A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(45)

Fast murmurs now.

“Alcohol is a drug! God knows what it’s doing, mixing with her other meds!”

My eyes hurt. Scratchy. Like they’re trying to cry except I’m too dehydrated.

“She wants them! You know how lucky that is?! It’s her chance to not turn into you! To not end up like Nolan!”

Somewhere my eyes find water and out it comes. Extra salty, burning like acid.

Footsteps pound down the hall. HJ’s door opens. Closes. Opens again.

“No! Get all the way out! Get out of this house!”

I sink into my comforter as deep as I can go. Crying now, not just hot tears.

“No! Shut up! STOP TALKING! Get out!”

Shuffling now, not much, no voices.

“Christ!” Mom yells. The door slams. “Fine! Stay in there! Keep this closed! Don’t let me see you! Don’t let me hear you! Or I’ll have your cop friends come drag you out!”

Mom walks back to outside my door. I try to stop crying so she won’t hear. This hurts my head much worse.

She comes in and sits on my bed. I only feel it—my eyes are clenched and I’m burrowing.

“I’m sorry, baby. Sorry you heard that.”

I try to say “It wasn’t her fault” but I’m crying and muffled.

She strokes the comforter, trying to find me.

I open one eye. It hurts. Out through my comforter tunnel is Mom’s knee, blurry, her hand on it, in a fist.

I try again. “Not her fault.”

“She’s the grown-up. Sort of.”

“I’d have gotten it somewhere else.”

“Why? You said you were with Zumi and Connor? Was it them?”

“They didn’t make me. It was … just this once. I can’t explain it …”

She rubs my shoulder through the thick comforter.

“You don’t have to, as long as you promise not to do it again.”

“I promise.”

“We’ve talked about how alcohol and your meds don’t mix and we don’t know what might happen. I never harped on it since you didn’t seem like you even wanted to drink.”

“I don’t. It was … it was just this one thing. I won’t do it again.”

“How do you feel?”

“Shitty.”

She laughs gently. “Goes with the territory. But I mean, in your head. Your animals?”

“Down … but … not mixed.”

“You were already down yesterday, with your period. Maybe this will be over soon. Chalk it up to another life experience.”

“One time only,” I croak.

“You know the best way to keep that promise?” She leans down and whispers, “Never forget how you feel right now.”

“Ugh.”

“Your prescriptions are ready. I was going to get them but it can wait.”

“I’ll be fine. I have nothing to throw up.”

“I guess if I go now I can pick up something to help your stomach.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll hurry back.”

She kisses my head and leaves.

Through the pain I visualize her in time with sounds I hear: putting on shoes, messing with her bag, grabbing keys, then out the front door.

A minute later HJ’s door creaks open. Then mine. Something bumps the bed.

I open my eyes. Aunt Joan is kneeling, hands clasped like she’s praying. Her mascara is smeared, her face blotchier than usual.

“I’m sorry!”

“Why’d you tell her?”

“She thought you were sick! She was going to take you to a doctor for antibiotics!”

Aunt Joan drops her forehead down on her knuckles. “I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“It might not look like it,” I say, “but I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.”

“No!” She chokes up. “Listen to your mom. Don’t be like me. Take all the meds in the world if you have to, just don’t be like me—”

“I want to be like you—”

“No you don’t! Don’t ever say that!”

“Not all of you. Just the awesome parts.”

She sobs.

I lift the comforter. She climbs in and I wrap us up tight.

Twenty minutes later Mom opens the door and sees Aunt Joan sleeping with me. I put a finger to my lips. Mom’s face scrunches up and she puts a hand over her mouth.

She holds up a bottle of something with a little plastic cup on top. I shake my head. It throbs and makes me dizzy.

She nods and quietly closes the door.

*

My head hurts but isn’t pounding now. I managed to eat a few dry pieces of toast around noon, not long after HJ woke and slunk into the bathroom for a while and then out the front door. Moving too fast makes me dizzy, so I’m parked on the sofa, but even sitting motionless I have tremors.

I text Judith after lunch that I’m sick. Then I text David to tell him thanks again for the ride. Also how I’m not well enough to come to the Silver Sands today. He texts back to drink lots of water and he’ll talk to me later.

Declan texts me midafternoon. I totally forgot about our Chem lab reports due today. I tell him I’m sick but from something I ate so it’s not contagious. He offers to do it all himself at his house, but I have some of the data here, and as tempted as I am, I can’t let him do all our work. He’d probably do a better job without me, but … God, I can’t think straight.