Toxic (Better Than You) (8 page)

             
“Stop, Lo.”

             
He doesn’t want me. No one wants me.

             
I’m picked up and carried into Danny’s room, placed on the bed softly. Miguel dresses me, forces water down my throat, lays me on my side. Holds my hair and a bucket as my stomach convulses over and over.
I think I’m dying. I want to die.
It’s cold. I don’t want to feel anymore but it’s all coming back to me. Now my body’s shaking with tears, overflowing and flooding and I swear to god I’m drowning. They don’t stop falling and Miguel doesn’t leave my side. He sits in a chair by the bed and rubs my back, tells me over and over that everything will be okay.

             
Not it won’t!
I want to yell, because I’m stuck here with Danny and I need him to keep my bottles full. I’m so tired, tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of
living
, but I keep going because even though I’m scared of this life, I’m terrified of disappearing altogether.

             
For right now, though, I’m just tired of being aware so I close my eyes and let the quiet of Miguel’s judgment pull me under. Except that I don’t find peace in sleep. Instead, I’m locked away, behind a door so thick and heavy that it can’t be opened, in a room so dark my eyes might as well be closed. It’s cold and quiet. Nobody else exists. I’m in a world of my own, left to suffer alone. Nobody will come to save me. I’m a damsel in distress, but there will be no hero. There will be no happy ending. Outside of these thick walls, beyond this encompassing dark, my story does not exist.
I
do not exist.

April 9, 2008

             
“God, he really said that?” Sam asks in disbelief. I don’t know why she’s so surprised; Principal Guevara has hated me since day one. When I’m sober, and only then, can I admit that I don’t blame him. Otherwise it’s his entire fault and he’s a pompous asshole.

             
“Yeah, so I guess there’s no cap and gown for me,” I reply indifferently.

             
Surprisingly enough, the fact that I won’t be graduating is highly disappointing. I only started slacking off this past year and I feel like the three years of hard work I put in should count for something, but they don’t, and now I’m screwed.

             
Sam’s quiet for a while, staring at the football field like maybe the solution to my problem will be there. “What are you going to do?” she wonders.

             
I shrug my shoulders. “There’s no point in finishing, so I guess I’ll get a job or something. I’m eighteen in a few months so until then I’m stuck at Danny’s.”

             
She’s quiet for a moment, still looking at the field, and then she asks “Why are you with him, Lo? What happened?”

             
My gaze follows hers, staring out at the green grass, hoping for answers that don’t exist. “It’s complicated.”

             
“So make it
un
complicated. Leave. He doesn’t own you.”

             
And now I’m mad, because it’s definitely not as easy as that. Does she think I’m there because I want to be or because I have a choice? “And do what, Sam? Go live with Mom again? Deal with her stealing my shit and offering me for sex? Yeah, great idea.”

             
She sighs heavily. “I didn’t know about those things, Lo. You never talk to me anymore. You never talk
at all
.”

             
“It’s overrated. I have nothing to say.”

             
“Everyone has something to say.”

             
“Everyone who matters.”

             
Our eyes are locked. I’m challenging her to push the issue, to push
me
, but she doesn’t because Sam likes things to be easy, too. She caves first, looking back at the field and dropping the subject as easily as it was picked up.

             
“Where is Danny, anyway?”

             
“He took later classes this semester so he’s gone pretty much all afternoon.”

             
I don’t tell her that he’s gone all night, too, because she doesn’t ask. But I know the truth is that I wouldn’t tell her even if she did. Considering this is the first time she’s willingly brought him up in months, I highly doubt she ever will.

             
“How’s Brody liking UM?”

             
As soon as I ask the question, Sam’s eyes light up. She turns to me and tells me all about his dorm and his new friends and the campus and how she can’t wait to graduate so she can join him. I listen, only half interested, because I’m jealous and mad and scared. Her life will continue, go on, get better. She’ll get away from here just like Melissa, and I’ll be stuck like I always am.               Now she’s telling me a story, about how she visited him last weekend and they went to an awesome party but all I can think about is that I’m starting to feel jittery and the Vic is wearing off and if I don’t get some soon I’ll be puking my guts out. I force myself to sit still and listen, or rather pretend to listen, as she goes on and on and doesn’t even notice that I’ve started breathing faster or my skin is on fire.

             
Abruptly I stand and start getting my stuff together. “I have to go,” I tell her, and start to walk away, which is a bad idea because she’s my ride home and it’s too far to walk. But logical thinking has disappeared and I’m too far gone to change my mind. We weren’t sitting there too long, which means it’s probably close to four and Miguel doesn’t get home till six most nights. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it home by five and have time to make dinner before he gets home.

             
This is how I keep my mind busy for the long, hot walk; by thinking about what I’ll make for dinner, how I’ll sit and eat quietly with Miguel, how I’ll take a few Vics, maybe even a Xanax, and watch as the numbers roll on the clock next to the bed. Alone, quietly, just how I like it. I can feel my body relaxing just thinking about it, but I don’t slow down my brisk pace. The sooner I get there, the better.

             
My plans are ruined when I walk in and see Miguel standing in front of the fridge. The clock reads 5:43; apparently I was there longer than I thought, but it’s still early for Miguel to be home.

