Page 134 of Ecstasy
Finally, he just gets out without a word, slamming his door nearly as hard as I slam mine.
43
Zara
Things get lesstense that night.
We play Uno. I win. Three times in a row. Alex gets pissed, but he laughs too, and it just—shit, I don’t know.
It feels good to see him laugh. To not be fighting with him.
And as it gets later and the exhaustion wears on me, I invite him into my room. My bed.
And he comes.
“Why did you start?” he asks me after he’s curled up around me, my back to his chest in the dark. There’s an empty glass of orange juice on my nightstand, and I’m still feeling edgy and tired all at once, but I’m sober.
And Alex is here.
For the first time since he’s been here, I’m kind ofhappyabout it. My favorite times with him were when we weren’t fighting. When we could just be together without the drama and the bullshit. That’s what this feels like. Peaceful. I don’t think I realized how much I craved that until now.
But at his question, I just close my eyes, tucking my hands under my pillow. I know what he’s asking. “Because I was weird.” That is, truly, the simplest explanation. The more in-depth one? I don’t have the energy for that.
But his lips find my neck, just above the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing, and it sends chills down my spine, the good kind. And yeah, it makes my thighs clench together, and yeah, I want to turn around and kiss him, too, but more than that…more than that, that gentle touch makes me feel safe.
Just like he’s always made me feel. Safe. Loved.
“You’re not weird, princess,” Alex says against my skin.
There’s a pain in my chest, and I feel almost paralyzed. By guilt, maybe. Or grief for things that haven’t even happened yet. All of this all might end. Because I’m not coming out of this clean.
“I am,” I tell him, even though I know this kind of argument never works out well, so I quickly add, “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Why I started.”
His arms are locked around my torso and he squeezes me tightly. It feels so damn good, and I don’t deserve it.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he tells me, his breath on my skin. “But if you want to, I’m here.”
God, I don’t deserve you.
“It’s just…” I trail off, trying to think about the reason for the first time. I mean, it’s simple enough, really, but it’s also so complicated. I snorted a hydrocodone through a dollar bill one night at my best friend’s house, when I was fifteen. I’d only ever drank before that moment. I’d never even smoked pot.
My friend was older than me. Seventeen, but she was nice, and her mom was always gone, and boys loved her, and I wanted that.
So, when we had a sleepover, and she invited some guys over and they were all snorting shit and smoking pot and drinking, I did too.
Everything just kind of spiraled after that. My home life wasn’t bad. Mom was a huge flirt and not very faithful, and I didn’t talk to my dad, but I was taken care of. No one beat me. No one molested me. No one raped me. Even the older guys my friend had over, they were nice and respectful for the most part. I slept with one, eventually, when I was high, and it was good, and he treated me well.
“It’s just I’ve always thought something was wrong with my brain. I was always awkward and shy, and people always said how quiet I was. Pretty, but quiet. I heard that so many times and it was annoying.”
I know that probably doesn’t make sense. I know Alex was probably waiting for some huge traumatic moment, but it wasn’t like that.
“I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. I tried downers first.” The hydrocodone became a little bit of a habit. “But then I discovered uppers.” Adderall, specifically, which didn’t seem so bad because it was legal, even if it wasn’t legal for me. “And I was an entirely new person. I was shiny and loud and giddy and happy, and I wasn’t anxious, and I could party and socialize like a normal fucking person, and boys liked me better for it.”
And I wanted boys to like me. I wanted them to like me for the attention, because while Mom wasn’t neglectful, she was gone a lot and my dad…well, he ended up leaving. Obviously, I have daddy issues, but I didn’t recognize that then, and even if I had, I was a teenage girl. I was left alone a lot and I wanted attention. My stepfathers were decent human beings, but they were enamored with my mother and not so into the idea of being fathers at all.
“I went to the doctor, trying to get my own prescription for Adderall, but I didn’t prepare for that visit well enough because they didn’t diagnose me with ADHD. They diagnosed me with anxiety.” I laugh a little, and Alex squeezes me tighter. I open my eyes, staring into the darkness of my room. “They prescribed me Xanax, which I found to be a great comedown for the Addie.”
“Anyway, it all kind of got fucked up in spring.” My throat tightens as I realize I never really talked about this with him. I made a joke about rehab, and that was all I ever said about it. I clear my throat, swallow down my nerves. “I overdosed at a party on fucking Vicodin. I wanted something different and the end of the semester, working toward my stupid philosophy degree had become stressful because I wasn’t going to class and shit.”
