Page 53 of Escaping Our Reality

He remembered. I mentioned it just one time in passing. But he remembered.

It was several weeks ago, when we were saying goodnight by the open door of my vehicle. Raindrops starting falling, coating everything around us in a cold mist. When we were little, Carrie and I would slap our feet in the rain puddles, pretending we were tap dancers. When we got older, we always talked about watchingSingin’ in the Rainbut never did.

I told that story to Ry. A short and simple fifteen-second story. And he remembered.

We eat our dinner and watch our movie. Our food has turned cold, but we are both so hungry it doesn’t matter. It tastes phenomenal. Best birthday meal I’ve ever had. More importantly, Ry holds me close during the entire movie. He pays attention, engrossed just like me. He’d never in a million years admit to liking it, but I think he does. Almost as much as me.

When the movie is over, we lay on the dock, watching the lanterns as they float. “I haven’t forgotten today’s other big event. Are you ready for your birthday present now?”

“Yes.”

Jumping from the dock and grabbing a battery lantern, he walks over to his truck. Not wanting to be left behind again, I follow him. He reaches into the glove box and pulls somethingout. He tries to block my view with his body. Peering over his shoulder, I’m mesmerized by what I see before he slams the compartment closed. He shuts it quick. Real quick. He doesn’t want me to see what’s in there.

Not fast enough, though. Condoms.

There are condoms in his glove box.

Shutting the truck door, he walks around to the back, lowers the tailgate, and lifts me up, sitting me on the edge.

“So, I debated about giving this to you. It’s gonna fire you up. But you have to promise me to be smart about this. Don’t do anything about this right now. Or for the foreseeable future. Do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”

I narrow my eyes, wondering what in the world he’s talking about. When I don’t answer quickly enough, he squeezes my knee with his hand. “Fine. I agree. I hear you.”

He mumbles under his breath and begrudgingly holds out his hand.

It’s a picture.

Of my sister.

My gasp is loud and frightening. Running my fingers over the photo, I study my sister’s image. She’s so damn gorgeous. My whole life I’ve been envious and proud of her beauty, all at the same time.

My words are defeated, crushed by visual evidence. “She’s beautiful. Even high, she’s still beautiful.” And you can definitely tell she’s high. She’s sitting on a couch I don’t recognize, with her head tilted to the side, her eyes closed, and a euphoric glow on her face. Wearing shorts and a tank top, she’s holding her hands in front of her and doing this weird twitching thing with her fingers.

I glance at the date in the bottom corner. I know that date. I’ve memorized so many of them over the past few weeks of my investigation. It was two-and-a-half weeks before she wentmissing. “She turned her phone off on this date. I have a record of all the times she did that to her phone.” Next to the date are some letters—like an abbreviation that’s part of the digital timestamp. I’m not sure what they mean.

“Is this Trash’s house? I don’t remember seeing this couch there.”

Ry shakes his head. “No, that picture was taken at Trey’s mobile home. He lives about a mile up the road from Trash.”

“You’ve been to his house? I thought you said to stay away from him.”

“I’ve been there a few times, and none of them by choice.” He bends down, stares into my eyes, and points his finger in my face, like a parent scolding an unruly child. “And I do mean it, Lulu. You stay the hell away from there.”

“Why did you go there?”

“My brother. Trash overdosed once. I had to get him and rush him to the hospital. A couple of other times he had bad trips, and I had to go get him, calm him down. The crew doesn’t party at Trey’s much. They mostly go to my brother’s house. The times I’ve been there, the crowd was small. The timing may revolve around when deliveries come from the supplier.”

“So, Carrie was probably there that night, picking up stuff to sell. I guess she had to try her own product.” The disgusting sarcasm coats my tongue like a fungus. “Quality control.”

“Don’t be like that. Carrie was different.Isdifferent. She just got in too deep with something that was supposed to help her. It ended up consuming her.”

“Where’d you get this picture?”

Please don’t tell me you’ve had it this whole time.

“I haven’t been to Trash’s in a long time. Since I started using your hotspot,” he winks at me. “But I had to go over there the other day to get a lawnmower part. My stupid ass father needed help fixing his, and of course, I agreed to help. Anyway,Christina was there, and she was flipping through this huge stack of pictures she had just developed. I saw this one. She gave it to me.”

“Christina?”

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