And that reminds me.” With her lighter, she ignites a stick of lilac incense to camouflage the pot smell. Her parents are old school and still think of marijuana as a “drug,” even though it’s been legal everywhere for a few decades now.
“How much time do we have until they get here?”
She checks her phone. “About four hours. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Got the munchies myself.”
We make our way to the kitchen and Eve claps twice. “Stereo, play Eve’s playlist.”
Her father does audio for some giant sound system franchise, meaning, her family has top of the line shit as far as electronics is concerned.
The smooth and heavy bass from her phone now plays through surround sound speakers, placed strategically around the ceiling.
Eve dances her way to the kitchen in the same outfit she wore to school today. I’m glad, because it looks hot as hell on her. A black, lacy tutu and a black hoodie that hugs her curves, with black, knee-high combat boots to set off the outfit. And the way she moves her hips from side to side in it makes me want to touch her. I’m trying to “take it slow,”—like you’re supposed to do in relationships, right? (I wouldn’t know)—but watching her dance, hearing her talk, looking into her blue eyes, being close to her, all of those things make me the weakest woman alive. I’d do anything she asked me to do, anytime, no questions asked.
On her way to the fridge, she stops and swings open the cabinet above the stove. A short row of bottles stares down at us, each filled at different levels with clear or amber liquors.
“I’m not sure why they have this shit. They rarely drink.” She grabs a half-full bottle of vodka, unscrews the cap, and gulps for a couple seconds before passing the bottle to me.
Eve swings open the fridge and takes out a fruit tray, setting it on the countertop, and I’m trying to get my head out of the clouds. I can’t stop these dirty thoughts about my new girlfriend, about what that porcelain body looks like completely naked . . . What it tastes like.
If it were up to me, and if I were more brave, I’d just stay in bed with her all night and see what kinds of things we could do to each other. My imagination runs wild watching her plump lips wrap around a strawberry, biting into it so sensually, that I wonder what other beauty she can perform with that mouth.
“Wow, that’s really hot.”
She giggles, then kisses me, and I taste strawberry on her tongue. We pull away and laugh again, at this level-up in our relationship. It’s new, exciting, and slightly awkward, but in a good way. It makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time.
When I take a swig from the bottle of vodka, I’m surprised by the lack of burn. “Is this watered down?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Oh, to cover up your theft, I get it.” I take another gulp, chugging for a few seconds until I get the burn I’m looking for, then I step over to the sink and fill it with a replacement inch of water. “I don’t have any experience with that, you know, because Eileen and Henry don’t drink.”
“What exactly do those two do for fun?” She offers me the strawberry and I take a nibble.
“Well . . . Eileen gardens. And Henry . . . he went fishing at Selam Lake last summer with Corbin. That’s about it.”
“Wow. That is one exciting life they lead.”
“Tell me about it.”
After we’ve finished our snack, we return to Eve’s room. The storm continues outside, lightning flashing through the curtains at intervals, though the thunder
has silenced. I remove my craft items from my bag, including Aislynn’s sacred spirit board, and my heart thuds in my chest.
Eve kills her room lights, then places her sacred candles at five points around the perimeter. Once they’re lit, she checks the time and sits down across from me. “We have a little over two hours.”
From a tiny cauldron, I pinch salt and sprinkle it in the shape of a pentacle between us, with the Aether point toward me, and the fire and earth base points toward Eve’s toes. I trace the star in the air and chant, invoking the powers of the Goddess and dark spirits to aid us. Eve lights myrrh and dragon’s breath in another cauldron and wafts the smoke between us. Outside, lightning flashes, followed by a low grumble of thunder. Perfect.
I remove the lid from the box that holds Aislynn’s sacred spirit board and, lifting the board from its box, lay it on the pentacle between us. I extract a crumpled sheet of notebook paper: the last chant Aislynn ever taught me.
Words from ancient script, given to her by a medicine woman when her former foster family had taken her on a trip to Malaria. The words had power, the woman explained, the power to do as much good as evil. In exchange for the words, all she’d requested was a single strand of Aislynn’s blonde hair.
With trembling hands, I read over the lines I wrote last night. Not traditional Zalaan chanting, but it’s the energy these words bring that matters most.
I set the paper aside to read after the ancient chant, words that haven’t been spoken aloud in years, to invoke the spirits of unrest, trapped here in this board. As I trace the names scratched into the surface, covered in drips of black wax, I begin:
Hana hana lo kina so
De sala nye
De sala nye
Oh binisida dae, lo kina so
Mensura kina mida
Oleda oh, balsikah
Balsikah hana hana
Lo kina so
As I speak the words, a surge of energy swirls in my core. When I repeat them backwards, the infinity mirror will open the doorway to the dark realm beyond. Another deep breath and I continue:
So kina lo
Hana hana balsikah
Dysphoria and Grace Page 4
