Page 48 of Bullet
Still, it doesn’t help the situation we’re in. I love being so close to him, but it’s fucking torture.
Bullet turns his bike off, and I jump off.
“I swear these houses keep getting bigger and bigger,” Bullet mutters as he gets off the bike.
Taking my helmet off, I shake out my hair as I set my helmet on the seat. I look up at the house. “Huh, I never noticed that before.”
“How do you guys even find out about these parties?”
“A text goes out, and then we all spread it around. You should know this, you’re not that much older than me,” I tease.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You ready to go in there?” he asks as he takes off his helmet.
I watch him run his hand through his hair. It’s longer than it’s ever been, but it looks good.
I’m staring.
I force my eyes away from him, and I look back up at the house. Do I really want to go in there? Am I going to be able to say no when I’m offered something?
My therapist said I should do this. She told me to do things that I used to do back when my mom was still alive. Just not as extreme as I have been lately. She reminded me that a girl my age would be in college, meeting new people. Going to events and getting to know the world as an adult.
This party might not be exactly what she meant when she said to get back out there, but I feel like I need to do this. I need to prove to myself and to Bullet that I can go to a party and not get shit faced. That I am over this part of my grief and ready to move to the next step.
“We can head home right now and put on a movie or pull out a board game. We don’t have to do this,” Bullet says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“No, we’re already here,” I say, shaking my head.
I take one step and then another and then another. Bullet falls into step next to me. Side by side, we walk up the porch steps and into the house. The place is jam-packed, and the music is so loud it feels deafening.
Shit, maybe I used to drink so much at these things just to drown out the noise.
We push our way through the living room and into the kitchen. Skyla is standing next to a guy I’ve never seen before and twirling her hair. I look over at the guy and smirk.
He’s totally her type.
She must feel my eyes on her because she looks over at me and squeals.
“Harlee! You made it!” Skyla says as she throws her arms around me.
My nose scrunches up as I pat her back. She smells like weed, liquor, and fire with hints of lavender. It’s overwhelming. Did I use to smell like that?
“I told you I’d come,” I say as I step back.
She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Yeah, but you could have changed your mind. Now let’s find you a drink.”
“No thanks.”
“Do you want to get high then? Chad has the good stuff from NorCal that you like.”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, and her eyebrows shoot up.
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? Because the Harlee I know, she never says no to a good time,” she says, making me wince.
I don’t know why it hurts, but it does. Does she really think I’m not capable of having a good time without the assistance of a substance? Did I really fall that far?
I feel Bullet step up behind me and relax, his presence comforting me.
I can do this, and if I’m tempted to fall off the wagon, he will stop me.
