Page 53 of Tricky Girls

I rap my knuckles on her door and push it open. She’s sprawled over her bed, arm flung over her eyes against the climbing sun.

‘Incoming!’

I launch myself, falling heavily onto her blanketed body.

‘Fuck off, Haz,’ she grouses, half-heartedly pushing me away.

‘Mornin’, beautiful.’ I glance at the window. ‘Or afternoon. Hanging, are we?’

‘Mm.’ She removes her arm to stare up at the ceiling.

Her eyes are blank as fuck. She really must be hungover.

I peer more closely. Unless…

Shifting so I’m lying more comfortably on top of her, I ask, ‘Where’d you piss off to last night?’

‘Nowhere. Home.’

‘Liar. You weren’t here when we got in. I checked your room.’

‘Quit coming up here, would you.’

‘Had to check no one was in before I big-boned Tilda.’

‘Now you’re the liar.’

She sighs, closing her eyes.

‘Yeah. Must have been a dream.’ A wet one I’ve been having since Halloween. ‘So, I’m assuming the reason you won’t tell me what you got up to is because you were up to no good.’

‘I can get up to whatever I like.’

‘You can, but you promised. Not that.’

‘Lay off me will you,’ she whispers, turning on her side away from me.

I release a breath, my blood beginning to simmer. Fuck, I hate this. The aftermath, the desolation, it’s almost as bad as the mania. Fucking glad I wasn’t around to witness that this time.

‘Elly will kill you.’

‘Elly doesn’t have to know.’

‘Then I will. Nic, what the fuck? You promised!’

My concern lasts all of a minute before my anger kicks in—my default. Fuck her. Never again, she said. Not after everything we went through. Not after she almost died, her heart crapping out after the overdose.

Accident or not, we’re still not sure. We just know it can’t happen again.

‘If you’re going to lay into me, you can get the fuck out.’ She remains turned away, an arm wrapped around her head like she’s in pain. ‘If it wasn’t for you, anyway…’

‘If it wasn’t for me, what? How is this my fault?’ I rack my brains. I know she’s pissed about Tilda but surely that wouldn’t tip her to fuck up her sobriety. ‘Was it Tommy? Sorry, man. Shouldn’t have hung with him.’

‘Not just Tommy. Just…everything.’

‘If it’s all getting too much again, Nic, you tell me. You tell Elly. Shit, tell anyone. But don’t dothat.’

‘Alright.’

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