Her body goes limp in my arms, her head slumping against my chest, which is split open, spilling out blood--life.
I look into Lexi's eyes, but there's nothing left inside them, and I know that pretty soon nothing will be left inside me, so I lie down on the ground with her and take her hand, allowing myself to bleed out.
The Cadillac is gone, but I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not, since it means that whatever they were going to do to Tristan, they've probably already done to him. I limp off toward the back of the apartment building, my arms and legs sore and stiff, my movements lethargic.
Everything is stilling inside me--I can feel it. Darkness sets in as my life slips away. I can feel myself being pulled somewhere and I swear I can feel Lexi with me, so close, yet at the same time so far away. Don't leave me. But she is, or maybe I'm leaving her. I feel myself being pulled back, people calling out my name. I hear the beeping of machines, feel needles sinking into my skin, giving me life, and I hate them for it. I want them to take it away...
I round the corner and see someone lying on the ground, arms and legs sprawled out, unmoving. Hang on. I rush up to Tristan and I shudder at the sight of his face, slit open and bleeding onto the rocks below his head. His eye is so engorged it blends in with his face and his arm is scraped raw. The only good thing about the sight is that he's breathing, and when I check his pulse, it's erratic and unsteady, but I'm not sure if it's because he's on smack or because he's been beaten up.
"God dammit, Tristan," I say as he rolls over, groaning about needing it to go away while his body trembles. "Why did you have to screw Trace over?"
"I...don't...know," he mutters, pain straining his voice, and his syllables are all messed up so it's hard to understand. "I...fucked up. And I tried to fix it--give them money. But it wasn't enough."
I'm not sure what to do, but I know I've got to get him out of here, in case the guys come back or Dylan shows up with his stupid gun. I'm not even sure where the hell they went, if they're planning on returning, or if they're done here. The entire situation is a mess and I need to get Tristan up and out of here, because from the look of him, if there's a next time, he won't make it out alive.
I drag my fingers roughly through my hair, looking around at the desert behind me and then at the stores and old houses to the side of our building. I need to find somewhere we can hide out for a little while, someone who might let us stay with them. I need a lot of things at the moment, like a line or two because I feel like I'm melting under the pressure, heat, and emotions inside me. If I'm going to handle this--keep it together enough to help Tristan--I can't be crashing.
Blowing out a breath, I lower my hand and reach down and grab hold of Tristan's arms. "All right, we got to get you out of here," I say, then lift him as best I can and try to get him to his feet, grunting and cursing as he puts most of his weight against me.
I manage to get him standing, but I'm not sure if he's even aware of it--if he's aware of anything going on right now or if he's got too much smack in his system, or whatever he was on when they showed up. I get his arm around my neck and then support most of his weight as he drags his feet and struggles to walk back toward the front of the building.
I can barely walk myself and I end up going to Nancy's, since it's close and she's a somewhat decent person and I know she'll probably let us crash at her place, although I'm sure we'll owe her for it. But I'll figure out that part later. Right now I just need to get Tristan inside and a few lines into my body because it's screaming at me to feed this, otherwise I'm going to break. And I can't break yet.
Tristan leans against me as I knock on Nancy's door. She doesn't even look surprised when she answers it. She's wearing a robe, her hair pulled up, and she easily lets us in.
"I knew he was going to get into trouble one of these days," she says as she shuts the door behind us and I help Tristan sit down on the torn sofa in the living room. When I move my arm away from him, he collapses to his side and presses his puffy cheek to the cushion. It's actually oozing out blood on her plaid seventies-themed couch, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"Do you have something to clean his cuts up with?" I ask Nancy as she stands near the back of the couch, watching Tristan with fascination. Her pupils are dilated and ringed with red and she keeps sniffing. I know she's on what I want and I wonder if she has any she'll share, but then again, if she does, it probably won't be without a price. But I don't really care. I just want it. Need to breathe again. Forget everything that's happened over the last couple of minutes. Hours. Days. Forget who I am and what I'm feeling. Things are so much easier that way.
