Burn Before Reading(79)

I put my hand on his. “If it makes you feel better I came to this party to get away from the bullshit at home. I guess I reached a breaking point, because here I am, the scholarshipper with no life, no fancy clothes, no dancing skills.”

“Yeah, actually, now that you mention it you definitely stand out a little,” He smirked, sarcastically eyeing my giant gray hoodie and messy hair. I was quiet. What was I even doing here? I needed to be home. I needed to broker the peace. Dad and Mom were probably tearing each other’s throats out, and when it was over Dad would feel so awful and Mom would take off, and he’d be alone with his self-hating thoughts – I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t go back. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t be the fixer, anymore. If I had to put on a fake smile one more time and lie to Dad that it was going to be fine, I’d crumble. My heart ached, like a mirror with a deep crack in it, ready to fall apart at any moment. But if I didn’t go back, what was all this for? What was Lakecrest, NYU, all my studying for? What was this whole spying for Mr. Blackthorn and lying to the brothers for? It would be wasted. I was doing all this exactly for moments like this – to help Dad. To keep his depression from consuming him. If I came home, and he’d hurt himself – I came back to reality only to see Fitz taking a tiny baggie out of his pocket. Inside sat two small white pills. He saw me staring and smirked.

“My other pill was four hours ago. It’s time to refresh.”

“Fitz –“

“Don’t, Bee. Please. I need them. I need them tonight more than ever. I know what I’m doing – I’ve done worse than this before. So just trust me, okay? Let me deal with my shit in my own way.”

“Burn said –“

“Burn doesn’t know shit,” Fitz snapped. “About what it’s like. He runs off into the woods, or to the ocean, or the mountains, somewhere no one can find him, or talk to him –” He flinched. “He’s never there when you need him. He’s abandoned me and Wolf too many times for me to give a crap about what he’s said. He thinks I’m an addict. And maybe I am, but at least I’m not a loner who can’t handle being there for his younger brothers!”

“Whoa,” I lowered my voice. “Okay. Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Fitz massaged his brow. “God. I know. I know you didn’t. I’m just….I’m just pissed at him.”

There was a silence. I couldn’t help the images of Dad’s bleeding, broken body flashing through my mind. Mom’s bags packed as she left, divorcing him. My parents never speaking to each other again. My brain warred with my heart, and my heart warred with my soul, leaving craters and burnt land in its wake.

My eyes fell on the pills in Fitz’s hand. I watched him down one with water, and he saw me staring.

“You – you wouldn’t happen to want one of these, would you?”

“I’m not – I’ve never –“

“Well I’ve done it a lot,” Fitz said. “I know what to look for, what the danger signs are. And I’ll be right here with you.”

I studied the tiny pill. “What does it do?”

“Relaxes you. All your muscles. And you forget, for a while, all the stuff that came before. All the stuff bothering you.”

“How long does it last?”

“Oh, an hour. Two hours. Three if you drink something with it and get lucky.”

“So you take it and just do what? Dance? That doesn’t sound fun.”

“We could just lay here, talk about stuff. Stuff that isn’t sad, for once.”

My brain was an echo chamber of two words; ‘dad dying’. Over and over, like a chorus of disembodied voices who refused to free me from my suffering. My nails bit my palm.

“Okay. But you have to promise to stay with me.”

Fitz smiled, so golden and charming I was nearly blinded. “I promise.”

I took the pill in shaking hands and quickly downed it with water before I could second guess myself. Fitz and I laid back on the bed, and my stomach danced.

“I’m going to jail for this, right?” I asked. Fitz laughed.

“Maybe. But I can probably bust you out. Their security systems are notoriously outdated. Burn could be the muscle. Wolf could just look at them and make them piss themselves.”

“He does have that effect,” I agreed. I felt like I was waiting for the axe to drop in a guillotine – when would the pill kick in? Would I feel it? Would I die the second it hit my bloodstream?

Time started to blur together. Fitz and I talked about the War of the Roses again and how dumb the outfits were back then, and all of sudden, mid-sentence about the Lancasters, I felt my whole body grow hot. It was like someone shifted bike gears for my brain, because the fear just left me all at once. All the voices in my head telling me Dad was dying and I was selfish and stupid for ignoring him right now just...evaporated. All my doubts drowned in little gentle rocking waves of peace. I looked over at Fitz and he smiled at me.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“It’s….nice,” I marveled. “My body feels heavy but nice.”

Let me super clear about this, pen-and-paper; drugs suck. I mean, I could understand Fitz and his marijuana thing; Dad did the old weed thing when he was younger, and even when I was a kid, but he stopped when it started affecting his depression more and more. I was fine with personal weed journeys. I knew better than to believe the media scare tactics of ‘weed can kill!’ or some other nonsense. But stuff like these pills? Popping medications meant for diseases recreationally? Nothing good comes out of that. That was the really bad stuff. And I learned that the hard way, that night.