Toxic (Better Than You) (20 page)

             
“Can’t say that I’m upset about it,” Sam mutters.

             
“I should probably go talk to Danny. Let him know that I had nothing to do with all of it.”

             
Sam stares at me. “Are you serious? You’re not serious.”

             
“Of course I’m serious. What if he thinks I betrayed all of you guys?”

             
“Who gives a fuck what he thinks?” She slams the door on the dishwasher. “He’s an asshole. He deserves whatever he gets.”

             
“He’s not all bad, Sam.”

             
She sighs and plops into a kitchen chair. “I don’t know anything about him, about you guys…I feel like one day you hated him with a burning passion and then the next day you were inseparable. And different. Then the accident happened and, you know, then
we
were different.”

             
I stare down at my bare feet. Everything was so different after that night, the night that Danny claimed me, the night that Sam asked me to do something unforgivable, the night we ruined Sophia’s life. The next morning I woke up with two huge secrets and a scar to forever remind me of how ruined I was.

             
Sam’s waiting for me to say something. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t meet them or utter a word. There’s nothing that can be said. “Anyways,” Sam continues, “I don’t think you need to see him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

             
I nod non-committedly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

             
Sam stands suddenly and claps her hands. “Let’s go to the beach. It’ll be relaxing.”

             
For once, Sam’s right. As I’m lying on my towel, the warm sand underneath me and the bright sun above me, I feel better. The sound of the waves lulls me and I think I sleep without any dreams. By the time we leave, the sun is starting to set and I’m thoroughly convinced that not everything is as bad as it seems. Being isolated, away from the world and its problems, has a way of making the grass a little greener. But as I’m showering, rinsing the sand and salt away, I come to the conclusion that life is still shitty and I’m in the middle of it. Now I’m looking forward to the party because all I want to do is make the shit disappear.

             
I’m in the middle of drying my hair when Sam knocks on the door and then swings it open. It doesn’t matter that I’m naked. She holds out a black piece of fabric and says, “Wear this.”

             
I grab it from her hands and place it in front of my vital parts. It’s not that I’m self-conscious, but damn, can’t a girl get some privacy? But the dress does hardly anything to cover me up. It’s more like a shirt that’s on the long side. “Sam, what the hell is this? A toddler dress? I’m not wearing that.”

             
She places her hands on her hips and gives me
that
stare. “Yes you fucking are. You have no choice.” And then she slams the bathroom door.

             
The dress is as tiny as it looked. It barely covers my ass and the front dips down into a low v, leaving the girls out on full display. I decide to leave my hair down and put the most minimal amount of makeup on. The last thing I need is to look like a two cent whore. I take one last look in the mirror before I flick the light off and walk into the living room.

             
“Nice,” Brody says when he sees me.

             
Sam slaps him on the arm and then turns a smile on me. “You look hot, Lo. Definitely fuckable.”

             
“Uh, I’m not trying to get fucked, Sam.”

             
“Right, I know, I’m just saying.” Sam grabs her purse and throws the keys at Brody. “Let’s ride.”

             
“What is this, some cheesy eighties movie?” Brody says with a laugh. He pulls her to his side as their walking to the car and places a light kiss on her head. It’s something so simple yet so very intimate. It makes my stomach burn with jealousy.

Sam ducks from underneath his arm and skips back to me. “You really do look good, Lo, I swear. Not whorish at all.” She glances down at my feet. “Good call on the sandals, by the way. You don’t want to make any of the girls hate you and your long legs more than they already do.”

“Ha ha, so funny,” I mock as she nudges me with her shoulder. We all squeeze into Brody’s two door BMW. Brody and Sam playfully fight over radio stations which is pointless because the drive takes less than fifteen minutes. It’s another beachfront property, an immodest looking house in an immodest location. The cars are all the same type as Brody’s; expensive, clean, fast and small. I wonder if they all by these cars with the money they earn from selling drugs, or if their parents foot the bills.

Instead of walking right into the party, or even simply knocking on the door, there’s a guy standing
on the walkway who asks for our names.

“Brody Whitehouse and Sam Gleeson. Plus one, Logan Reynolds.”

The guy speaks into the air and I start thinking that maybe he’s crazy, already high enough to touch the sky, but I see a wire hanging from his ear and with embarrassment realize he’s talking into a headset. He repeats our names and then nods briskly before stepping aside and letting us pass.

I tug Sam to my side and lean to whisper into her ear, “What the hell is going on?”

“I told you, these parties are really closed off. It’s mostly the dealers and their girlfriends. They don’t like to party with the people they sell to.”

I guess it makes sense, in a way. If this is as private as it seems, the threat of getting busted is low. If the dealers have stuff on them at bigger parties like the last one, well, they’d be screwed. These guys are smarter than they’re given credit for.
And richer, too
, I think as I glance at the cars parked in the long driveway.

Brody opens the front door without knocking and ushers us in. There’s a dull murmur of conversations and music playing underneath it all, but it’s not loud and overbearing. It’s simple and screams class.
I do not belong here.
Sam must sense my hesitation because she reaches back, grabs my hand, and tugs me along behind her and Brody. Straight into the kitchen, like usual. The familiar routine settles my nerves, but only just a little.

Sam turns to look at me. “Shot?” I hold up two fingers and she smiles. “Duh. What do you think this is?”

