Page 41 of Faux Real
“That’s your advice? Think positive thoughts?” she exclaims. “I don’t have a lot of positive thoughts to think, Oliver!”
“That’s slightly depressing but okay...” I hum, marginally concerned for her mental health. “Just go play cards and try not to think about it, yeah? You’ll be fine.” She whimpers. Oh, God. “I’ll make sure to close all the windows for you, yeah?”
“Okay...but if I die tonight, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life,” she warns me. “I swear.”
I roll my eyes. “Noted.”
“Good!” Kenny straightens out her shoulders and heads toward her friends who are sitting in a circle on the floor, various black and white cards sprawled on the ground around them. Maybe they’ll distract her and she won’t notice she’s high as fuck.
I stride over to the corner of the room and slump down into the orange leather couch, pulling out my headphones and cueing up my reading playlist. If Kennedy doesn’t bother me, I can probably get a few chapters ofIron Manfinished.
For the next hour, I’m pulled into a world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath was badass. I throw my head back and laugh as I get to the chapter about his wedding. I can’t believe he married an upper-crust socialite. To mix a bunch of stuck-up snobs and metalheads together is never a good idea. Iommi’s mother even asked him why none of his friends were eating and why they kept going to the bathroom. Not very subtle, lads, but fucking hilarious.
When my flask is almost out of whiskey, I look over toward Max, Felicity, and Leon who are laughing uncontrollably, passing around a vape pen. Oh, shit. I abruptly stand up, a small wave of panic washing over me.
“Oi, Max,” I call out and she whips her head toward me, her eyes squinted and red. She’s a goner.
“Ollie!” she yells, waving her hands in the air. “Stop being such a loner and come play with us! We don’t bite!”
“Max,” I state, stalking toward her. “Where’s Kennedy?”
“Huh...” Max purses her lips and looks around. “I think she went to the bathroom?”
I close my eyes. Bloody hell. “When?”
“I dunno,” Max says with a shrug, chugging a PBR. “A while ago, I think?”
“We skipped her turn twice,” Felicity hiccups. “She’s been gone alooooongtime. She’s losing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
Where the fuck did she go?
fourteen
Catch Them All
OLIVER
Kennedymusthavebeena beast at playing hide and seek as a child because I can’t find the fucking girl anywhere: not in the bedrooms, the den, the various otheruselessrooms in this obnoxiously large house. Nowhere. She better not haveactuallyfallen out of a bloody window.
Swinging open the bathroom door on the main floor, my eyes dart to Maya and Larisa who are hunched over, snorting lines off of the counter with metal straws. Either they deeply care about the environment or they’ve invested in drug paraphernalia over the years. Based on thesizeof their lines, I’m thinking it’s the latter. How are they still standing?
“You should lock the door next time,” I suggest as Larisa cleans up the evidence with a piece of toilet paper before shoving the baggie into her bra.
“Oh hey, Oliver,” Maya coos as she sniffles, wiping the white powder from under her nose. “Did you want a bump? It’s good shit. Straight from Colombia.”
“Yeah, I’m good, I don’t put drugs up my nose,” I scoff. They’ll believe anything a dealer says. Pure uncut cocaine is exclusive. It’s doubtful a high school girl would have access to something that premium. “But thanks for thekindoffer. You do know there’s a fentanyl crisis happening, yeah?”
“Well, we’re still breathing so it’s fine,” Maya sings. “Don’t be scared now,Ollie.”
“Yeah, you sure you don’t want some?” Larisa asks, her pupils the size of saucers. “We have more than enough to share.” She pauses, biting her lip seductively. “Maya and I like to sharea lotof things.” Her hand reaches up and strokes my chest. “What do you say? Up for some fun?”
Is she serious right now?
“You want to havefun?” I tease in a low hum, leaning closer to Larisa so that my mouth is by her ear. “Is that what you want?”
“Mhmm.” Her breath hitches.
