Ecstasy

“She’s having trouble getting around without a cane. The pain is getting a little much, too, so her doctor prescribed her some…” She trails off and I look up at her, wondering why.

She looks kind of apologetic, lowering her eyes and shaking her head. “Sorry,” she says a little awkwardly.

“For what?” I ask, confused, scraping my fork against my plate, jostling some peas around.

Kylie blows out a breath, looking past my shoulder. “About the, you know, my mom’s pain medication, I didn’t mean to…” She can’t get a full sentence out and I have no idea what she’s fucking talking about.

Until I do.

My face flushes red, but I think its second-hand embarrassment for her. I’m glad in that moment that I don’t have food in my mouth because if I did, I might’ve choked on it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, shaking my head, a bite to my tone. “You think that talking about your mom’s prescription pain pills will, what exactly? Make me salivate and I’ll lose my shit?” I laugh, sitting back in the rickety chair that’s half in the kitchen and half in the living room. I drop my fork with a clatter. “It doesn’t work that way, Kylie.”

I see her squirm in her chair, taking the porkchop into her mouth and chewing furiously. Her olive skin is flushed pink.

Good. I hope she is fucking embarrassed.

I swallow, take a sip of water from my glass and set it back on the table, trying to keep my hands from shaking, from anger or too much Adderall, I’m not sure.

Meanwhile, I could hear a fucking marijuana leaf drop in here, it’s grown so quiet.

“Look Kylie, your parents’ house is safe and shit.” I shrug. “I promise not to go up inside and rob the place, all right? Downers aren’t really my thing anyway.”

I watch her finish chewing her food, then she sets down her fork, hands in her lap, over her napkin. She arches a brow. “Really?” She seems very surprised by that statement. I take in her pigtails, smooth skin, and the pink cardigan she’s wearing—even though it’s technically still summer for another day, and definitely still hot outside—and realize that as much as she might know about the technical aspect of drugs from her pre-pharm work, she probably doesn’t know shit about drug abuse. The heart of it, anyway.

Alex picked the wrong girl to spy on me because fuck the science.

Addicts are not fucking thinking about the science when they snort their first line or inject their first bag.

“I thought your mom said naloxone saved your life—”

“It was a precaution,” I interrupt, waving her concern away. “I wouldn’t have died.” I clench my fists on the table and look down at my full plate. “At least, I don’t think I would have,” I mutter to my peas. “Anyway, that was an exception, which is probably why the Oxy hit me so hard anyway. I did Xanax sometimes, but that’s about it when it comes to downers.”

I click my jaw, thinking about the upper I did today to make it through this di

I don’t mention it.

“So, what did you like to do?” Kylie asks me, her hands still in her lap. Surprising me, she doesn’t sound the least bit judgmental.

I wonder if she’s asking for Alex’s sake. I wonder if they’ve been texting behind my back. I wonder when I’m going to confront him about that shit. I wonder if I have a right to, considering what I’m doing.

Whatever. Hopefully she will report back. Hopefully it’ll keep him up all night, thinking about me still doing all of this shit.

“Uppers. Adderall, Vyvanse. Ecstasy. Cocaine, every now and then, but that was seriously addicting.” I laugh, because it sounds fu

There’s silence that stretches between us for a moment, and I hope she feels awkward, but to be honest, it doesn’t seem like she does.

It kind of seems like my roommate is just absorbing this admission I gave her, and I’m waiting to see what she’s going to do with it as I stare down at my ripped jeans, my hands twisted together.

“So, you don’t really like going to parties, then?” Her tone is light, curious.

I shrug, swallow down a sudden lump in my throat that makes me want to get up, put my dishes away, and run to my room. “I do, but just not the way I usually am.” I realize that doesn’t make much sense, so I clear my throat and add, “I’m lame without drugs.” I look up and meet her gaze. “I’m awkward and shit so I take—took—things to get pumped up. To want to be around people. Otherwise, I’d just sit in my room all day and stare at the ceiling.” Like I’ve basically been doing for the past three days.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ever met a guy like Alex Cardi, star football player and hot jock. Otherwise, I would’ve never had the balls to let Eli fuck with me. I would’ve never had anyone in my life.

I wouldn’t have done anything like that if I was just…me.

I would have even fewer friends than I do now.

I’d be a fucking hermit.

Kylie is regarding me with an interesting mix of detachment and sympathy. It’s like she’s trying to figure me out through a clinical context, but she also feels something for me because unlike myself, she’s not a shell of a human being.

“I don’t think you’re awkward,” she finally settles on, picking up her fork and knife again, glancing at the small piece of porkchop left on her plate.

That’s because I’m still on drugs. But I’m not trying to be taken out of school again or have my funds cut off from Mom or have Alex beat down our door, so I just manage a half-smile and say, “Thanks.”

She sighs, a lock of her shiny black hair fluttering as she does, and then she drops her utensils on the table and pierces me with her big brown eyes.

I feel my stomach jump into my throat. Does she know? Is this di