She tightens the tie around the silk robe she's wearing. "Let me get some towels," she says, then strolls off to the bathroom at the back of the house. I wait for her in the small living room that's dark because she has curtains hanging up and no lights on. There's a pot steaming on the stove in the kitchen and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and it reminds me a lot of our place. As soon as I think it, another problem smacks me in the face.
Shit, where are we going to live?
When Nancy returns she has a wet rag in her hand and a plastic bag with a small amount of crystal in it. Tiny crystals my body yearns for, and my thoughts and worries drift from my head as my senses instantly heighten. Wanting. Wanting. Needing. Wanting.
Now.
I almost snatch the bag from her hand, but resist the urge with all the control I have left in me, worried that if I do, she'll kick us out. She sets the wet rag gently down on Tristan's forehead and Tristan groans as he presses his hand to it, taking sharp, raspy breaths. Then she sits down on the floor in front of the coffee table that's scratched up and has old magazines stacked in the middle of it. She looks at me and I can see the want in her eyes, but I'm not sure exactly what it is she wants--the drugs or me. Still, when she pats the spot on the floor, I more than eagerly sit down, then watch with hunger as she pours the crystal onto the coffee table and picks up a razor.
"You look like you could use this," she says, eyeing me as she chops up the clumps and forms two lines that are small enough they'll barely give me a boost. I need more and I can't help but think of the stash up in my room. Gone. No more. What am I going to do?
I fight to keep my hands to myself. "I could."
She stops chopping up the clumps and swipes her finger across the edge of the table, cleaning off the remnants of crystal and then licking her finger clean. My heart thrashes inside my chest as I watch her, wanting to taste it myself. When she leans in, I sit perfectly still, knowing what she wants--knowing I can taste it on her if I let her kiss me. She touches her lips to mine and for a moment I tense, thinking of Nova and the revelation in the car. How I realized that I love her. But something bigger overtakes me, the hungry beast inside me stirring awake and wanting to kill every emotion out of me. Everything's moving so fast as my body and mind crash and spin out of control. I need to pull myself back together so I slip my tongue inside her, kissing her back, hating myself for it, but self-hatred is all I am anymore.
When she pulls away, she lets me have a line, and then she sniffs the last one herself before taking my hand. She pulls me to my feet and leads me back toward her room.
"I need to keep an eye on Tristan," I tell her, looking back at him on the sofa with the rag draped over his face, his chest rising and sinking. "Trace and his guys beat him up pretty bad."
"He'll be okay for a few minutes," she assures me, her eyes fixed on mine as she walks backward, guiding me with her. "I have more back in my room. If you'll come with me, I'll share it."
I hesitate, glancing back and forth between Tristan and her. Tristan or her. Tristan or drugs. My feet follow her as I tell myself that Tristan will be okay for a few minutes and that once I get a few more lines in me I'll be able to focus on helping him, instead of needing a hit. When we get back to her room, she gently pushes me down on the bed, then takes my shirt off and runs her fingers up my chest and along my scar.
"You never did
tell me where you got that scar," she says, pressing her hand over my heart, just like Nova did at the roller coaster.
I gently shove her hand away, not able to stand her touch being connected to thoughts of Nova. "I put it there myself," I lie, wishing she'd just get the damn drugs.
Her brows furrow as confusion masks her expression, but the look evaporates as she leans in and kisses me again. I move robotically, letting her kiss me, letting her fingers wander all over my body as she gasps and moans, wanting more. Guilt consumes me. Devours me. And I almost yell at her to stop. But she pulls away on her own and removes her robe. She only has a bra and panties on and she smiles at me as she goes over to her dresser to get more from her stash and I know that when she comes back, I'll have to pay for each line I take. And I know I'll take more than a few, even though I don't want to pay for any of them.
I lower my head into my hands and wait, feeling my pulse throb, my lips quivering, my mind aching as I feel myself sink further to the bottom, feeling any life left inside me dissipate.
