Page 125 of Life of the Party

I shook my head and sighed. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse, like I was holding back tears. “It’s nothing.” I choked out. “I’ve just had such a terrible day.”

“Don’t cry. Please? Do you want to…should we push off? Would that help?”

“Maybe,” I whispered.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He kissed my forehead and headed quickly back inside. I stood out in the cold, relieved and amazed by how easily Grey had caved…but there was no joy in my victory. If anything, I was saddened by what I had done, what I was capable of. For the second time that day, I felt ashamed of myself.

But I knew it wouldn’t take long until I forgot all about it.

I shook myself back to the present and poured the rest of my drink into the sink. I hoped Charlie was okay, that she was safe somewhere. I hated to think of her at Jack’s house; the thought made me agitated and nervous. With a sigh, I headed back to my bedroom. There was one sure way to forget about it all.

I eyed the nightstand eagerly as I crawled back into bed, satisfied when I saw there was more than enough heroin in the little blue balloon to get us through the rest of the day. Though it beyond sucked I’d lost my job, there were upsides to it. I didn’t have to go to work. I was free to hang out with Grey all day long, to get high all day long—nothing could make me leave my bedroom if I didn’t want to. I lit a smoke and smiled with anticipation. It was like the most perfect kind of holiday.

And I knew what I was going to do for money. I’d keep looking for a job, for sure, but in the meantime…well, my parents were loaded, and they were never home. Surely they wouldn’t mind providing a little just to help us out until Grey started gigging again and I found a job, at least. They probably wouldn’t even notice. It didn’t even occur to me to feel guilty about robbing my parents; it was all easily justified. They’d given Marcy a car when she graduated. What was a few hundred dollars for me?

CHAPTER 51

Grey liked heroin just as much as I did. I’d been banking on it, actually, knowing he’d cave that much more if he wanted the dope as badly as I did. It was all too easy for us to go from balloon to balloon, justifying every one, calling each our last and then finding some reason to go and get another. It was lovely, my holiday—spent almost entirely in my room with the man I adored, smiling smiles of pure, relentless joy, forgetting all about the world outside.

I could hear Charlie coming and going, her door closing, her hairdryer whirring. I heard Courtney’s voice, too, as she came and went, but nothing could coax me from my room, the ultimate zenith of my happiness. Nothing but the need for more heroin.

Once in a while when our supply was getting low, I’d rise from my sloth-like existence and force myself into a shower, throw on some clothes and go out into the world. My parents were never home. I’d go through purses and jean pockets and bowls of change, always finding enough to fuel our habit for another week.

When I returned home, Grey would dress and shower, take the money I’d procured and leave the house. Sometimes he was gone an hour, sometimes half a day. I’d wait at home, edgy and impatient for my next fix, taking the time to straighten up my room and tidy the house, washing the week-old food from the plates piling up, shaking out my bedding, emptying the overflowing ashtrays, disposing of countless needles.

Getting everything in order for our next binge.

I knew this couldn’t last. I mean, this wasn’t really a way of life. It was just a time-out, an extended break before we re-entered normal society again. It’d been ages since I’d last been to a club, months, it seemed, since I’d hung out with all of my friends. And I needed to get a job soon—I couldn’t steal from my parents forever.

All this I knew, but the actual date to start my life again kept getting pushed back further and further. It loomed on the horizon, something I knew I needed to get back to, but it was just so easy to procrastinate, so easy to justify the next balloon of sticky black drugs.

Even so, when Grey returned home after a trip to the city with only one rubber pouch in his hand, I was shocked, disappointed. I gazed up at him in alarm.

“Are you going back again? For more?” I wondered hopefully.

“No.” He was hesitant to begin. I knew he didn’t want to upset me, but at the same time, he had to be firm. “No, Mackenzie. This is it. We’ve booked the Aurora again and we start playing next week. I have to get serious, I can’t be strung out all the time. I can’t remember the last time I practiced my guitar.” He held his hand out in front of him, stretching stiff fingers. “One last weekend, okay? Then we quit, for good.”

I nodded. I knew the truth in his words, but I was sad, afraid for my holiday to be over. I didn’t want it to be over. The thought made me panicky. I wanted to argue with him, but I had no argument. I tried to rationalize, to talk some sense into my brain. This wasn’t living. This wasn’t life. I needed to get straight too. When was the last time I’d talked to Charlie? The last time I’d socialized with anyone?

The last time I’d eaten?

“You’re right,” I admitted begrudgingly. “We need to quit.”

“One last weekend,” Grey smirked at me. He set the supplies down on my nightstand and began rolling up his shirtsleeve, revealing the dark, hard muscle of his arm. “Let’s make it count.”

Monday morning came too soon. Grey and I woke up about the same time, uncomfortable and sweaty. He grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and kissed me encouragingly.

“We’re done.” He proclaimed. “We’re done with heroin.”

I nodded. “Yes.” I agreed. I tried not to be sad, I tried to be excited for a fresh start. We’re done, we’re done with heroin, I repeated to myself, over and over again.

Even with that thought running foremost in my mind, nothing could’ve prepared me for what we were in for.

At first, I was merely…achy. Like I was coming down with the flu or something, like my bones were sore in their very marrow. It was unpleasant but bearable. Grey and I lay back on my bed, smoking as our sweat dampened the sheets beneath us, trying to talk to each other and keep our minds from withdrawal.

“The CD’s almost finished.” He informed me. “It’s just being mastered now, and then it will be ready for distribution.”

“So it’ll be in music stores and stuff?” I wondered, amazed. My stomach churned within me. I tried to ignore it.

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