Life of the Party (59 page)

As I stood
there idly, I caught a reflection of myself in the microwave. The
sight actually staggered me. I stopped. I nearly dropped my bowl of
cereal. I gasped and took a step closer to the reflection, raising
my hand to my cheekbone and touching it gingerly. It looked sunken
into my face. Clumps of my dark hair were matted around my
head—dreaded, tangled. The skin under my eyes was dark and
purplish; my lips were pale and dry. I looked like a ghost. Like I
should be haunting people. I stared at myself for a long moment,
horrified. How long had I been binging for? How long had I looked
like this?

And that was
when Riley knocked on the door.

I crumpled to
the floor, hiding myself from his view behind the kitchen island. I
sat a moment, my eyes wide, listening and waiting—hoping, praying
that Riley would just give up, that he’d just go away. It made me
angry, his determination.

And then he
knocked again.

“Mackenzie.”
Riley called. He voice rocked through me, with warmth and
familiarity and comfort and a long lost feeling of … security …
almost. His voice felt like home. And at that instant I was
pained—heartbroken that he was so close, just on the other side of
the door, but there was no way I could see him. Not now. He just
couldn’t see me like this, I wouldn’t let him. I leaned my head
back against the cabinet and steeled myself against the tears that
threatened.

He knocked
again. With sudden horror, it occurred to me that the front door
might not be locked. And if it wasn’t, there was nothing to stop
him from just walking into the house. Walking in and discovering me
there on the floor, looking like road kill. For a moment, I
wondered if I could play dead. I looked like I was dead. Maybe it’d
be enough for him to leave me alone.

I pushed the
thought from my mind, bit my lip and slowly crawled across the
kitchen floor, as stealthily as I could. Luckily, the blinds were
down on the window and he couldn’t see me as I slowly sidled up to
the door. Crouching there, I lifted my arm and deliberately turned
the knob on the padlock.

It clicked just
a little too loudly. Riley started.

“Mackenzie?” He
rapped again. “Mackenzie, I know you’re in there. I know you can
hear me. Open the door!”

I shook my head
in silence, dropping my head into my hands. He was so close to me;
only literal inches of metal separated us. I could hear his feet
shuffling on the front step, could hear the hesitation in them.

“Mackenzie.”
His voice sounded choked. “Mackenzie, please?”

Tears smarted
in my eyes again at the sincere concern deeply apparent in his all
too familiar voice. I pressed my palm against the door, as if I
could steal some of his comfort through the cold metal, and shook
my head again. I can’t, I mouthed in silence. I can’t Riley. Just
go away. Go away. Forget about me. Have a good life.

He sighed. I
could hear him rubbing his hands in the cold. Then, after a few
tense, silent moments, finally I heard the sound of his boots
slowly crunching away on the snow. His step was heavy, defeated. I
didn’t relax until I heard his car start and pull out onto the
road. I got up then, woodenly, and walked straight into the
bathroom.

I got in the
shower and washed my hair. I was numb, physically and mentally
devoid of any kind of feeling. I let the hot spray pound in my
face. I washed my hair again, using extra conditioner to try and
detangle the clumpy, knotty mess. I felt blank, empty. I began to
shave my legs. Swiping the razor too quickly, I nicked my knee,
starting at the quick burst of pain and watching as the watery
blood trickled down into the tub. But I felt it. And it felt …
good. Inspired, I took the razor firmly in my grasp, sucked my
breath in, and dragged it slowly across the forearm of my left
hand. It hurt. Blood flowed down my wrist. But it made me smile.
The pain was sweet. I shut my eyes with pleasure, letting out a
shaky breath of relief. Here was the release I needed, the release
I’d been craving. I felt something again.

I opened my
eyes, and now they were gleaming.

“Do you have to
go?” I looked up at Grey hopefully. Damn, he was so gorgeous. It
was impossible not to feel good, at the moment, with the liquid
heroin dancing deep within my blood stream. I couldn’t help but
feel content.

He chuckled at
me, rubbing remnants from the cocaine he’d just done across his
gums. “Sorry, sugar. We have to play tonight, and I haven’t
practiced in …,” he flexed his stiff fingers, “way too long.”

