Page 90 of Landon & Shay: Part One

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Eric textedme late one afternoon, telling me he was sorry for what went down with Reggie. He said he was ashamed, too, which I thought was sad. He hadn’t had shit to be ashamed of.

Eric:I’m not gay or anything, you know…I mean, I’m just trying my best to figure everything out.

Me:Whatever you are is good enough for me.

Eric:Thanks, Land.

Me:I’ll kick anyone’s ass for you, E. Just say the word, and I’ll trample them.

I missed my afternoon dates with Shay, though I supposed it made sense that she was only allowed to go to and from school each day. If I had been her parents, I would have banned her from any human interaction for the next thirty years. I was lucky enough I even got to see her during the school day and at rehearsal.

That Tuesday, there was a knock at my front door, and I hurried to answer it, stupidly hoping it was Shay. To my disappointment, there stood Monica. She was the last person I wanted to see, but like a bad habit, Monica had a way of popping up at the worst times.

“What do you want?” I asked her, opening my front door.

“To get high with you,” she muttered, already stoned out of her mind.

“I don’t have time for this, Monica,” I sternly stated, going to shut the door.

She placed her foot in the doorway, stopping it.

“Monica, really. I’m busy.”

“With that bitch?” she hissed.

My jaw tightened. “Don’t call her that.”

“Oh, I see. Now you’re protecting her instead of me?”

I rolled my eyes and shut the door. She wasn’t in the right state of mind for a conversation of any kind. What had happened to KJ not dealing to her anymore?

“Has she seen them?!” Monica shouted on my front porch. “Have you gotten so close that you’ve shown her your ugly fucking scars?! Has she seen what you’ve done to yourself?!”

Her words vibrated against my skin as I flung the front door open again. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside, slamming the door shut behind her. “What the fuck, Monica?!” I hissed, my heart pounding faster and faster against my chest.

“Let me go,” she whined, yanking her arm out of my grip.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are coming over here shouting like a madwoman?”

“I wouldn’t be shouting like a madwoman if you didn’t make me so mad!” she cried, her body trembling.

She was shivering like a damn fool, and it was clear she was very high. I arched an eyebrow. “What are you on?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she slurred, her words coated with depression.

Dammit, Monica.

I hated this girl. I hated her addiction, and I hated how much of myself I saw in her broken eyes.

“Tell me, Mon,” I ordered.

“I did tell you. I’m on nothing. What? You think you’re the only asshole who can get clean?”

“Did you get something from KJ?” The last time I’d seen him, I’d asked him to stop dealing to Monica. I had begged the guy to let her be, told him how she slipped deeper and deeper each and every time. He’d sworn he’d stop but promises from a drug dealer are like promises from Santa Claus—fiction.

My anger toward Monica for barging in on me, on my life, on the life I was trying to heal had shifted. The anger became true concern, genuine worry. I was worried about the thorn in my ass.

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