Glass - 02 (26 page)

I’m generous with that.

We smoke three bowls,

and as the ice does what

it’s supposed to do, his

eyes take on the glow

of the monster. Major

déjà vu. Have I made

an irreversible mistake?

Not bad,
he says.
You

fucking the guy you

got it from?
There’s

the Brendan I know

and hate. The worst

part is, he’s right. “No,

he’s fucking me. So,

are you in or what?”

A slip of the tongue,

and he pounces on it.

It might be a little tight,

with the steering wheel

and all, but I’m game

if you are.
He’s a nervy

bastard, I’ll give him that.

He smiles a
Yeah, so?

Stay cool. He brought

money. “Thanks for

the offer, but I’ve got

someone waiting.”

Then he says something

completely unexpected.

I saw your mom with your

baby the other day.

I knew it was your mom

because she looks like you.

I knew it was your baby

because he looks…

He can’t know. I won’t

let him. I’ll deny it until

the day I die—or he does.

I hold my breath.

…
like you, too.

Time to go before we get any closer.

“So, how much do you want?

Uh, how much
ice
do you want?”

He smiles.
I’ll take a ball,

if you’ll front it to me.

Okay, now I’m just pissed. “Sorry,

cash and carry. Godammit, I

ain’t the Bank of America.”

I’m just a little short and I

don’t get paid until Friday.

“So why did you say you were

interested? It’s not like we’re friends.

You expect me to trust you?”

Why not? We were friends once, weren’t

we?
He dares put a hand on my knee.

[Stay calm. He could bust you.] Calmly

I push his hand off my knee. “How

much money do you have on you?”

Seventy or eighty dollars. Is that

enough for a down payment?

“On a gram. But all I have weighed

out are eight balls, and they’re three

fifty.” I can’t afford stupidity.

He counts the contents of his wallet.

Eighty-six dollars.
The rest on Friday?

If he actually calls with the money,

I’ll have to see him twice in one week.

He’ll probably rip me off. So why

do I say okay?

To steal the stuff.

[Give him time.]

At least he didn’t try

to rape me.

[Ditto.]

At least he didn’t decide

Hunter was his baby.

[Double ditto.]

Sometimes the little things

in life mean the most.

[Everything in your

life is little.]

Would you get the fuck

out of here? I can’t double-

think everything.

[Split personalities

are indeed a bitch.]

Am I totally schizo?

[Close. But there’s

a bigger question.]

Oh, yeah?

Like what?

[Which half is the real you?]

I won’t eat tonight.

Won’t sleep tonight.

Won’t want to deal

with inane questions,

prime-time TV, or Barbie.

Luckily, Brad has fed

the girls, bathed the girls,

and they’re playing

quietly in their room.

Perfect.

What I’m focused on

now is Trey, and when

[if] he’ll arrive. I sit in

my room, waiting.

Smoking.

Waiting.

Toking.

Waiting.

Waiting.

“Come in,” I call softly.

(The girls must be asleep

by now—almost midnight.)

My heart stutters. Crow

hops. Bucks wildly. But

it isn’t Trey. [Told you.]

Brad’s head pops through

the door.
You’ve been awfully

quiet. Everything go okay?

I’m disappointed. But at

least I’m not alone. “Like

clockwork. Come on in.”

We do what you do when

you’re wasting an evening,

playing with the monster.

Finally, the clock betrays

that it’s well after two
A.M.

Trey isn’t coming after all.

Guess I should at least

pretend to sleep.
Brad stands,

pauses by the door.

Choices. Choices. This

choice is all mine to make.

“Want some company?”

The sun shows its face, I am spent,

woozy, not quite asleep. Brad has

managed to slip into dreams and I

listen to his shallow breathing.

It’s hypnotic, and I steal lower

and lower toward the nowhere

place between consciousness

and blessed sleep. Somewhere

there’s a noise. A door closes.

Footsteps? On the stairs? I can’t

move. I’m weighted, shackled.

I should. I must. But I’m close

to oblivion. My door creaks open.

The long, silent pause tells me

it isn’t one of the girls. Footsteps

across the floor. I’m afraid.

Rooted. Not even the sound of

fabric falling against the carpeting

convinces me to move. Somehow,

this person is familiar.

Behind me, the sheets part.

Move over,
Trey whispers, and

I do and it makes no difference

that Brad is semisoundly sleeping

beside us. Trey pulls me to him

and I stiffen, terrified of what he

must be thinking.
It’s okay,
he

whispers, and we’re making love.

It’s really too weird.

[Yeah, but kind of nice.]

What has happened to my

morals,

my sense of right, wrong?

[Way overrated.] Shit, I’m

a one-woman Sodom and

Gomorrah, awaiting

transformation.

I hope Trey [and/or Brad]

likes salt, ’cause I’ll soon

be a regular pillar, in

exchange for this brand of

sin.

Trey definitely must like

salt. It’s bad enough that I

felt like it was okay to be

jam between slices of

bread.

But why doesn’t Trey care

about finding me in bed

with Brad? His cousin, yet.

Two separate trusts,

broken.