Chapter 12
Nova
I'm about to lose it. Or maybe I already have. I'm not even sure how I made it back to Lea's uncle's house, since I tried to count the cars on the road as I drove. I should never have been behind the wheel, too unstable to drive.
Yet somehow I made it home alive. But not in one piece, since my mind has cracked open and split apart. All I can think about is Quinton and that he's in trouble and how I just left.
I should never have left.
"Nova, are you okay?" Lea hops up from the sofa and rushes up to me as I walk into the house. She slows to a stop, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of me. I have no idea what I look like, but by the look on her face, I can tell it's bad. "Jesus, what happened?"
I just stare at her, unable to get my lips to function, process any words. I can barely move, the only motion inside me is from my beating heart and my lungs as they take in breaths, but even that seems like a lot of work. I'm about to fall apart, right here in her uncle's living room, crying, break down. I need to stop it somehow.
"I want to play my drums," I finally say because it's all I can think of at the moment to keep myself moving without crumbling.
Lea gapes at me. "What?"
"I need to play my drums." I feel a little better saying it. I push my way past her and head back to the guest room where I stuffed my drums in the closet.
She chases after me. "Nova, what the hell happened today?" she says concernedly. "And don't tell me nothing, because you look like you just saw someone die."
I think I might have. I throw open the closet and start taking out the pieces of my drums, the cymbal, the snare, the stool I sit on. I'm running away from my problems at the moment. I know this, but I just need something to drown out all the dark thoughts racing through my mind.
Lea keeps chattering something about calling my mom, but I lose track of her words as I set up the pieces in the corner of the room. Once I get everything positioned, I open up my laptop and go to my iTunes app. As soon as I sit down on the stool behind my drums, I reach a state of calm. Silence. Solitude. I feel at peace. I pick up my drumsticks and it makes me feel like I'm alone, just myself, no one else. Lea's withering stare from the doorway blurs away. Memories of today and two years ago blur away. Time fades. I fade. It's a beautiful place to exist and the feeling only grows as I reach back and turn on "Not an Addict" by K's Choice. I only have to wait during a few lyrics and then I get to come in, touch the sticks to the drums and press on the pedal, create the beat, feel the rhythm, the passion, as the lyrics and tune drown me, just like I want them to. I picked this song for a reason, because it feels like the song gets what's going on around me. Simple words, beats, notes, vibrations, can be so overpowering it feels like I've entered another world, not this fucked-up one where I keep messing up everything and losing everyone around me.
My foot moves on the pedal in sync with my other hand as I run away from my problems. I get completely swept away to a place that used to exist when I was younger. When I'd spend time with my dad and my mom, when death wasn't such a huge part of my past, when drugs and darkness weren't a part of my life, when it seemed like everything was full of light and hope. When I didn't realize just how hard things were and that caring about people meant hurting when they were hurting. Worrying about them. Growing frustrated because they can't see how they're killing themselves, dissolving themselves away, refusing to breathe no matter how much I try to breathe life into them. And the hardest part of all is that I get what it feels like. I know how hard it is to breathe again and it makes me understand, even though I don't want to, that Quinton might not give in and let me help him breathe. That maybe all of this was pointless and no matter how hard you try to save someone it might not turn out the way you want it.
I didn't save him.
Like I didn't save Landon.
I messed up again.
I crash the drumstick one last time against the cymbal as the song ends and then the tears come pouring out of me as reality crashes back into me. I slip off the stool and fall to the ground, sobbing hysterically, letting every ounce of emotion pour out of me. What I saw today. That guy had a gun. A tire iron. And I just walked away.
I continue to sob, losing track of time. When I finally do look up, Lea's on the phone. It takes me a moment to process whom she's talking to. My mom. When I realize this, something snaps inside me and I get to my feet. Lea must see something in my eyes because she runs out of the room.
"Lea, hang up the phone!" I shout, chasing after her, seeing my opportunity to help Quinton any more slip further and further away.
