Page 141 of Life of the Party

“Is it?” I bit my lip. I didn’t want to face reality, not yet.

“Mac!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be right over.”

“Hurry up!” She was laughing again as she hung up the phone. I groaned and flipped my cell shut, forcing myself off the bed, stumbling around my room and gathering some things—my heels, my bra, some undies, some jewellery. I shoved it all into my purse and then threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, my skate shoes and my old winter jacket. I didn’t even look at myself in the mirror. Grabbing my car keys from the counter, I headed out of the house for the first time in a week.

I was totally unprepared for the cold. Somehow I’d forgotten about winter. It hit me with all its force, the brunt of the icy wind shuddering down my back and stiffening my muscles. I cringed my head down into the collar of my jacket and headed blindly into the snow, climbing into my frozen car for the first time since…since Christmas. I tried not to think about that, shivering as I turned the key. To my utter amazement, the car chugged to life. I smiled at my good fortune and pulled onto the icy street, the engine whining in protest.

The vents were still blowing cold when I got to Charlie’s house. Heedlessly, I raced up her rickety old stairs, grown more treacherous with winter, covered in snow, in ice.

Ice I skidded over as I ran up the treads.

My heart stopped for one terrible minute. I gasped in horror as my feet slipped out from under me, my wild, flailing hands gripping the banister just in time. My knees slammed down on the stairs, and I fell against them, breathless, my chest heaving. My pulse hammering wildly in my ears.

Maybe it was the sudden adrenaline. The shock of the fall, scaring me. My eyes filled with hot tears, my breath escaped in a gasping sob, harsh in the quiet cold.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was okay. I was okay. I didn’t fall. I wasn’t hurt.

I had no reason to cry.

It felt like if I started, I might never stop.

Somehow, I resisted. Blinking, gathering myself, my steps weak as I trembled back up the stairs, shaken, heading into the house without even bothering to knock.

Charlie and Courtney were sitting at the counter. Their heads turned in surprise as I entered, letting a draft of cold, frozen air in with me.

“Mac.” Charlie frowned in concern, watching as I took my shoes off. “You okay?”

“You look awful, dude.” Courtney agreed with surprise.

“I just woke up.” I choked out, taking off my coat, shuddering from the cold. “I haven’t had a chance to do anything with myself yet.”

“Right…” Charlie’s eyes narrowed skeptically, the smile falling from her face. “Go shower then; we don’t have much time.”

They were oddly silent, watching me walk by. I didn’t like their scrutiny. I hurried to the bathroom and shut the door, avoiding the bathroom mirror—a natural instinct now, something I automatically shied away from. My reflection was just another grim reminder of what I’d let myself become.

I stepped into the shower, soaping up, washing my hair, letting the hot spray sink into my skin. Charlie’s razor was balancing haphazardly on the ledge, and without thinking, I picked it up. As I gripped the handle, I remembered the sweet pain that came when I cut myself. The relief that came with actually feeling something again. Slowly, I dragged the razor sideways across my arm, shutting my eyes and shuddering as the blade ripped through my skin. Mmmm…the blood ran down my hand, and I smiled with delight.

“Mac, let’s go! We don’t have a lot of time.” Charlie called, knocking on the door. Then, under her breath, she muttered, “Not with the way you look, anyway.”

I shut the water off immediately.

Charlie sat me down in a chair in the kitchen when I was ready, dragging her seat up in front so she could work on my face. Courtney sat on a stool at the island, snorting cocaine. Black Eyed Peas was blaring out of the stereo. I noticed all of this out of my periphery. It held no interest to me anymore. I just sat, glum and despondent.

“So, Mac.” Charlie sighed. “Tell me not to be worried about you.” Her blue eyes held mine locked in her gaze, and the concern she felt was evident. She motioned her head to the cuts on my arm, some older and scabby, one obviously freshly done. It was still bleeding faintly. “What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah. I bet. You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing. I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.” I lied.

She made a noise at that, a scoff of disbelief. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” I replied. I just wasn’t going to.

Charlie shook her head in obvious frustration, but she didn’t press me. We sat in silence. It felt nice actually—the coolness of her fingers as she applied my makeup, the deftness of her hands as she worked with my hair. It reminded me of old times. When I’d cared about my appearance.

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