Page 9 of Secondhand Smoke
When it was done, she set it down on her bedside table and finally began undressing. Her clothes were only slightly damp now, and she slipped out of them. She was about to throw her jacket in the clothes hamper when she remembered the other small thing hidden away in her pocket.
She reached in and pulled out the small plastic guitar pick. It would go nicely with the rest of her collection.
She crouched and lifted her bed skirt, uncovering and opening the shoe box she kept hidden there. Lifting the lid, she studied the contents inside.
Various paints and brushes for Sam, who always says you can never have too many art supplies.
A pink plush and a pink bow and hair clips for Minnie, who claims pink is the happiest color and proves it by wearing it every single day.
Nell dropped the pick into the box with the show ticket, guitar string, and folded piece of paper for KC, who never lets a day go by without creating music on her beloved instrument.
It was an assortment of things she’d taken just because she couldn’t resist something as soon as it reminded her of her friends. This was only one box. There were three others stuffed under the bed.
Her mother theorized that not talking about these people or avoiding anything that had to do with them was normal for someone with Nell’s trauma. But Nell never told her that she thought about themconstantly. That she stole things that reminded her of them, so it was like having a piece of what they could have had one day—a fraction of a future that never happened.
It was thinking about them that made nights like this as terrible as they were. When the world started to crush her, they were the only thing she could think of.
She closed the box and shoved it back under the bed with the others.
With that away, she crawled into bed without cleaning herself up. Nell was too exhausted to stand in a shower or stay awake in a bathtub.
She curled into a ball with the dry, crisp covers brushing her bare skin and closed her eyes to pretend she couldn’t hear the screech of tires, smell the burn of smoke, or dream the screams of her friends endlessly ringing through her mind.
She could only make out three words.
You did this.
You did this.
4 - Barrett
A song was stuck in Barrett’s head.
He could remember the tune, which he plucked slowly on the strings of his green guitar, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember the name. The words went over his head, and all he had was the thought that he’d go insane if he didn’t figure it out by the time he went to sleep.
He hummed along, adding his own bits and pieces to the forgotten song, making it more metal than it originally was. He wasn’t even sure when he’d heard the shitty pop song—probably on the radio at work or something, when their manager Jackie got to pick what they put on the stereo.
But the melody wasn’t half bad. The soft plucks didn’t do it justice. With a good makeover and by plugging into an amp, he could turn this sentimental pop song into something much better if he wanted—Toni on drums, Dennis on guitar, and Paulie on bass. But first, he had to remember what the hell it even was.
A soft knock on his bedroom door made him pause and sit up as the door opened.
His uncle, Ron, was haggard like he’d missed a few days of sleep, which he probably had. Dark bags polluted the space under his eyes, but he gave Barrett a kind, tired smile anyway. “I didn’t take you as a U2 fan.”
Barrett scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What?”
“U2. The band that sings that song.With or Without You.” Ron raised a brow.
Barrett had hoped that when he figured out the song it would have been a big “aha” moment, but the name and band brought up no recollections. He was so far out of the realm of pop music that he knew absolutely nothing about it.
“Ah, right. I thought I’d expand my tastes and give shitty music a try,” Barrett joked with a shit-eating smile.
Ron chuckled, unfazed by his nephew’s crude humor. “I just wanted to check in. I’m about to head back to work.”
Barrett’s grin fell. “Head back? You just got in, like, two hours ago.”
Ron sighed and rubbed the side of his face, which deepened his wrinkles. “Someone called out, so I picked up the shift. Thought we could use it.” The obscure schedule was one of the manywonderfulperks of Ron’s construction job.
Putting his guitar aside, Barrett got up from his bed and went to the top drawer of his dresser. Inside were unmatched socks and his boxers, but when he dug down under that there was a bundle of cash wrapped in a rubber band. He turned around and tossed it into the air.