             
He turns and looks at me when the front door closes. “Where were you?”

             
I don’t know when I started having to answer to him but I know better than to rock the boat. “School,” I answer curtly.

             
“Till almost six?”

             
“I walked home.”

             
“That’s dangerous.”

             
I raise an eyebrow. “Obviously not.”

             
He nods. “Fair enough. I’ll order pizza.”

             
“Oh no, that’s okay,” I say, dropping my stuff by the kitchen bar and walking towards the fridge. “I was planning on having dinner ready before you got home but I guess it was later than I thought and it’s actually a really long walk-”

             
His hand on my arm stops my rambling. “It’s fine, Lo. It’s not a big deal. I’m craving pizza anyways.”

             
I hold his eyes for a while, trying to decide if he’s serious or if he’s mad, but it doesn’t seem like he’s mad so I say, “Okay,” and listen as he makes the call. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I start to clean the already spotless kitchen, fussing around like a bee on crack.

             
“You’re making me nervous, Lo. How the hell do you move that fast?”

             
I can’t tell him that I have to move to keep from shaking, so I just laugh and don’t answer. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks politely.

             
It actually sounds nice, the idea of sitting down and watching a movie, but I don’t know why he’s asking
me
to watch one with him and what would Danny think if he walked in the door to find his brother and his girlfriend sitting on the couch, sharing pizza and a movie? As I’m thinking about my options, I look at the bathroom door and bite my lip, thinking that I could just disappear inside for only a second and then everything would be alright.

             
“So, is that a yes?” Miguel’s standing in front of me, hands in his pockets, tie hanging around his neck and sleeves rolled up. His dark eyes are watching me, assessing me, making me nervous.

             
“I’m, um,” I clear my throat, avert my eyes, “I’m gunna go clean up real quick.”

             
He stares at me for a few seconds before nodding his head. “Course.”

             
Keeping my eyes down, away from his knowing gaze, I make my way to the bathroom, grabbing onto the hallway wall for support. My legs are unsteady, my pulse is racing and it feels like I might just pass out. But I can’t because I know it’ll be worse when I wake up. So I take deep breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. In, out, in, out. I brace my hands against the sink. Wait for the inkiness in my vision to disappear. Then I scramble to get the medicine cabinet open, the bottle top off, the little blue pill under my tongue. The taste calms me. It steadies me. It heals me.

             
When I walk back into the living room, my headaches gone and I’m breathing normally. I’m relieved and floating so I don’t notice Miguel isn’t alone until he calls my name and I look up. Next to him on the couch is a man with white hair and crystal blue eyes that pierce me, see me, pull me apart. I stop and stare, standing between the kitchen behind me and the living room in front of me.

             
“Come and sit with us for a second, Lo.”

             
My legs won’t move. Somehow I know that I don’t want to sit down, that I don’t want to hear what white-hair has to say. There’s a knock on the door and Miguel sighs heavily before getting up to answer it. It’s the pizza. It gives me a minute to watch the white-haired man but it also gives him more time to see me. I feel exposed, vulnerable, transparent. No one says anything as Miguel sets the pizza down on the coffee table in front of their couch.             

             
“Lo?” he says, tilting his head to the recliner across from them.

             
My mouth is dry. I need water. I need sleep. I need to disappear.

             
“We can’t do this if she’s not willing, Miguel.” White haired man has spoken. His voice is deep and it vibrates through my chest, squeezes through the barrier of numbness.

             
I’m not willing,
I want to say. Instead I stand and stare, watch as Miguel’s face falls with disappointment and worry. As white-hair stands and shakes his hand. Then the man is gone and Miguel turns to face me, the door behind him.

             
“You need help, Lo.”

             
I know. I’m broken.

             
“This problem isn’t going to just disappear or fix itself.”

             
I can fix this. I can disappear.

             
“Lo? Are you listening?”

             
I smile. I think. “Yes.”

April 11, 2008

             
“What the hell happened, Miguel?”

             
“Danny. So nice of you to show up. I’ve only called you forty fucking times.”

             
“Don’t fucking start, bro. I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

             
“No? Too busy getting shitfaced to care that your girlfriend almost OD’d?”

             
“How
the fuck
is that my problem?”

             
“It’s your problem because she lives in our apartment! Because she’s your girlfriend! Because you provide her with the shit she takes! Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Do you think I don’t know how you get your money or that your girl is fucked up every single day?”

             
I wish I was still sleeping, that I couldn’t hear this. That place of darkness, emptiness, was so much better than this. There was no pain, anger, disappointment, rejection.

             
“Well guess what? We’re moving out so you can get your fucking nose out of our business.”

             
“That’s not smart, Danny. You can’t take care of her.”

             
“Don’t you dare tell me what I can fucking do!”

             
“Fine. You know what? You’re right. It’s not my business. Have your shit out by tonight.”

             
There’s only so much fighting Miguel can do,
will
do. I’m not worth the trouble. I know this. But it still hurts that he gave up so easily. I want to cry but I don’t. I’m not sure I even remember how to. The door slams shut and Danny curses under his breath before I feel him nearby. Cautiously, I open my eyes, afraid that he’ll be mad. Even worse, though, when I look at him, I see nothing but resentment, shame, irritation.