“Ohhh …,” I
moaned. We both had to work that night. The Aurora was re-opening
after the Christmas break with its annual New Years Eve party.
Apparently it was a huge event, bringing in crowds of people every
year. Grey’s band was slated to play and I was going to be
stationed in the bar. Walter had trained me to work there himself,
as quickly and abruptly as he did everything else—but I actually
found that I liked it. It was easier to bartend than to try and
squeeze through the drunken throng, carrying a tray and trying not
to get stepped on. It was harried and chaotic behind the bar,
remembering recipes and shooter mixes and trying to keep up with
the orders being screamed at me. But I always liked a
challenge.

The biggest
challenge yet was going to be just getting out of our bed. I didn’t
want to leave the room; I didn’t really want to face the world. But
Grey insisted it would be good for me to get up and out of the
house. I think he was worried. Because of the heroin. We hadn’t
just slipped from the precipice of control, we’d jumped headfirst
off of it, and now we had to try and regain some measure of the
life we’d left behind on the cliff.

But I didn’t
know if I could. I didn’t really want to. I could’ve spent the rest
of my life with Grey in our room, his arms wrapped around me, drugs
in our systems, staring out the big picture window at the twinkling
stars, the bright face of the moon peeking out over the soft silver
clouds. Just like we’d done on so many nights. Happy. Together.

He smirked at
the play of sadness on my face as I watched him get ready to go.
How rapidly this man had become my whole entire life. Even an
afternoon without him was like total agony. If I could’ve felt sad
at that moment, I would’ve.

“It’s only for
the afternoon, Mackenzie. I’ll see you tonight, at the club.” He
chided.

“I know you
will. But I miss you already.” I pouted. “I love you, you
know.”

Grey laughed at
my dramatics. “I love you too.” It was easy for him to say now, but
I never tired of hearing it. I gave him a glorious smile as he bent
to kiss me goodbye, taking advantage of his nearness and grasping
his hands to pull him closer yet.

“Will you play
my song tonight?” I wondered in his ear.

“Hmmm … maybe.
It’s not exactly to the tune of
Auld Lang Synge
though, is
it?”

I giggled. “I
guess not. I just want everyone to know.”

“Know what?”
His blue eyes shone at me.

“That I’m
yours.”

“Mackenzie,” he
smirked, “that’s never been a question.”

And though he
left me then, he left me on a good note. My lips were still
tingling from his kisses as I fell back onto our bed with a sigh,
dreading the long hours until we would be together again. I hated
when Grey was gone, I hated being alone. I sat on our bed, tracing
a finger down the red scabby lines that crossed my arm, lines I’d
somehow managed to hide from him. I knew I shouldn’t push off; I
knew I had to be sober enough to concentrate on work in only a few
hours. But I just couldn’t handle the quiet. When the heroin began
to fade, when there was no one else around, the thoughts began to
seep in. Thoughts of sorrow and despair. Of utter hopelessness.

Thoughts I
couldn’t handle.

I cooked myself
up a batch and shot it quickly. I was a pro by now; the needle
didn’t bother me at all. I still let Grey do it for me most of the
time, but that was mostly because he liked to do it for me. He
wanted to be the one to give me pleasure, of any kind. And I didn’t
mind that a bit.

I was still
lying back against the bed, slack and motionless, when my cell
phone started to ring. I stared at it a moment, debating, until it
fell silent. Time passed. My cell phone rang again, and this time
when it did, I sighed and rolled over to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey bitch!
Where the hell are you?” Charlie giggled over the phone.

“Huh? What do
you mean?”

“You’re
supposed to come over today, remember? To get ready for
tonight.”

“Oh, yeah.
Shit.” I sat up. “What time is it?”

“Like four.
Grab your stuff and get over here.”

“I like, just
woke up.” I lied. “I haven’t showered or anything.”

“Do it over
here. Come on, Mac. I’ve got your uniform for tonight. It’s
sexy.”

“Is it?” I bit
my lip. I didn’t want to face reality, not yet.

“Mac!”

“Okay, okay,
I’ll be right over.”

