Ecstasy

Zara

I spend Sunday night curled up in bed, knocked out from two doses of NyQuil.

Kylie came home sometime late last night. I heard her knocking on my door but rolled over and jammed a pillow over my head. I’m not ready to confront her on her bullshit.

I didn’t hear from Eli after he dropped me off, apparently wanting to be alone after that phone call I probably shouldn’t have overheard.

Monday and Tuesday pass in a blur, but a decent one. I didn’t bomb my philosophy exam after all. I made a nice, healthy “C.”

Wednesday morning, I wake up to several missed calls from my mother. I don’t call her back, but she’s sent a few texts too, probably knowing I wouldn’t answer.

Probably because she’s called all week, and I haven’t fucking answered.

Mom: We need to talk.

Mom: I’m sorry, Zara, it was a rushed thing. Let me explain.

Mom: Zara Rose, if you don’t call me back, I will CUT OFF YOUR PHONE

I laugh out loud at that one because it’s bullshit. If she cuts off my phone, then she can’t reach me at all. I ignore all her texts too, and then I see I’ve got one from Eli, and one from Alex.

Alex has been at the coast with his parents, keeping me up to date every day. But I guess he’s back because he said, I miss you, baby. Are you coming to the beach with me this weekend?

And Eli’s text says, Come this weekend. I won’t make it weird.

My mouth turns dry.

He won’t make it weird? What happened to “I like you a lot?” Does he expect me to go with Alex, and we’ll just act like nothing has happened? Is he bullshitting me? Is this a test? Why hasn’t he been in touch all week?

I don’t reply to him.

Instead, I sit up in bed and rub my temples, dreading my eight o’clock philosophy seminar. I’ve got an abnormal psych test tomorrow I really need to study for, although I really don’t want to.

I don’t want to learn about why people are fucked up. I am one of those people, and I’ve realized the “why” doesn’t fucking matter.

Knowing the root cause doesn’t change the disease where my mind is concerned.

Knowing Alex’s dad is a cheater and that’s why he was such a dick to me doesn’t change the fact that he was a dick. Knowing that, according to Alex, Eli’s mom left him when he was a teenager doesn’t change the fact that he’s all messed up. Knowing I have daddy issues doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to fuck anyone who wants me because it makes me feel loved.

I snatch my phone up from the bed and throw it across the room. It’s becoming a habit.

Fuck this shit.

I’m not going to class.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling really fucking low and debating going to Jax’s house. He’s the only person I know that might be down to have a party on a Wednesday morning but then again, he’s probably not up yet.

And before I can decide if texting Eli back and telling him to meet me here so we can work this shit out or not is a good idea, my door creaks open and I tense, digging my nails into my palms.

“Hi,” Kylie says, staring at me with her wide brown eyes. She’s dressed in a pink collared pajama shirt and matching pants, her glossy black hair sleek and straight over her shoulders, like she just flat ironed it but didn’t bother getting dressed yet.

I don’t even know why she gets up so early. Her first class isn’t until ten. I want to ask her what the fuck she wants, and why the fuck she was talking to my boyfriend behind my back while pretending to hate him, but I don’t say any of that.

It’s too early for that shit.

“Hi,” I answer her, my voice groggy. I finished the rest of the NyQuil last night. Mom is transferring money to my account Friday, so I’ll be able to get more then, but then again, maybe she won’t since I refuse to answer her calls.

Guess I’ll have to get over myself and do that, in the interest of having money.

I could just get a job but I don’t really want to. A wave of self-loathing washes over me as I look at Kylie, tiny and cute and put together even in her damn eighty-year-old grandma pajamas. She’s got her shit figured out. She’s going to pharmacy school. Ian is going to med school. They’ll have heaps of money in a few years and I’ll have, what?

Probably even more self-loathing.

She’ll forget about the girl she agreed to babysit and I’ll probably OD in Jax’s living room and ruin his life by racking him with guilt, too.

“Are you okay?” Kylie asks in her soft voice, edging her way into my room with her hands clasped in front of her.

I stare at her a second, my eyes narrowed. I think about telling her the truth for an entire minute: No, I’m not okay. I think I’m actually an addict again, but I refuse to go back to rehab. I think I want to fuck my ex’s best friend. I also want to get really fucking high right now, but my dealer is probably asleep and he’s the only person who might consider getting high with me on a Wednesday morning. Oh, and my mother got married for the fourth fucking time, in secret, and my father is doing God-knows-what on the other side of the country, so I’m just biding my time for his yearly Christmas card that he doesn’t even write anything in except his stupid, shitty name. And you’re a fucking liar and I want you to get the fuck out of my room.

“Yes,” I lie to Kylie.

She doesn’t buy it, I can tell in the way she squints her eyes just a fraction, but she, unlike me, isn’t rude, so she doesn’t say anything.

She wrings her hands and I kind of want to break them.

“You want to get di

No. For a long moment, I contemplate saying it. I contemplate telling her to go fuck herself. But instead, what comes out of my mouth is, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

I need to do something tonight and getting high probably isn’t ideal. My boundaries are all blurred and the schedule that I clung to in order to make sure I wasn’t really an addict is all fucked up. Maybe di

Maybe I just won’t feel fucking alone.

“Really?” she asks me, startled. Like she expected me to say no.

Fair, I guess. I smile at her, trying to make myself feel it. Trying to make it real. “Really.”

I shovel the peas from the can around on my plate, listening to Kylie talk about her mom. I don’t have much of an appetite for conversation or for di

And as soon as I make it through this di

Fuck Kylie and fuck Alex. It somehow feels better, spiting her right under her nose instead of yelling at her.

I smile and nod at Kylie as she keeps talking, but she furrows her dark brows and I quickly realize this isn’t a part of the conversation I should be smiling and nodding at.

I look down at my plate, frowning at the porkchop she cooked. It looks good enough, but my mouth is dry, and I know chewing it will be like trying to force down ash. I need to lay off the fucking Adderall.

“Anyway,” Kylie continues after she wipes her mouth with a napkin and then sets it back in her lap—yep, perfect, that girl—“they’re going to have to sell their house.” She picks up her fork and knife, slices off another bite of meat but of course she doesn’t put it in her mouth yet because she’s still talking, and Kylie Jones doesn’t talk with a mouthful of food.