Page 147 of Life of the Party

“Can I see him? Can I see him, Mom?”

Tears began to swim in her eyes.

“Mom?” My whisper was choked, desperate. “Mom, can I see him?”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

I swallowed heavily. “…Why not?”

“Because. Sweetie, Grey…Grey didn’t make it. It was too late; there was too much heroin in his system…”

Slowly, I shook my head. No. No. Liar. She was lying. Grey couldn’t be dead.

I knew what this was; I knew what she was doing. They were trying to keep us apart. When I was drugged, she’d hatched up some plot. She’d give Grey something…money maybe, if he promised to stay away from me. And then she’d tell me he was dead. They never wanted us to be together. Ha. The joke was on her. No amount of money could keep Grey from me. He’d find me; he would.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” My mom was crying now, like it hurt her deeply to tell me the news. I hadn’t realized she was such a good actress. Was this the part where I was supposed to believe her? I scoffed. I’d show her. I wasn’t falling for it.

I ripped my arm from her grasp.

“Mackenzie! Where are you going? Come back!”

But I was already gone, running down the hallway, searching for the exit. I’d go and find Grey before he got away. Then, together, we’d take the money and go live on an island somewhere, away from all of this. We’d sit on a porch swing at sunset and laugh about how we overcame all the odds, how we’d finally made it, despite everything.

I burst through the front doors and into the staggering cold. Yes, we’d definitely have to find an island somewhere. I hated winter. Grenada, maybe—I’d heard great things about Grenada.

As my car wheezed slowly down the street, I dreamed of the beach. I dreamed of grass and sunshine and an eternity of summer. I thought of waves pounding on the shore, the wet sand between my toes, the far-off call of the gulls. I kept this vision in my head until I pulled up at the house. I ran inside, out of the cold, towards the only possible thing that would give me any measure of comfort.

“Mackenzie?” Alex stopped me. His face was ashen with worry. “How is he?”

I shook my head and ran down the hall to my bedroom. They want us to believe he’s dead, Alex. But we’ll show them. Don’t worry. We’ll show them.

I grabbed the needle I’d pried from Grey’s fingers only hours ago. My hands were shaking as I cooked up the batch, a little stronger than usual. I knew I would need it. I always hated it when Grey was gone.

The needle hit my vein with the telltale sign of spurting blood, and then I slammed the drugs into myself. They nearly knocked me down; they were so potent. But it was nice. I could breathe again. The horror that gripped my heart all night finally eased. I lay back against the bed and shut my eyes.

Don’t worry, Grey. I just needed one more shot. We’re still going to get clean. We’re still going to start our new life. Don’t worry. I just needed one more shot…

CHAPTER 59

When I woke up, or rather ‘came to,’ my first thought was of happy endings. I had to conjure the thought quickly before anything else could get in, before the pressing, nagging dread could break through my denial and reveal itself.

I focused intently as I mixed the heroin in my spoon. I thought of Cinderella and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and all those other bitches who were rescued by their prince and got their happy endings. I was determined to get mine.

I shot up quickly, my eyes rolling back into my head with a pure spasm of pleasure. I let out a shaky breath and slowly pulled the needle from my arm. That was the thing about heroin, the thing I loved. Instant gratification. One second, you’re losing it, and the next, you’re better than you’ve ever been in your whole life. Like each syringe contained it’s very own special, happy ending.

A weak smile lifted my lips. And she lived happily ever after…

When the intensity faded, when I was able to think more coherently, I realized I was missing one vital part of my happy ending. The prince. He had yet to come back. But he was going to come back for me, of that I was certain. And when he did, I was going to be pretty for him. I was going to look like a princess. Shakily, I got to my feet, buoyed by the idea. It would give me something to do while I waited; it would help me pass the time until Grey came back. I wanted to look good for him. I wanted him to see that I was healthy again—pretty—so he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

It was quiet as I stepped a hesitant foot out of my bedroom. It didn’t sound like anyone was home. Relieved, I tiptoed down the hallway and into the bathroom. I hadn’t really done my makeup in so long, I wondered if I’d still be able to do it. But it was like riding a bike, right? Bike…mmm. It’d been so long since Grey and I rode his bike. As soon as it was warm enough, I’d make him take me. Maybe he could teach me how to drive it…

Was I being crazy? I stared into the mirror a moment—at my wide, bloodshot eyes, the purple shadows beneath them, the messy, stringy hair about my face. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about the funny old lady fromAce Ventura, the one who’s like, “when Ray gets back and starts kicking again,” totally delusional. And then the husband says, “See, the engine’s running, but nobody’s behind the wheel.”

That was such a funny movie. Grey and I would have to watch it when he got back. “Nobody’s behind the wheel.” I shook my head in amusement and grabbed my makeup kit from the counter. What a funny thing to say.

I pulled my hair up, piling it on top of my head. It felt like straw in my fingers, the dark strands dry and lifeless. Then I started on my eyes, drawing dark, thick black lines around them. I layered copious amounts of grey eye shadow overtop the liner and then coated my eyelashes with mascara. After this came blush, and I swept the dark peach powder over my cheekbones with a flourish. Remembering how pretty Courtney looked with her deep red lips, I pulled out a lipstick in a similar colour, lining the rim of my lips and painting my mouth until it shone like blood.

I stood back and looked at my reflection. I looked like a clown. I stared at myself a moment, taking in the garish, disturbing image reflected back in the mirror. The sight made me laugh, I didn’t know what else to do. I pointed at myself and cackled, and in a brief, fleeting second of clarity, realized I was acting like a lunatic.

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