Page 13 of Escaping Our Reality

“So, you didn’t know about Carrie using or selling until now?” I ask.

“No.” Her shoulders stay square, her spine stays firmly straight, but her eyes fall to the floor. Her heart is breaking, and for some strange reason, it fucking breaks mine too.

“I’m sorry you had to find that out. Some secrets are best left buried.”

She doesn’t like that answer. “How can you say that? These drugs? This gas station? I’m sure it has something to do with why she went missing. It’s the puzzle piece we’ve all been looking for. Someone here has to know what happened to my sister.”

“Lulu, the police already came out here. Questioned Trash and the owner of the station. Something about ATM charges.”

“Yes, but that was before they knew about the drugs.”

I fling forward in my seat. Reaching across the distance between us, I squeeze her leg. Her own hand flies to her mouth, and she stares at my hand, splayed across her lower thigh, just above the knee. My mouth grows dry and my brain fogs.

I toss those feelings away like yesterday’s dirt. “What do you mean that wasbeforethey knew about the drugs. Did you tell the police that drugs are being dealt at the gas station?”

She doesn’t answer.

Begrudgingly, I remove my hand.

She lowers her fingertips from her mouth and answers. “No. Not yet.”

Finally, I can breathe again. “Good.” I sit back in my seat. “You can’t.”

“Ican’t? What do you mean, Ican’t? That’s illegal activity. You know the police kind of frown against that.”

If the situation weren’t so serious, I would find her sarcasm cute.

“What are you doing, Lulu? Playing some kind of amateur detective? This isn’t a TV show. This is dangerous shit. My brother isn’t the dealer. He’s a pusher, just like Carrie. The dealer is a bad guy. I mean, really bad. And if he’s that bad, who knows what the hell the supplier is like. You go around ratting to the police, that shit will get you into trouble. The dead kind of trouble.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Trash is your brother?”

And, there it is.

The look.

The look that always happens when someone finds out who my brother is. Who my parents are. The kind of look that says, ‘Oh, I thought you might have been different. I guess I was wrong’.

I don’t know what to say. So, I don’t say anything.

She stands from the chair. “Well, I’m sorry that your brother is involved with this, but I plan on finding my sister. And if that means telling the police about this drug business, then so be it.”

She starts walking toward the sliding glass door that leads to the raging party inside. I jump from my seat, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. I don’t mean to grab her so hard. I don’t mean to spin her around so hard. It just happens. And regardless of my intent, I get to reap the unexpected reward. Her body stumbles into mine, knocking me sideways. I wrap my hands around her waist, steadying us.

I didn’t realize she was so tall. The top of her head comes to my chin. And I’m six-foot-four.

My fingers squeeze her hips as she slowly raises her head to look into my eyes. Her breasts rub against my chest, and I pray she can’t feel the rock-hard erection that has suddenly sprung to life in my jeans.

Or maybe, I do hope she feels it.

The words get stuck. I have too much to say and not enough brain power to say it. I clear my throat. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna question your friends.”

“They’re not my friends.”

She pulls from my grasp and heads inside to join the party. “Then, it shouldn’t matter to you what happens to them.”

It doesn’t.

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