As she’s pouring our drinks, a couple of guys walk into the kitchen and greet Brody. Turning to me, he holds out his hand, and I’m not sure if he means for me to take it or not. “Don’t be shy, Lo,” he says with a smirk, so I grab his offered hand and he pulls me forward. “This is Logan.” And then he spins me. I feel like I’m something for sale and they’re possible buyers. The guys are smiling at me when I face them again and I feel heat creep up my cheeks.

“I’m Andy.” This one’s tall, with dark hair and light brown eyes. Good looking, in an American Eagle sort of way. I shake his hand and reach for his friends outstretched one. “I’m Jack.” Jacks hands are big and rough, like he uses them a lot. They match his body, which is just shy of breaking through his shirt. His hair is blonde or brown, I can’t decide, and his eyes are blue.
Not as blue as Nathan’s¸
I think and then shake my head.

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” I say timidly. This is so out of my comfort zone and I’m way too sober to deal. “If you’ll excuse me, I need something
to drink.” They laugh as I walk back to Sam who’s leaning against the counter with a smug smile on her face. She hands me two shot glasses without saying a word and I down them both in two seconds flat. No chaser needed. I hold them out to her and she refills them, and again I shoot them down like its water on a hot summer day. I feel better already.

Sam guides me into the room where everybody is, but it’s nothing like the parties I’ve been to. Some people are playing pool while others are sitting on couches or standing around a mini bar. There’s no dancing, no ear-blasting music, no dry sex scenes to speak of
. It’s strange, but mostly, it’s relaxing. I let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s Jenson,” Sam says, pointing to a tall blonde
on the other side of the room. “This is his house. He kind of runs everything around here.”

As if simply whispering his name has caught his attention, Jenson turns and smiles at Sam and me. He says a few words to the group of people around him and then he’s walking towards us.

“Samantha,” he says formerly when he reaches us. “Who’s your friend? I’ve never seen her before.”

“This is Logan. Logan, this is Jenson.”

He offers his hand and I take it. It’s cool, a lot like his demeanor. “That’s an interesting name. It’s nice to meet you.”

Is interesting good or bad?
“You too, Jenson. Your home is beautiful.”
That’s something you’re supposed to say, right?

Jenson laughs and it surprises me. It’s genuine and deep. I fight a smile. “Thank you. Do you want to see the rest of it?”

I look to Sam who nods her head discretely then look back to Jenson. There have been moments in my life when I’ve been presented an opportunity and knew that if taken, something would change. Stepping over the threshold to Melissa’s room was one of them. Giving in to Danny. Literally falling into Nathan’s arms. This is one of those moments. Jenson’s waiting for my response, Sam is watching me with undisguised support. I know that if I put my arm in Jenson’s and let him cart me off like a princess to tour his castle, everything will change. But I do it anyway, loop my arm through the crook of his and say, “Lead the way.”

The house is huge, and Jenson’s telling me all about it like I understand the details of the architecture or care about the ‘simplicity of the design.’ All I know is that it’s huge, it’s on the beach, and we are currently very far away from anyone who could hear me scream. Maybe he senses my sudden panic because he takes a step away from me as we’re standing in the theater room on the top floor, and smiles innocently. “I didn’t bring you up here to have my way with you. I have more class than that.”

The breath I didn’t know I was holding escapes my lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” he says, cutting me off. “
You’re beautiful and so I wanted some time alone with you.”

Any girl would be blushing at being called beautiful, but not me. I’m not beautiful. I’m ugly and broken and toxic and all of the things someone like Jenson could never understand. I look at the floor and sigh. “Well, thank you for the tour.”

“Wait, Logan. You’re obviously here for a reason. This isn’t just a regular party.” When I look up and meet his eyes, I know he’s about to offer me something I won’t refuse. “I have something a bit more enticing than what they’re playing with down there.”

His hand comes out from behind his back holding a little baggie filled with beautiful white powder. My feet, all on their own, take a step toward him, and then another, and then another, until all the space that’s left between us is filled with white powder.
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the door.

“Let’
s have some real fun,” he says, squeezing my hand like we’ve known each other all of our lives.

July 10, 2009

             
I’m not sure what time it is, what day it is. All I know is that the person in the mirror finally seems to match the person I always knew I was. She’s thin, pale. Eyes as dull and lifeless as the soul inside. Black circles underneath them that give hints at the blackness taking over. Cracked lips that no liquid or chapstick can ever fix, forever broken and bleeding. Stringy hair that not even the unbearable Florida humidity can touch.

             
Ugly. Undesirable. Toxic. Toxic. Toxic.

             
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Lo? Are you almost ready? We’re gunna be late.”

             
Late.
I haven’t gotten my period this month. Haven’t so much as craved a cookie when I should have been scarfing down a cake.

             
Another knock on the door. “Is everything okay? Do you need help with your hair? It’s your birthday and you have to look hot, Lo. Don’t pull your reserved shit on me now.”

             
Birthday.
It’s my birthday. It’s July tenth and I’m going to a party. A party at Jenson’s. I remember.

             
“I’m fine, Sam. Just give me ten minutes.”

             
“
Lo
,” Sam whines. “We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago!”

             
I stare at myself in the mirror. Watch as the words spill out of my mouth. “I’ll be out in a sec.” But it doesn’t feel like me talking. It doesn’t feel like my lips are moving, or my chest expanding with air, or my heart pumping. I’m finally numb. Just for practice, I plaster on a smile and watch how it changes my face, even if it’s fake. Then I apply makeup and am amazed at how different I look. When I’m done with my hair, I can’t imagine how I went so long without makeup and curling irons. I look alive when I feel anything but.