Ecstasy

Alex

It’s Saturday morning before I get to her apartment.

Saturday morning, and the sun is almost up, but I drove as fast as I could. I tossed and turned in my bed at my parents’ house after dealing with Mom’s lawyers and Dad blowing up and walking out.

I tried to let it go. I told myself she might’ve just fallen asleep. I told myself that she’s okay. That she’s been exhausted. That I trust her, and she’s fine.

But I couldn’t sleep, and I don’t exactly trust her, so I drove.

I run up the stairs to her apartment, wishing she had a fucking car so I could know if she was here. She won’t answer her phone, hasn’t answered my texts since she told me she missed me too.

And that was it.

I knock on her door, softly at first.

No one answers.

Kylie isn’t here. I know, because I called her, too.

Nothing. No one comes to the door. I don’t hear movement inside.

I knock again, louder this time. I wonder if her neighbors will come outside, but I hear music thumping from one of these apartments, so I’m not too worried about it. Fuck, even if they were all dead asleep, I don’t give a shit.

I slam my hand so hard against the door the third time, it just fucking pops open.

What the fuck?

She would have locked it. If she was okay, if she was here, that door would be locked and even I couldn’t have broken the lock by knocking on the door.

I step inside.

It’s dark as shit, and I’m worried she’s asleep and I’m going to scare the hell out of her, but she would have locked that door.

And I smell it then, when I step further inside, closing the door softly at my back.

I smell the sharp tang of alcohol, and my stomach sinks.

I feel sick, and I put my hands on my knees, closing my eyes as my stomach heaves. I swallow it all back down.

Opening my eyes, I try to get myself the fuck together.

It’s just alcohol, I tell myself. It’s just alcohol and that’s okay. It could be worse. I should’ve taken those bottles, I should’ve dumped that shit out, but it could be worse. It could be worse and maybe she’s just asleep in bed. Maybe she just drank too much and we can deal with that. We can fix that.

I flip on the light in the kitchen and blink, my eyes adjusting.

And then my head starts spi

There are bottles of alcohol lined up on the counter—thankfully, some still full—and there’re no cups or shot glasses or anything that would indicate she had a party but there’s something red on the floor.

My mouth goes dry as I step closer, squatting down to look.

There’s an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

That looks like blood.

Just a drop, but what’s worse is the floor is faintly wet, like it was just cleaned or…

I stand to my feet, the room spi

I heave again, stepping back from the can.

There’re broken bottles inside, and paper towels with more blood. And something else.

There’s something else, almost hidden beneath a bloody paper towel, but not quite.

Not fucking quite.

There’s a fucking needle in this trash can.

I can’t think. I can’t even hear anything but a loud ringing in my ears. I storm down to her room, screaming her name, kicking her door open and flicking on her light.

She fucking wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She would never.

“Zara!”

I yank back her covers but she’s not there.

She’s not fucking here.

I get home in no time. The sun is an orange blip on the horizon, the air is cool when I hop out of my Jeep and slam the door shut. I barely notice any of it. I unlock the front door of the house, flick on the lights as I slam it closed.

My gaze goes to the stairs. I’m going to drag Eli’s ass out of bed and he’s going to help me look for her. I don’t care that he’s a sick fuck, I don’t care that we aren’t talking anymore. He’s going to fucking help me.

I already called her mother, found her number online, but she didn’t answer. She probably sleeps with her phone on silent like every other dumb fuck on this planet.

I debated calling the police, but I’m not sure that would help yet. Not yet.

I go to storm up the stairs, calling Eli’s name, but then I freeze, something catching my eye down the hall and through the sliding glass doors in the kitchen.

The tiki torches are on, the soft underwater lights making the blue surface dance with the light breeze. And the sun is rising ever-so-slowly. All of that gives me enough light to see by, but I still don’t believe it.

I take a step past the stairs, down the hall.

I feel like I’m walking through concrete. I feel like I’m going to faint. I feel like I won’t make it to the end of the fucking hall.

There’s no way.

Maybe I’m delirious because I didn’t get any sleep. I’m seeing things because I’m so tired and dealing with Mom’s shit and Dad’s bullshit and thinking about Zara and feeling guilty for leaving her.

No, this can’t be what I think it is.

That can’t be her, lying on her back on a beach towel, stripped down to nothing but her underwear, her hands resting on her stomach.

And that can’t be Eli, sitting beside her, his feet in the water as he stares at her.

That can’t fucking be what I’m seeing.

I try to swallow but it’s like my throat is made of sandpaper. My heart is slamming around so hard in my chest, it’s actually aching. This isn’t right.

None of this is right.

Did she go to him? Is that what this is?

But it’s fucking not even six in the morning. And that alcohol, and the fucking needle…

I clench my hands into fists and walk down the hall, forcing my steps to be steady and even. Forcing myself not to run. I can’t run.

I can’t run.

I get to the sliding glass door and neither of them look up. I think I see Eli’s mouth moving, like he’s talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

I realize there’s a small, circular speaker next to Zara.

Music is playing.

I recognize it, because it’s something I introduced Eli to.

Memory, the acoustic version by Dear Agony.

What the hell. What the hell. What the fucking hell.

I reach for the handle of the door, take another deep breath, but it doesn’t help. It feels like all the oxygen has left my brain.

I pull the door open.

Eli stops talking, and he turns to look at me.

Zara picks her head up, frowning my way.

Then Eli’s lips curve into a slow smile. For a moment, I’m frozen by that smile. It makes my stomach churn. I don’t know what the fuck it means.

And then he says, “I was wondering how long it’d take you to get here.”

And I fucking lose it.