Sloth (23 page)

“Yeah, you’re feeling it,” he said, satisfied.

Beth waved her hand in front of her face, marveling at the fact that it was too dark to see.
Maybe I don’t have a hand anymore
, she thought.
Maybe I’m just a mind
. The theory seemed startlingly profound, and she was about to explain it to Reed, but the words slipped away from her.

“I never knew why she was with me, you know?” His words seemed like they were dropping out of the sky, unconnected to either of them. “I mean, I’m . . . and she was ... yeah. Like the way she talked. It was like everything she said came out of a book. Like . . .”

Beth zoned out, just listening to the pleasant rise and fall of his voice, tuning for scattered words and phrases— “never again”; “in the water”; “can’t stop”; “sundress”; “going crazy”; and, several times, “why”—but she couldn’t focus enough to draw them together into a single thread. Every time she tried, she would realize that the ground was hard and soft at the same time, or that the air tasted like peppermint, and she would wander off into her head.

Until it occurred to her: Maybe he was onto her. Maybe he knew her secret. He knew exactly what she’d done, and what she was hiding, and this was his way of torturing her. Beth jerked herself upright and curled her legs up to her chest, trying to catch her breath. He would pretend to be nice to her, and then, just when she felt safe, he would bring the cage down, trap her in her lies, and destroy her. Which was what she deserved. And of course he hated her. She tried to look at his expression, to see if she could find the hatred in his eyes, but it was
too dark. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but what if he knew what she was thinking? The truth was so obvious, he must know. He must be waiting, biding his time, and then—

“Hey.” His hand was on her back. His voice didn’t sound angry. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, gasping for breath. Would he hear the lies in her voice? “I have to get out of here.” Away from him.

She tried to stand up, but he stopped her. “Chill. Wait,” he urged. “It’s not real, whatever it is. It’s just the weed. It’s just something that happens.” He rubbed her back, and she bent her head to her knees. “Deep breaths,” he advised, rubbing her back. “Slow, deep breaths.”

“I know you know,” she said feverishly. “I know you know I know you know you know you know ...” She repeated the words so many times, they lost all meaning and became absurd, like a made-up language. “Owyoo no new oh,” she said experimentally. It suddenly seemed ridiculous that some noises had so much meaning and others were just noise. “New yo I you?” she asked, bursting into laughter as Reed gaped at her in confusion.

Words were so weird.

“Weird,” she said, testing out the sound. “Weeeeeeeeeird.”

Reed shook his head, bemused. “Yes, you are.”

She lay down again on her back, her breathing slowed and her mind clear. Just like the stars, which seemed so bright, like they were holes in the sky. The desert was cold, and empty, but she didn’t feel alone. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there.

The world seemed so huge, and so small at the same
time, like she and Reed were the only things in existence. And wouldn’t everything be so much easier if that were true. The world felt fresh. The sharp wind against her face, the rough polyester beneath her. Reed’s hand brushing, just slightly, against hers—she’d never felt so there.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“No. You?”

“No. But—” She searched for the words that described how she
did
feel, a certainty that she’d never be happy combined with a strange acceptance and even contentment, as if she was floating along and the current was strong but she could trust where it would take her, so she could just close her eyes, sink back, and relax. She felt like she understood everything at once, with a deep clarity— but when she tried to name it, assign words and sentences to the certainty, it flowed away. The closer she drew, the blurrier it got. So she gave up. “But it’s okay,” she concluded simply.

She heard Reed take a sharp, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. It’s okay. Everything is.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Miranda opened her eyes. Her first mistake. The morning light burned.

She twisted her head to the left. Mistake number two. The world spun, her stomach lurched, her muscles screamed. Her cottonmouth filled with the sour taste of bile.

Better not to move.

Go
slow
, she warned herself. Focused on taking one breath, then another, tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her head.
Take stock
:

Arms and legs: fully functional. Too heavy to move.

Location: burning white sun, jagged rocks digging into her back. So, outside. Somewhere, for some reason.

Miscellaneous: Shirt on the ground. Bra unhooked. Her left arm squashed between her chest and the ground, her right arm propped up on something. Something that moved.

Uh-oh.

Her breathing was like thunder in her ears. She held it. The roaring stopped. And she heard him.

She twisted her head around. “Oooooooooooh noooooooo.” A weak and scratchy wheeze, but still too loud. She winced. He woke.

“Unnnh?” Adam shook his head and propped himself up, then dropped back down to the ground. “What am I ... what are you ... ?”

There was a party
, Miranda remembered. Images floated across her brain.

Beer. Lots of beer.

Kane’s arms holding her up.

More beer.

Kane and
... A sharp pain cut through the dull throbbing in her head.
Harper.

The trees. Adam. Unbuttoning her shirt. His tongue
. . .

“What did I do?” she whispered. Her throat burned. “Adam,” she croaked. His eyes had slipped shut again. His chest was bare. “Adam!”

“Uh?”

Her arm was still lying on top of him. She jerked it away, heaved herself over onto her back. “Do you remember what . . . what did we . . .” No.
Not possible
. She closed her eyes.
No, no, no. Maybe
. She had to know.

“Did we . . .”

“. . . you know?”

Shut up
, he thought. Her voice hurt. Everything hurt. Every noise was another bottle broken over his head. And hangovers turned him into an asshole.