I mean, Brad accepts that

I’ve got a major thing for

Trey. But will Brad accept

the fact that Trey has climbed

into

the bed we shared last night?

Will sharing a bed, sharing

someone they love, blow

their closeness into distant

pieces?

I’m not sure I’m ready to test

his reaction, so I push back against

Trey, shove him gently out of bed.

He goes into the bathroom and I

follow, turn on the shower, climb

inside, hoping the noise doesn’t

wake Brad, but knowing it will.

At least we won’t be a sandwich.

I’m shaky. Scared. Is this the end?

I put my arms around Trey’s neck,

lean my head into his chest. “I’m

sorry. I didn’t mean…”

It’s okay, Kristina. We never

made any promises. Anyway,

I know Brad’s lonely.

I look up, hook his eyes. “I’m

lonely too. And that’s all this is.

I love you. But you aren’t here.”

I want to ask if he’s been with other

girls. [Don’t.] Need to ask. [No.]

Have to know. [No, you don’t.]

He tells me anyway.
I love you,

too. But I can’t tell you I haven’t

been with other girls.

[See? You didn’t want to know.]

Anger scalds, hot and white. But

why? And what can I say?

Now I want to know who. [No,

you don’t.] Need to know if it’s

Robyn. [No, damnit, you don’t.]

He tells me anyway.
Not Robyn,

in case you’re wondering. Guess she

left school. Her apartment is empty.

“So who is it, then?” [Not that it’s

any of your business.] “That girl

you told me about?”

She’s one. But there have been

others. Nothing serious. Sex

only. I love you. No one else.

White heat stings my eyes. Not fair!

[Sure it is.] Shut up! [What comes

around goes around.] Shut up!

My heart does wind sprints. My

brain somersaults. The tub is slippery

and I start to fall. Fall. Fa…

Everything is dark. Mostly dark.

There’s light somewhere,

like at the end of a tunnel.

Am I dead?

Someone is talking. Calling.

Calling my name.

Kristina? Kristina!

Trey? Is he dead too?

My head hurts. There’s a

thumping. A noisy thrumming

against the lining of my skull.

Can you hurt

when you’re dead?

Wait! I don’t want to be dead.

Don’t want to walk in darkness—

semidarkness—alone.

Death is lonely.

Lonely? Lonely. Why is lonely

familiar?
I know Brad is lonely.

It’s getting lighter. Light.

Maybe I’m not dead.

But I still can’t move. Don’t

dare move because it hurts.

My head hurts. My back hurts.

Maybe I do wish I

were dead.

Are my eyes open? It’s light

but I still can’t see.
Kristina?

Look at me, Kristina.

I don’t want to look at Trey.

If I do, I’ll really wish

I was dead.

Materializes, wraithlike.

“What happened? Am I dead?”

Don’t even say that. You

slipped and fell, that’s all.

No wonder my head hurts. I reach

up, touch the gestating lump.

I start to sit up, but my head spins

and I fumble back against the floor.

Trey strokes my cheek, moves

my hair from my eyes.
Stay still.

Stay? Like a dog? Monstrous

anger grips me, shakes me.

Are you cold?
He jumps to his

feet, runs into the bedroom.

I use the time to try my legs,

which refuse to cooperate.

Back comes Trey, blanket in hand.

Please don’t move, Kristina.

I reach down inside, find Bree,

grab her strength. “Leave me alone.”

Flip onto my belly. Push to my knees.

I’m shaky. But damnit, I’ll stand.

Trey steadies me best as he can.

You are so fucking stubborn.

Stubborn. Aching. Straight out

pissed and the worst thing is,

I have zero reason to be. Well,

other than the fact that the monster

coldcocked me and I feel like

a steaming pile of manure.

Trey helps me across the

endless

stretch of carpet, to the

empty,

tousled bed. A soft

cloud

of pillow lures me toward

dreamless

sleep. As I sink closer to

oblivion

I breathe Trey in, desperate

inhalation.

I want him beneath my skin,

held

fast by my bones,

absorbed

by my body like

oxygen.

“Please don’t go.” A slow

exhalation.

I won’t.
He is tender,

warm.

And I believe him.

He has to go.

I wake, knowing this.

He is sitting by the bed.

“I don’t want you to go.”

I know. But I’ll be back

in a couple of weeks.

I have to think why.

Oh yes, spring break.

I talked to Brad and told

him I’m okay with you two.

I’m not okay with any

of it. “Why is it okay?”

Because it has to be.

School will be out in less

than three months….

“I can wait three months

for you, if you just tell

me you want me to.”

He takes my hand, kisses

it gently.
Let’s play it by

ear, okay? No worries.

No worries? “How can

I not worry about you?

I love you, remember?”

Now he pulls me from bed,

into his lap, cinches me with

his arms.
Kristina, I love you,

too, really I do…

Okay, there’s a major

“but” coming. [Yeah, like,

But I’m a major player,

and want to play around.
]

…but this is totally new

territory. I’ve always loved

girls for what they could give

me, not for who they are.

I understand what he

means, but still don’t get

where this is headed. “So,

what are you saying?”

I’m asking for some time

to figure out if I love you

for what you’re giving me,

or for who you are.