Dangerous Girls
Page 42
I’m still swinging when they pull me off her, strong arms grabbing at me, slamming me to the floor. The screaming won’t stop; it echoes through the room long after they carry the other girl out. It’s not until they come at me with the syringe that I realize: The screaming voice is my own.
Then there’s nothing but black.
WINTER
“Where have you been?”
The voice startles me in the dark. I flip on the living room lights and find Elise waiting on the couch.
“Elise?” I stare at her, startled. She’s still in her uniform, neat plaid skirt and blazer. “What are you . . . ?”
“I waited for you,” Elise says, her expression bland and unreadable. “Outside school, like we said.”
“Oh shit.” I feel a flush of shame. “I’m sorry, I forgot. . . . We skipped study hall,” I explain awkwardly, “and went back to Tate’s.”
“I can tell,” Elise says quietly, “It’s written all over you.”
I flush. I’m still breathless from the hours Tate and I spent together, wrapped up in his old quilted comforter and each other. It’s no wonder she can see, when I still feel Tate’s hands on me, the burning path across my body.
“I called.” Elise’s voice twists, bitter. “I left you a ton of messages. And then I thought, maybe something happened, with your mom, so I came . . .” She stops. “Your dad let me in.”
“My phone died—I never got the messages, I swear.” I take a few steps forward, toward the couch. “I am so, so, sorry. I completely forgot. It’s awful of me, I know. What can I do? You want to order pizza? I was going to just do homework, but we could study together for that test tomorrow, or watch a movie, or . . . anything you like.” I’m babbling, I know, but there’s something so unnerving about her expression, perfectly detached. “Elise?” I ask again, nervous. “I f**ked up, I’m sorry.”
The bland look slips, and Elise giggles—but it’s not a happy sound, there’s something twisted about it. “Do you know what it felt like, just waiting for you? I sat there for an hour, until everyone was gone.” She hugs herself, looking painfully young for a moment. “I was worried, thinking about everything that could have happened. An accident, or a car crash, or your mom . . .” She shakes her head, her expression hardening. “And all that time, you were off f**king him.”
I flinch. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Elise leaps up, and I see her face clearer: the out-of-focus smudge to her gaze. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all you do these days, hump away like a pair of f**king rabbits.” She laughs, bitter. “And you were always such a good girl. Who would have thought you’d turn out to be such a slut. Well, how was it?” she demands, grabbing my arm. “Go ahead, tell me everything. Is he good? Does he make you come?”
I reel back—from her harsh words and the faint slur in her voice. “You’re drunk.”
“Bzz! Wrong! Guess again.”
“Elise?” My heart skips. I look closer. “What did you take? Oh God, are you okay? Do I need to call someone—?”
“Relax.” She cuts me off, rolling her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Just a couple of my mom’s pills. Prescription. It’s all good.”
“A couple?” I demand, still panicked.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Elise draws an X over her chest, then giggles again. “Irony appreciated, of course.”
“It’s not funny.” I exhale, but the panic doesn’t dissolve; it just hardens into something more uncertain, a dark edge that sends a chill down my spine. I watch as Elise wanders over to the bar in the corner and lifts the stopper from the cut-glass bottle of my dad’s scotch. “Seriously, Lise, put that down.”
“Why?” She dangles the bottle from her fingertips. “Not up for a drink?”
“You’re already wasted.”
“Not wasted enough.”
I go over to take the bottle from her hand, but she pulls away and lifts it to her lips to gulp. I watch, feeling helpless. This is scaring me, the sudden quicksilver of her moods. She doesn’t mess around with drugs. We drink, sure, and even smoke some weed with Chelsea sometimes, but this is something new, and nothing good. “Talk to me,” I beg. “What’s going on?”
“I told you.” She spins in a slow circle, away from me. “I waited.”
“Fine, I screwed up, I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up, as if in surrender. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, desperation clear in my voice. “Anything you want, I promise.”
“Don’t you get it?” she yells, her voice loud in the still of the dark house. “Sorry doesn’t matter. Not if you love him more!”
There’s silence.
“Elise . . . ?” I whisper. She meets my eyes, defiant and wounded.
“It was us,” she says. “You and me.”
“It still is!”
“But you love him more.”
“No,” I tell her, but she just looks away.
“You should see your face when the two of you are together.” Elise swallows, giving me a sad little smile. “It’s like he’s your whole world.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“So?” she yells. “I’m your best friend!”
“Right,” I yell back. “My friend ! So why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Happy you’re throwing me away for some ass**le who’s going to dump you a month from now?” Elise is wild and furious. “Like I’m f**king disposable? Do you even remember what you said to me? It was us, together, before anything!”
“We still are!”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not since you gave it all to him. I never thought you’d do this to me, that you’d be such a shallow slut!” Elise whirls around and hurls the bottle at me with a cry. I leap back as it shatters against the wall, dark liquid splashing, shards of glass smashing like crystals on the floor around me.
“What are you doing?” I cry, shocked.
“You chose this!” she sobs. “You ruined everything.”
