Page 39 of The Love of My Next Life
“Dowe have to listen to this,” Sam complains from her spot on the couch. I don’t respond. She’s ruining my high.
I keep my head dropped back and my eyes closed as Casper changes the song. On my left, Julian taps my arm, and I tilt my head just enough to see where he’s holding the joint. I grab it and bring it to my lips.
“I don’t want to spend the whole day in Casper’s garage again,” Sam complains, louder this time, and I groan. We ditched after lunch. I tried to get out without Sam knowing, but she has the good weed...
“Do you ever stop bitching?” I ask her. It’s rhetorical. I know the answer.
The couch shifts to my right, and I can feel her crawling up next to me. She slides her arms over my shoulders and brings her lips to my ear.
“Let’s go to my place,” she whispers. I snort and tilt my head away from her. She presses a kiss to my neck. “I just got some stuff,” she adds, and that grabs my attention.
I peek my eyes open and glance at Julian. He’s lying on the futon in the corner. He looks like he’s sleeping. I check in front of me, hoping for the same, but Casper’s alert and watching. His brow is furrowed, and he gives a slight shake of his head.
Judas.
I know he’s been talking to Claire. He thinks I don’t know about his fucked-up obsession, but I do. He acts like his concern is for my benefit. It’s not. No one is concerned about me. Casper just wants to fuck my sister. I narrow my eyes at him briefly then tilt my head to Sam.
“What kind of stuff?” I ask, and she smiles suggestively.
“Good stuff.”
Her grin is the opposite of innocent. Her lips almost too full and too red. Too unlike the lips I want to see. I tug her forward and kiss her anyway. She bites my lip hard, reminding me of violent kisses in a hidden bathroom, and despite my high, my dick jumps.
“Let’s go.” I stand gingerly, mastering the spinning in my head, and grab Sam’s hand. I don’t look at Casper or Julian as I walk out. I don’t say anything. I hear Sam tell them we’ll see them later, but I’m already climbing into the passenger seat of her red coupe.
I recline the seat and close my eyes.
She gets in the driver’s side, leans over and does my seat belt. I hear her click her buckle and turn on the engine.
“Wake me up when we get there,” I tell her, and then I pretend to sleep for the rest of the drive.
Sam’s parents are gone when we get to her house, but that’s not surprising. They’re never around. I trail her through the front door, up the stairs, and into her dad’s office, where she proceeds to pop open a wall safe, covered by a canvas family portrait of Sam, her parents, and her older brother, Chase.
As she rummages through the safe, my eyes find the lens of the tiny security camera hidden within the crown molding in the corner of the room. I stare it down as if it matters. Knowing it’s there always makes me uncomfortable.
“I told you to stop worrying about that,” Sam says. I look at her as she raises her middle finger to the camera. “It only activates if the code is entered incorrectly, and even if they did watch it, they don’t fucking care enough to do anything about it.”
She sneers in the direction of the camera once more, then walks out of the room, leaving the wall safe hanging wide open.
Sam goes into her bedroom and drops down on the bed. She gestures to the mattress next to her, so I take a seat, and she spreads some “good stuff” out in the space between us. I survey it.
A few small baggies of white powder and various pills, all of which I’m familiar with, lie about on the bedspread, but my eyes fall on a separate, slightly larger bag and I study it. Inside are capsules filled with more white powder and a few sheets of colorful blotter papers. I glance from the bag back to Sam.
“That’s new,” I say with a raised brow. Her dad doesn’t usually have hallucinogens. He’s strictly blow and pain pills. We usually get our weed and Molly from some chick in Suffolk.
“It’s not from Dad,” she says with a smile. “I scored it from one of Chase’s frat buddies. It’s like LSD.”
I eyeball it. The twitch in my fingers to grab it, the desire to place a tab on my tongue and let it dissolve, to crack open one of the capsules and snort the contents into my bloodstream, makes me clench my hands into fists.
“LikeLSD?”
“Yeah,” she picks up the bag and opens it, then pulls one of the smaller baggies filled with capsules. “Synthetic research drugs. I guess they’re stronger, though.” She removes a capsule and holds it out for me. “The guy gave me a bunch to let my friends try.”
“You mean he’s making you his drug mule,” I correct, and she shrugs. She doesn’t care.
I consider the capsule between her fingers. Stronger than LSD sounds like a good time, but it also sounds like a bad fucking idea. I don’t know Chase’s friend, but if he’s anything like Chase, I wouldn’t trust him to dose my drugs.
I brush her hand away and reach for the oxy instead.
