Reckless Girls(61)

Time is both slowing down and speeding up, and I’m happy and sad all at once. I take the joint Eliza offers, sucking more of that thick, sweet smoke into my lungs, the hash and the pot blending to make everything hazy.

I stumble back from the fire, my eyelids heavy as languor slips through me. Everything is heavy now, and I lie back down, the sand cool against my hot skin.

I smoked too much, I think distantly, feeling tired and strange all of a sudden, my arm too heavy to lift, my heels digging holes into the sand.

The sky is still spinning.

I look over to my right, and even that feels like too much effort, like my head has been replaced with a heavy stone, lolling on my neck.

Nico is there at the edge of the jungle, his body limned in firelight. I’m not mad at him anymore, and I want to tell him that, but I can’t open my mouth, can’t do anything but lie there as Nico splits into two people, two shadows.

Two Nicos.

That will make things easier. Amma can have one, and I can have the other.

The thought makes me laugh, or it would if I weren’t suddenly feeling so sleepy.

The two Nicos hover on the edge of my vision, but I see now that one of them is smaller, skinnier.

Not two Nicos. Nico and Brittany.

I blink. No, not Brittany. It must be Amma because they’re kissing now, the shadows blending into one.

In the firelight, Amma’s hair looks darker, and I see Nico’s hands come up, like he might push her away.

But they only flutter there for a moment, and then he’s holding her, and they’re still kissing, and I shut my eyes, not wanting to see.

When I open them again, both Nico and Amma are gone.





BEFORE





Amma peels the label off a bottle of beer in a bar in Canberra, and wonders how she let shit go this far.

Chloe and Brittany are sitting at another table, a booth near the back, with a bunch of dudes in striped shirts and fraying khakis, and Amma knows it’s going to be another night of watching the two of them flirt and preen and laugh, and in the morning, there will be rolls of cash in their bags that they’ll insist they got from an ATM, or a watch that must’ve fallen in there or some other stupid shit like that, and they’ll give each other those knowing looks because aren’t they clever, aren’t they smart, and isn’t Amma just so trusting and naive?

She should go home.

She almost did, back in London. When Brittany had suggested following Chloe to Australia, she thought it sounded insane and stupid, and she could’ve said so. Just put an end to it all.

But she and Brittany had embarked on this thing together, and she didn’t feel right, just leaving her with Chloe.

Chloe with her bright smile and hard eyes and fast fingers.

It was almost admirable, really. How good she was at sucking people in, making people trust her. And, as Amma kept reminding herself, it wasn’t like these guys couldn’t afford the losses. She understood where Chloe was coming from.

She just didn’t want to be a part of it.

But she also couldn’t abandon Brittany. Amma owes her. More than Brittany knows.

She can still see herself, giggling, the funnel lifted high as beer slid down the tube, the Florida breeze salty and warm, blowing her hair back from her face, her skin still tingling pleasantly from all the sun that day.

So many beers, poured down so many throats, and then an empty cooler, Amma pouting, winding her arms around her boyfriend’s neck.

“Babe, you’re not gonna let a girl go beerless on spring break, are you?”

Drunk, god he was so drunk, his brown eyes struggling to focus on her face, and she knew it, she knew how wasted he was, and she still asked him to go out for more beer anyway.

And he did.

And the family of three (four, family of four, the other one sitting in her room at their beach rental, pouting, not knowing that everything was about to be taken from her in one blinding smash) never saw him coming until it was too late.

So now here she is, in this shitty bar in this boring city, flat and green and filled with government buildings, boring suburbs. This wasn’t the adventure she’d planned.

It isn’t the adventure Brittany had planned, either, but she sure seemed to be having the time of her life, her face flushed with excitement that all these guys in their nice suits thought was for them.

Brittany and Chloe are getting up now, waving to the dudes, and Brittany signals to Amma that they’re leaving.

She still hasn’t finished her beer, but she sets it on the table anyway.

There will be another bar now, another club, until Chloe decides they’re done for the night. That’s always how it works.

But just as they step outside, a hand catches Chloe’s arm, pulling her up short.

Amma freezes, the excitement in her veins dying a quick death as the guy, some law student in a nice suit and expensive glasses, glares down at Chloe.

“My watch,” he says, his voice tight, and Amma sees Brittany’s eyes go wide.

Chloe is just staring at the guy, giving a disbelieving laugh as she pulls her arm from his. “I don’t have your fucking watch, mate,” she says, but then he’s reaching into the bag at her shoulder, and even as she squawks in outrage, he pulls out a gold Rolex, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

Chloe falters only for a flash. Amma actually sees it, the moment her mask slips, and the moment that follows, where she quickly regains the armor that gets her through life.