Home. That was what he needed. His bed. His dark
room. His Ultimate Hangover Cure (milk, orange juice, honey, bananas). Just what the doctor ordered. But that would mean standing up, and he was too tired to move.

And then there was Miranda. Who wouldn’t shut up.

“Adam, what
happened?
”

Be nice
. “Okay, okay,” he groaned. “Just stop yelling. We kissed, okay?”

“And?”

“And that’s it.” Adam opened his eyes again. Her lower lip wobbled, and her eyes bugged out. He sighed. “And then you, uh, kind of puked. A lot.”

“Oh, god. On you?”

“Well . . .” He took a big whiff. Almost choked. Yeah, on him. He forced a smile. “No big deal. Really.”

“This is so humiliating,” Miranda moaned, turning away from him and curling up into a tight ball.

“It’s fine.”
Comfort her
, he told himself. But that would take so much damn effort. He stifled a yawn. “It’s already forgotten.”

“We can’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah.”

“
Promise
” Miranda insisted.

“Uh-huh. I promise.” He stretched out, feeling like he hadn’t moved in months. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah.”

Minutes passed. No one spoke. No one moved.

“Or we could just rest for a while,” Miranda suggested.

But no one heard. Adam was already asleep.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Beth opened her eyes. Her whole body ached. The thin sleeping bag offered no protection
for her from the hard-packed desert gravel. She was tired. Thirsty.

Happy.

My parents are going to kill me.

It didn’t seem to matter.

Maybe the pot permanently warped my brain. Maybe I just don’t care anymore.

It sounded like heaven.

She had awoken in the night, shivering in the dark. Reed had wrapped an arm around her; she’d snuggled up against his chest. Now she could feel him breathe.

She felt like a stranger. And it felt good. As long as she stayed out here, she could be someone else. She could be the kind of girl who didn’t care what happened next.

“Reed?” Her head was nestled into the space beneath his chin. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t see his face.

The calm couldn’t last forever. But maybe when he woke up, he’d pull out his small plastic bag again. He’d roll the ashy, dark green flakes into a neat white tube. She would inhale more of the magic potion.

I shouldn’t . . .

It was a quiet voice, and easy to ignore. To smother, until it stopped flailing and gave up the fight.

She closed her eyes and shifted against him. It felt good—a warm body beside her, the weight of someone’s arms around her. She’d been so alone.

She knew she deserved to be alone.

But in the sunrise, in the desert air, in Reed’s arms, she could almost allow herself to forget.

“I wish I could tell you the truth,” she whispered as he slept. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

I have to get out of here, Reed thought. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t speak. Don’t move.
If she knew he was awake, she’d want to talk. And he wasn’t ready.

So he pretended to be asleep. He pretended to be somewhere else. Not here, lying next to her, with his arms around her, breathing in her hair, wishing he could—

Stop.

He wasn’t betraying Kaia. Nothing had happened. Nothing had to happen. It was innocent. But didn’t he want more?

Didn’t he like the way her body felt against his? He was comfortable with Beth, safe. He could talk to her—in a way he’d never talked to Kaia.

That was the betrayal.

I miss her
, he said silently, as he did every morning. And every morning, he woke up with a hole inside of him. Feeling like if he looked down he would see that a part of his chest was just missing, or that his legs had suddenly become transparent. He felt unwhole.

Except that this morning, he didn’t.

It didn’t feel like Kaia was watching, or that he could ask for forgiveness. She felt far away, like someone he’d imagined. Reed wanted to push Beth aside, stand up, brush off all traces of her, and leave her behind as he drove home, alone. And Reed always did exactly what he wanted.

He kept still. He kept silent. He stayed.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Some asshole was trying to wake her. She’d kick his ass. Except that would mean sitting up.

“Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty,” Kane said, standing
up and dumping her to the ground. She’d fallen asleep sitting up, leaning against his shoulder, and now she found herself facefirst in the dirt. Asshole was right.

“Aren’t you supposed to wake me with a kiss?” Harper groaned.

“I would think you had enough of that last night.”

“Uch.” Harper spat into the dirt. “Don’t remind me.”

“Glad to know it was as good for you as it was for me,” Kane said dryly, sitting down again, a safe distance away.

Harper stayed where she was. She remembered everything. Unfortunately. “Don’t be bitter just because you didn’t get anything more than a kiss,” she chided him. “I’m sure you’ll get over it, in time.”

Kane snorted. “I’m the one who pushed you away, lovergirl. Or have you forgotten, ‘Kane, I want you! I need you! Give it to me now!’?” he asked, affecting a high, nasal voice.

“I did
not
” Harper said indignantly.

“You tell yourself whatever you need to get by, dearest—we both know what really happened.” Kane yawned and pulled a small flask out of his pocket. He took a gulp. “Hair of the dog. Want some?” She waved it away. “How do you feel?” he asked in a softer voice.

Physically, she felt fine.

“I feel like shit,” she said, curling up and burying her head in her arms. “Like somebody flushed me down the toilet and I ended up lying in a puddle of crap at the bottom of the sewer system.”

In other words, same as always. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m just going to go back to sleep,” she lied, closing
her eyes. That was the answer. She’d escape into the hangover. She wouldn’t have to talk, she wouldn’t have to smile. She could just be—and be miserable.