Page 72 of The First Time
"You're not a wet blanket. And stop telling me I'm nineteen like you're an old man. You're only twenty-six."
He's quiet for a minute. "I'm glad you called last night. But..." His eyes go to the ground. "Fuck, I was more worried than I'd been in a long time."
"Really?"
"It's ridiculous. You're a good kid. You'd never get into that kind of trouble."
Translation:I see you as sweet, innocent, and not someone I want to fuck.
I take another bite of my soup. I finish the last sip of my coffee.
Kit turns. His knee brushes mine.
I nearly bite my tongue.
His eyes bore into mine. "I like hanging out with you, but that's all it can be." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm a mess and I don't want you wasting your time cleaning me up."
"You're not a mess."
"I am."
"You're just—"
"You have no idea what a piece of shit I was. I lied to everyone I met. I lied to my friends. Threw them under the bus to protect myself. An assistant found my Oxy stash once and I pinned it on Joel. My best friend. The person who's been there for me my entire life. And I didn't give a fuck. All that mattered was staying high. When that didn't work, I had the assistant fired." His dark eyes are on fire. He's off some place, lost in some memory.
I move close enough to whisper. "Everyone makes mistakes."
"Not like this."
"Did you kill somebody?"
"No."
"Then it can't be that bad."
He shakes his head. "Wasn't one thing. Was a million little things." Kit's voice gets soft. "What do you think about most nights, before you fall asleep?"
My cheeks flush. I think about him. I think about his body on top of mine.
He reads my mind. "Besides that."
"I don't know. School. My friends. What I'm doing the next day."
"You know what I think about?"
"Besides sex?"
He nods. "I think about how badly I want to be high. I've been using, on and off, since I was fifteen. It was under control until the band really blew up. Then the pressure, the shows at the big clubs and the arenas— I couldn't take it. I needed more than a mild numb. I needed to be out of my head."
I want to argue with him, but something stops me. There's this mix of regret and hurt in his dark eyes. And the way he's looking at the ground—I can tell it's a big deal he's sharing this with me.
Kit presses his palms into his quads. "Joel's always been a good friend, probably a better friend then I ever deserved. He's always been nosy. But I'd been using for ten years. It was like with your friend— you don't notice how much something has changed when it only changes a little bit every day. I didn't realize how bad it was. Nobody did. It wasn't until I really started fucking shit up—missing shows or recording sessions—that anybody asked if I had a problem. Wasn't like the guys could really talk. We all drank too much and fucked around too much back then."
"Except Mal."
He nods. "Except Mal. Me, Ethan, and Joel were always partying. But they knew when to stop, knew how to stay sober. For a while, I convinced them I did too. But then..." Kit looks to the sky. "One day, Joel came to me with all this evidence. He looked at me like I ripped his heart out. I probably did, lying to him for that long... He had everyone in agreement. Either I could go to rehab, or I'd be out of the band. That's my family, my livelihood, only place I've ever belonged. And I still took a month to decide. I still want to throw that away to feel good for a few hours."
I hold his gaze until he's back from his memory, until he's here with me. "Do you get high?"
