Page 59 of Getting It Twisted

At least, it used to.

I give up on the drawing. Instead, I look through the set of Polaroids for the fifth or sixth time. Nathan’s confident grin shines back at me, his arms around my shoulders, me smoking a joint . . .

But something is missing. I shift through them all once more, and yeah—my sketch of us by the mansion at Mumphrey Hill is nowhere to be found. I look in the other drawers and under the bed. Nothing.

Didhetake it?

I imagine him sitting on his bed in his dark, run-down room, a smile on his lips as he studies the picture in his hand.

And suddenly I know what to do.

Chapter 11

Nathan

It’s a rainy, miserablefuckup of a morning. And what makes it even more miserable? Daniel’s not here.

He didn’t come over yesterday, so I had to spend the night alone, and as a result I got barely two hours of sleep. My head hurts, my chest hurts, everything fucking hurts, and it’s his fault.

When my phone pings, I know it’s him. Who else would it be?

Come over this afternoon. I want to show you something.

My heart lifts in my chest, and my mouth curls into a smile. Just as soon, I squeeze the phone in my hand, scowling at my own reaction. I don’t need to come running to him; he can come to me. Once he realizes I’m not showing up, he’ll come here without a doubt.

I roll a joint out of my rapidly dwindling stash of weed and sit on the porch. Sometime this past week, the leaves have rotted off the trees, and the gusts of wind blowing through my hair areharsher and colder than before. The dreary clouds and pouring rain fit my mood just fine.

The wind lashes through the house, and the wood creaks ominously. I get what Daniel means; the place is creepy as hell. It’s mine though, and the darkness here is in me too. I was born in that darkness, and it’s followed me all my life.

Five years of escaping it hasn’t changed a thing. I’m still that terrified boy, curled up in the corner of my room. I’m still that pissed-off teenager, plotting to kill my mom for all the shit she put me through. And the greatest irony of all? She went and pissed me off one last time, by dying before I could do the deed myself.

Jagger barks somewhere up the road. Old Ennis is probably trudging along, business as usual. He better not come around here though. I don’t mind company per se, but last time we spoke ended up a disaster.

Whenever I feel like this—like a thousand ants are clawing at my insides—I would go to Moe’s Den in a heartbeat, but the thought of a sweaty, hairy biker panting down my neck isn’t nearly as appealing as it used to be.

Daniel must really have done a number on me. Monogamy is one thing. This obsession, this need to be close to him . . . That’s a whole other animal, and it should bother me more than it does. But for the most part, it feels . . . good. As long as I’m with him, that is. As long as I’m nuzzling into his jaw while his strong arms close around my waist.

Alone, I’m no good at all. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.

The weed does a decent job of calming me down though. Some of my restless energy dissolves, and together with my head clearing up, the truth hits me like a wave.

None of how I feel is Daniel’s fault; it’s all mine. My fault for depending on him. My fault for letting him see me a blubbering,crying mess. My fault for living on the impossible hope that this thing between us won’t fall off a cliff steep enough to shatter my bones.

If it does, I have my backup plan, of course: my grandpa’s shotgun in the hallway closet. I don’t know how to use it exactly, but I’ll figure it out.

I flick the joint away and pull my knees to my chin, hugging my legs. This just proves it, doesn’t it? I’m the same as before. I’ve always been shit at being alone. I need people, even though I hate needing them. Anyone used to suffice—anyone who’d give me their company and their dick, no matter how horribly they treated me.

Not anymore. Now I need Daniel. Fuck, I need him so bad.

I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel to the furious rhythm of a metal song.

I pass the local antique shop and the shabby-looking middle school I attended before my transfer to Daniel’s class. Oh, and there’s the grocery store where Wayne Hastings caught me red-handed.

It feels like ages since I last left my hovel. Maybe the isolation was getting to me a bit. Anyway, as soon as I see Daniel, I should be all right. I ring the bell to his house, and a black-haired girl with tattoos opens the door. It’s that girl from the party. What was her name again? April.

“Oh,” she says, beaming at me. “What gives me the honor?”

If I’d had less of a bad day, I wouldn’t mind putting my charm on and playing the game of social niceties. But not today. Today I go straight to the point.

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