“Hurry up!” She
was laughing again as she hung up the phone. I groaned and flipped
my cell shut. I forced myself off the bed, stumbling around my room
and gathering some things—my heels, my bra, some undies, some
jewellery. I shoved it all into my purse and then threw on some
jeans, a t-shirt, my skate shoes and my old winter jacket. I didn’t
even look at myself in the mirror. Grabbing my car keys from the
counter, I headed out of the house for the first time in a
week.

I was totally
unprepared for the cold. Somehow I had forgotten about winter. It
hit me with all its force, the brunt of the icy wind shuddering
down my back and stiffening my muscles. I cringed my head down into
the collar of my jacket and headed blindly into the snow, climbing
into my frozen car for the first time since … since Christmas. I
tried not to think about that, shivering as I turned the key. To my
utter amazement, the car chugged to life. I smiled at my good
fortune and pulled into the icy streets, the engine whining in
protest.

The vents were
still blowing cold by the time I got to Charlie’s house. I ran up
the old familiar stairs, even more treacherous now that they were
covered in snow and ice, and headed into the house without even
bothering to knock.

Charlie and
Courtney were sitting at the counter. Their heads turned in
surprise as I burst into the room, letting a draft of cold, frozen
air in with me. They stared at me as I took my shoes off.

“What?” I
wondered.

“Fuck Mac,”
Charlie raised her eyebrows. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah dude.”
Courtney agreed with surprise.

“I told you, I
just woke up.” I took off my coat and shuddered from the cold. “I
haven’t had a chance to do anything with myself yet.”

“Right.”
Charlie was sceptical, I could tell. The smile fell from her face.
“Well, go get a shower then. It looks like I have my work cut out
for me tonight.”

I made a face
at her and breezed past them down the hallway. They were oddly
silent, watching me walk by. I didn’t like their scrutiny, so I
hurried into the bathroom as quickly as I could and shut the
door.

Evidence of my
replacement was all around me. I took it all in as I caught my
breath. It hurt a little to see Courtney’s blow dryer on the sink,
her toothbrush in the holder, her towels hanging up on the hook.
The two of them were giggling now; I could hear them from the
kitchen. I wondered fleetingly if they were laughing at me. I tried
to ignore their happy laughter, avoiding the bathroom mirror—which
was a natural instinct now, something I automatically shunned away
from. My reflection was just another grim reminder of what I’d let
myself become.

I stepped into
the shower, letting the hot spray sink into my skin. Charlie’s
razor was balancing haphazardly on the ledge, and without thinking,
I picked it up. As I gripped the handle, I remembered the sweet
pain that came when I cut myself. The relief that came with
actually feeling something again. Slowly, I dragged the razor
sideways across my arm, shutting my eyes and shuddering as the
blade ripped through my skin. Mmmm … the blood ran down my hand,
and I smiled with delight.

“Mac, lets go!
We don’t have a lot of time!” Charlie called, knocking on the door.
Then under her breath, more for Courtney than for me to hear, she
muttered, “Not with the way you look, anyway.”

I shut the
water off immediately.

Charlie sat me
down in a chair in the kitchen when I was ready, dragging up her
seat before me so she could get to work on my face. Courtney sat on
a stool at the island snorting cocaine. Black Eyed Peas was blaring
out of the stereo. I noticed all of this out of my periphery. It
held no interest to me anymore. I just sat, glum and despondent, as
Charlie got to work.

“So, Mac,” she
sighed. “Tell me not to be worried about you.” Her blue eyes held
mine locked in her gaze, and the concern she felt was evident. She
motioned her head to the cuts on my arm, some older and scabby, one
obviously freshly done. It was still bleeding faintly. “What’s
going on with you, huh?”

“Nothing.” I
shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah. I bet.
You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing.
I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.” I lied.

She made a
noise at that, a scoff of disbelief. “You can talk to me, you
know.”

“I know.” I
replied. I just wasn’t going to.

Charlie shook
her head in obvious frustration, but she didn’t press me. We sat in
silence. It felt nice actually—the coolness of her fingers as she
applied my make-up, the deftness of her hands as she worked with my
hair. It kind of reminded me of old times. When I had actually
cared about my appearance.