Fear chills me, sharp and wild. I don’t care about the glass or the mess, or anything but the finality in her tone. Like it’s the end. “No,” I say, shaking my head against the unthinkable. “Nothing’s ruined. I’m with him, and we’re still the same as we ever were, I promise.”
Then there’s nothing but black.
WINTER
“Where have you been?”
The voice startles me in the dark. I flip on the living room lights and find Elise waiting on the couch.
“Elise?” I stare at her, startled. She’s still in her uniform, neat plaid skirt and blazer. “What are you . . . ?”
“I waited for you,” Elise says, her expression bland and unreadable. “Outside school, like we said.”
“Oh shit.” I feel a flush of shame. “I’m sorry, I forgot. . . . We skipped study hall,” I explain awkwardly, “and went back to Tate’s.”
“I can tell,” Elise says quietly, “It’s written all over you.”
I flush. I’m still breathless from the hours Tate and I spent together, wrapped up in his old quilted comforter and each other. It’s no wonder she can see, when I still feel Tate’s hands on me, the burning path across my body.
“I called.” Elise’s voice twists, bitter. “I left you a ton of messages. And then I thought, maybe something happened, with your mom, so I came . . .” She stops. “Your dad let me in.”
“My phone died—I never got the messages, I swear.” I take a few steps forward, toward the couch. “I am so, so, sorry. I completely forgot. It’s awful of me, I know. What can I do? You want to order pizza? I was going to just do homework, but we could study together for that test tomorrow, or watch a movie, or . . . anything you like.” I’m babbling, I know, but there’s something so unnerving about her expression, perfectly detached. “Elise?” I ask again, nervous. “I f**ked up, I’m sorry.”
The bland look slips, and Elise giggles—but it’s not a happy sound, there’s something twisted about it. “Do you know what it felt like, just waiting for you? I sat there for an hour, until everyone was gone.” She hugs herself, looking painfully young for a moment. “I was worried, thinking about everything that could have happened. An accident, or a car crash, or your mom . . .” She shakes her head, her expression hardening. “And all that time, you were off f**king him.”
I flinch. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Elise leaps up, and I see her face clearer: the out-of-focus smudge to her gaze. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all you do these days, hump away like a pair of f**king rabbits.” She laughs, bitter. “And you were always such a good girl. Who would have thought you’d turn out to be such a slut. Well, how was it?” she demands, grabbing my arm. “Go ahead, tell me everything. Is he good? Does he make you come?”
I reel back—from her harsh words and the faint slur in her voice. “You’re drunk.”
“Bzz! Wrong! Guess again.”
“Elise?” My heart skips. I look closer. “What did you take? Oh God, are you okay? Do I need to call someone—?”
“Relax.” She cuts me off, rolling her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Just a couple of my mom’s pills. Prescription. It’s all good.”
“A couple?” I demand, still panicked.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Elise draws an X over her chest, then giggles again. “Irony appreciated, of course.”
“It’s not funny.” I exhale, but the panic doesn’t dissolve; it just hardens into something more uncertain, a dark edge that sends a chill down my spine. I watch as Elise wanders over to the bar in the corner and lifts the stopper from the cut-glass bottle of my dad’s scotch. “Seriously, Lise, put that down.”
“Why?” She dangles the bottle from her fingertips. “Not up for a drink?”
“You’re already wasted.”
“Not wasted enough.”
I go over to take the bottle from her hand, but she pulls away and lifts it to her lips to gulp. I watch, feeling helpless. This is scaring me, the sudden quicksilver of her moods. She doesn’t mess around with drugs. We drink, sure, and even smoke some weed with Chelsea sometimes, but this is something new, and nothing good. “Talk to me,” I beg. “What’s going on?”
“I told you.” She spins in a slow circle, away from me. “I waited.”
“Fine, I screwed up, I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up, as if in surrender. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, desperation clear in my voice. “Anything you want, I promise.”
“Don’t you get it?” she yells, her voice loud in the still of the dark house. “Sorry doesn’t matter. Not if you love him more!”
There’s silence.
“Elise . . . ?” I whisper. She meets my eyes, defiant and wounded.
“It was us,” she says. “You and me.”
“It still is!”
“But you love him more.”
“No,” I tell her, but she just looks away.
“You should see your face when the two of you are together.” Elise swallows, giving me a sad little smile. “It’s like he’s your whole world.”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“So?” she yells. “I’m your best friend!”
“Right,” I yell back. “My friend ! So why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Happy you’re throwing me away for some ass**le who’s going to dump you a month from now?” Elise is wild and furious. “Like I’m f**king disposable? Do you even remember what you said to me? It was us, together, before anything!”
“We still are!”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not since you gave it all to him. I never thought you’d do this to me, that you’d be such a shallow slut!” Elise whirls around and hurls the bottle at me with a cry. I leap back as it shatters against the wall, dark liquid splashing, shards of glass smashing like crystals on the floor around me.
“What are you doing?” I cry, shocked.
“You chose this!” she sobs. “You ruined everything.”
Fear chills me, sharp and wild. I don’t care about the glass or the mess, or anything but the finality in her tone. Like it’s the end. “No,” I say, shaking my head against the unthinkable. “Nothing’s ruined. I’m with him, and we’re still the same as we ever were, I promise.”
