Page 73 of Revenge Cake

“You need to stop whatever it is you’re doing.” He gestures over my lifeless form. “It’s pathetic.”

When I don’t respond, he walks into my room and claps his hands twice. “Come on! I’ll go get us a good bottle of whiskey. We’ll pre-party here first and then go out to the bars later and I’ll be your wing man.”

I only sigh heavily in response. Going out to the bars is the last thing I want to do. I’ll only feel her absence more. It will be like that long ago apocalypse dream. I’ll see her face everywhere, but it will never be her.

I turn my head slightly to get a better look at Armaan. He’s staring at the floor, his black brows drawn together, a bewildered look in his eyes. It takes me a moment to recognize his uncharacteristic expression.

Poor guy. He’s worried about me. A deep, distant warmth touches me somewhere inside.

Deep, deep down.

He lifts his head suddenly. “Miller got me some hash for my birthday. It’s seriously almost as strong as LSD. We could smoke it and watch 2001.”

I consider it for a second. It’s the only appealing idea he’s had all day.

Oblivion.

“Okay,” I say. “But only if you pack me the biggest bowl you’ve ever packed in your life.”

“That’s the spirit!” He claps his hands. “I’ll get you high, son!”

With that, he darts from my room, likely going straight for the glass bong he keeps in the cupboard under the bathroom sink, skipping like a giddy little kid. If I could feel anything, I’d be touched by his jubilant relief that I’m willing to join him in the land of the living.

***

Oblivion doesn’t come. Lucidity flows through me in waves. One moment my troubles are a distant blur and the next they hit me with a crushing force.

The worst part is I can hear her fucking voice in my head, as crisp and husky and self-assured as if she’s sitting right next to me. “Eyes Wide Shut is better than this,” she says. “It’s secretly Kubrick’s masterpiece.”

She would say that too, because it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Jesus Christ, will I ever meet someone again who talks the way she does? Will I ever meet anyone who says the dumbest shit ever with the all-knowing authority of a goddess? I fucking love that about her.

“I hate hash,” I say to Armaan in a clipped rush.

He narrows his already half-shut eyelids. “Are you having a bad trip?”

“No, but I don’t want to watch this anymore. I can’t stand another minute of this pretentious as fuck, hipster-ass movie. Turn on The Office.”

He frowns at me for a few seconds before slowly leaning forward and picking up the remote from the coffee table. I can’t blame him for being confused. I don’t even know what my outburst was about. I fucking love 2001. I think I was really asking him to turn off Lani’s voice.

To turn off the memories.

Lani and I had a conversation about 2001 on our first non-date. I used it to win her pretentious, hipster favor when she was skeptical of me. But then again, it’s not really true that I won her favor, because she still held back for months and months. We had only three months of absolute perfection before everything started to shatter. That day on the beach when she…

What did she do? To this day I’m not really sure. I only know that she infuriated me so much I could barely stand to look at her. She reverted to her old ways, pushing me away by…

Oh shit.

When the realization hits, the hairs on my arms stand up and my heavy body starts to hum. “Armaan, I think I just had an epiphany.”

He grins lazily. “Hell yeah! I love your epiphanies! Is it about The Office?”

“No, it’s about Lani.”

His smile falters. “I hope it was something along the lines of, ‘It’s time to forget about her and move on.’”

“No. I realize…” I try to work out my thoughts, but my words tangle in my jumbled head. “I think Leilani was one of those girls who had blue hair in high school. I mean she didn’t literally have blue hair—I’ve seen pictures—but she was like those girls. You know what I mean?”

He blinks once, a notch forming between his brows. “No.”

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