She locks herself in the bathroom and won't open the door, even when I bang on it so hard it sounds like it's going to break.
"Lea, please don't do this!" I cry, falling to the floor. "You can't do this! You're my friend."
It gets quiet and moments later the door opens. Lea stands in front of me, her hair pulled back, her eyes watery like she's been crying.
"It's because I'm your friend that I'm doing this." She crouches down in front of me with the phone in her hand. "Nova, this whole save-Quinton mission is destroying you."
I shake my head, rocking back and forth as I kneel on the floor. "No, it's not."
"Yes it is," she insists, getting to her feet. "Now start packing. Your mother's flying down here to drive us back up to Wyoming."
And just like that, all my hope is taken away. It's over. And once again, I didn't do anything right.
I manage to get to my feet and then I lock myself in the bedroom, opening up my laptop and turning on Landon's video again. I set it down on the bed, then lie down and curl up in a ball, watching it--watching him fade away right in front of my eyes.
Quinton
I hate myself, but it's easier to bear because I've got drugs in my system and my mind's not quite connected to anything that's happening around me. This room is just a place and Nancy is just a person and I'm just another junkie loser fucking someone I don't care about because I want to get high again. And when I'm done, I hate myself even more. I'm nothing but a shell, ready to crack, ready to crumble, and I'll start the whole process over because I can't seem to get to that final step where I fully give up.
"I'm going to go get a drink of water," Nancy says after I slip out of her, her skin damp.
I nod, feeling hollow as I put my boxers and jeans back on. "Okay."
"Don't go anywhere," she jokes as she walks from the room.
I almost laugh. Where the hell would I go? I don't have any money, any drugs, any place to live. I have absolutely nothing and decide that this is rock bottom. This is my own prison of hell and I'm locked inside it.
God, I just want it to all be over.
I'm drowning in my pain, deciding that it might finally be time to give up, that I've slammed into rock bottom, torn apart and left to bleed out, when I hear a deafening scream from the living room. I suddenly wonder if I was wrong and that maybe rock
bottom was within reach, but I needed to take a few more steps to get there. I get up and hurry out of the room. As soon as I catch sight of Tristan on the sofa, I'm thrown back to the mental state I lived at right after the accident, the one where I had to painfully feel the consequences of everything I'd done, when everything was so raw and heavy that it felt like it was killing me.
Tristan's skin has turned sheet white, his lips blue, and he's foaming at the mouth as his body shakes. For a moment I just stare at him, feeling pounds and pounds of weight stack on my shoulders.
"What's wrong with him?" Nancy asks, covering her mouth and backing away with tears in her eyes.
Guilt and fear are about to smother me but I fight to keep breathing. "Get me a phone!" I shout, running up to the side of the couch.
"Why?" Nancy cries as she backs into the wall.
"Because I'm going to call an ambulance." I kneel down beside Tristan, my hands shaking, my pulse frantically beating. There's so much foam coming out of his mouth and his chest is barely moving, yet his body is moving so much. "I think he's..." Holy fucking shit. "I think...I think he's OD'ing." My words tumble out of me and reality swallows me up in one large breath. This is my fault. I should have been taking care of him better. I owed it to him. But instead I was too caught up in my own problems, like Nova. "Fuck!" I should never have gone out with her today.
Regret.
Remorse.
Blame.
I've felt it all before and I feel it again, like needles under my skin, stabbing their way to the surface. Everything's falling apart and it's all my fault.
The next few moments move in clips. Nancy gets me her cell phone and I call an ambulance. But she tells me to wait outside, that she's got too many drugs inside her house. I tell her she's fucking paranoid, but she flips out, so I carry Tristan outside while he fights to breathe, his skin getting paler and paler, his lips bluer. I stop when we reach the edge of the parking lot and by the time I set him down, his chest has stopped rising and falling altogether.
I feel myself break apart as I push on his chest and put my mouth to his to his, giving him CPR, trying to breathe for him, live for him, keep him from leaving, like how everyone else left.