Page 149 of Life of the Party

It was dim in the room, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like, especially now with the bright, clown-like makeup smeared all over my face; the black trails of mascara that surely stained my cheeks. Charlie didn’t say anything about it. She just climbed into the bed behind and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry…” she crooned, like I was a little child, smoothing my hair back from my brow. I couldn’t respond; I didn’t have anything to say. I just blinked and continued existing.

Charlie was still there when I woke up again. She was sitting at the end of the bed, my feet tucked in her lap. Zack was with her, sitting in the chair beside, his head bowed in his hands. They were talking in low, hushed voices. I didn’t want to disturb them, but I needed to shoot up again. I propped myself up on an elbow and went about my business. The talking stopped, and I could feel them both staring at me.

“Mac?” Charlie had tears in her throat, I could hear them. “You okay?”

I gave her a sidelong glance and shook my head once, curtly. No.

“Do you want to talk?” She encouraged.

I shook my head again. No.

“I’m sorry, Mackenzie.” Now it was Zack’s turn. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I could’ve…If I only would have checked on him, once…”

I shrugged. Tears pricked my eyes, but I choked them back. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to dwell. I shook my head, fighting for control, just long enough to feel the needle slice into my skin. I pushed down the plunger and collapsed back onto the bed, relieved.

More time passed in much the same way. Sometimes I slept, sometimes I dreamt, sometimes I just lay there, staring at nothing. The light streaming through the window would fade and I’d know another day had passed. This was my life now, the only way I could possibly live without Grey.

It was bleak, it was grim. But it was better than the alternative.

There was talk of a wake, but I refused to go. I didn’t want to see Grey that way—pudgy from the embalming fluid, swollen in death. I didn’t want to remember him as anything but totally alive. He was beautiful in life. He was so beautiful to me…

Why!Through the haze, I suddenly pounded the pillow with my fist, overcome with emotion.Why! Why did he have to die? He was always so careful. How could he have overdosed?

Tears pushed through. I let them come, now, when I was all alone, when no one else could see.Grey, please…please don’t be dead. Please, come back to me…

I love you…

More time passed. More time of lying like a dead thing across the bed, oblivious to anyone and everything except the needle, curled up in a ball and clutching Grey’s pillow. People would come and check on me, try to talk to me; try to shake some life back into me…to no avail. I waited as they spoke their words of comfort, blinking at them until they were done their spiel, ignoring the concern in their eyes, the hopeful tenor ringing in their voices, the encouragement. I wanted them to give up, just like I had. Because there was no point anymore. Not without him.

Charlie forced me out of bed one morning, waiting until after I’d shot up so I was in no state to fight her. She dragged me to the bathroom and into an awaiting bath, the water hot and deep, sudsy with bubbles. I let her wash my hair. Neither of us spoke, not once the entire time. Even afterwards, first when she was doing my makeup, then later when she straightened my long, dark curls with her hot iron, we did so in silence. I sat willingly enough under her capable hands. I was too out of it, too numb to really pay much attention, too anesthetized to care about what she was doing.

Until it was time to get dressed. Charlie pulled out an old familiar dress from the closet and laid it on the bed for me to wear. I stared at it a moment, lifting my weary eyes to her beautiful face, barely curious enough to ask.

“Where are we going, Charlie?” My voice was dull, lifeless.

She answered softly. “To the funeral.”

“The funeral?” I whispered.

“Yeah.” She nodded. She tried to help me out of my housecoat so I could get changed, but I shook my head and pushed her weakly away.

“You want to do this on your own?” Charlie wondered.

I nodded. The drugs were waning; the thoughts were starting to emerge. I needed to shoot up again and I just wanted a moment alone, away from all the watchfulness, away from all the concern.

“Okay.” Charlie gave me a squeeze and then left me to change, shutting the door on her way out. I sighed, lifting a hand to finger the soft black fabric of my graduation dress, the dress I’d worn on one of the happiest days of my life. It was impossible not to remember then, impossible to fight the sudden memories that flooded my mind. They were bright—Technicolor, compared to all my dull, drear thoughts of late.

I swallowed heavily, shut my eyes, and let them come.

I heard it first. The sound of Grey’s rumbling motorcycle as it tore up the street. I remembered the surprise, and then the overwhelming joy I felt when I ripped open the front door and saw him there along the curb, straddling his bike, waiting for me. I saw him smirk, saw my own reflection in his shiny aviator glasses, saw my smile. I heard the sound of our distant laughter, coming from somewhere removed, somewhere far off. It felt so good to climb onto the seat behind him, the sun warm on my shoulders, my heart nearly bursting with happiness. How free and promising and full of possibility the world had seemed to me then…

And then I was hunched over, reeling, gasping with the force of pent-up sorrow. Grey. I missed him so much. I couldn’t bear it without him; I couldn’t live without him. It hurt. It hurt so badly.

Blindly, I staggered my way over to the nightstand, seeking the refuge of the needle, the comfort of the heroin, the numbness of the drugs. Within moments of the delicious steel piercing its way through my flesh, the memories had faded from my mind, the pain had receded, my breathing had calmed. I was back where I belonged, in a world without feeling, in a place of total indifference; of essential, embracing apathy.In a place where I didn’t care, where I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. Because I wasn’t. And I never would be again.

After a few moments, I put my dress on. Not a thought crossed my mind as I shrugged into the silky black gown and pulled it down around my body. Where before the dress had fit me perfectly, now it was loose and baggy, hanging unflatteringly on my frail frame like a potato sack on a stick. I stared at myself in the mirror. Despite Charlie’s beauty expertise my face was gaunt and tired looking. My eyes had lost their sparkle. I let them roam down—down my body—over the ribs protruding through my chest, along the long lean arms hanging from my sleeves, over the bony wrists and my long, skeletal hands.

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