“Enough!” Isis’ shout rings. I turn and look at her, and her glare is a bonfire on the coldest winter’s day. “He didn’t ‘let’ me take anything. I decided to take it. So lay off him.”
I still my heavy breathing. Kieran glowers from the ground, nursing his nose, but it’s a muted, ashamed glower now. I dare him to make a move with my eyes, but he just sits up and swears. I pivot back to Isis.
“You have to get that looked at. Come on, there’s a first aid kit in my car –”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” She says evenly. “I’ll get it looked at on my own.”
“Isis – you’re injured. You have to –”
“Don’t pretend to care about me now, Jackoff,” She laughs.
“This isn’t pretending. I care about you.”
“Well, cut it the f*ck out, okay? I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not even your friend anymore. You shouldn’t waste your energy on me. I’m nobody important to you –” She shudders, hugging herself and laughing harder. “I’m nobody important.”
You are the sun, I try to say. You are the most important. You are the only light that’s ever truly pierced my armor. You are the happiness and the spark and the one girl who never ran, who never cowered, who saw through my fa?ade. I will never meet another girl like you, I will never want anyone as much as I want you. I don’t deserve you.
But all that comes out is self-censoring silence. Kieran gets up, and puts his arm around her shoulders.
“We should go,” He murmurs. They pass me, Isis refusing to meet my eyes as they turn the corner and go back into the club. Her smell lingers around me for a brief second, and I try to hold onto it as long as possible with shaking fingers as the clear, volatile truth wells up in me, past the walls of lies I’ve built around it (you’re not good enough for her, she never really wanted you), past the excuses I use to deny myself happiness (you’ll hurt her, you’ve hurt her, all you do is hurt her), past my own self-loathing (you should’ve died instead). The realization shines bright, quietly exploding, blowing them all away and leaving a single truth behind.
“I love you,” I whisper to the empty curb.
-10-
3 Years
51 Weeks
6 Days
Yvette is not impressed with my new diet.
“Are you eating…doritos with ice cream?” She asks.
“My mind is strong but my flesh is weak,” I mutter through a spoonful.
“Well, at least you’re eating something,” she throws her hands up. “What happened to the Isis who could put away an entire large pizza on her own?”
“She got bored,” I say. Yvette looks appropriately scandalized. “Of eating! Not of pizza. God no. The only people who get bored of pizza are evil at their core. Or Italian.”
“How’s the war-wound holding up?” Yvette collapses on her bed. I pull my sleeve up and inspect the blood-stained bandage on my forearm with a shrug.
“The nurse gave me antibiotics that taste like butt, and I have to change the bandage every two days, but so far it’s like a walk in the park. If said park was covered in infectious zombies and landmines. Kieran got the worst end of the deal – dislocated noses hurt like a bitch.”
“Yeah, but they’re quicker to fix. Only hurts for a second.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”
“I got in a fist-fight,” She says proudly. “At a concert.”
“What concert?”
“Does it really matter? I think you are missing the point here, the point being that I have also dislocated my nose.” I stare at her until she groans and mumbles; “Taylor Swift.”
“You went to a Taylor Swift concert?” I screech.
“I was taking my little sister!” She shrills defensively.
“Why does it sound like a cage of birds in here?” Diana winces as she walks in.
“Di, she’s making fun of me,” Yvette whines. I courteously flip her off.
“If you met me at the pizza place like I asked,” Diana sniffs. “You wouldn’t be here, getting made fun of.”
Yvette groans and rolls off the bed, rifling through her closet for a jacket to wear. Diana sits on the bed beside me, all smiles.
“Hey you.”
“Don’t look at me I’m hideous.” I whisper, shoveling more soggy doritos into my mouth. She laughs, and smooths her fluffy blouse that makes her impressive rack all the more bouncy.
“And what are you doing on this lovely Friday night?”
“Eating. Sleeping. Sacrificing a goat to Mantorok, the God of Corpses.”
She looks over at the stack of fake blood packets on my desk and raises an eyebrow. “Riiiight.”
“Those are for a sociology experiment!” I defend. “Called ‘See How Many People Run Away From Me When I Squirt Fake Blood At Them’. Prediction: Many.”
“Okay but…just don’t get punched out, alright? Getting a new injury every weekend is sort of a new thing with you and I’d like for it to kindly stop forever.”
“You and me both.”
Yvette flaunts her army surplus jacket, Diana and I applaud. They’re gone before I can blink, Yvette crowing about pepperoni and jalapenos. My stomach makes a disagreeing noise, and I put the ice cream bowl aside and bring out my laptop. I get on Skype, looking for Kayla’s photo, but she’s offline, the little gray inactive dot taunting me.
It’s nice Diana’s worried. It’s only been a few months, but she and Yvette treat me like they’ve known me for years. Sometimes it makes me feel better, but right now it only makes everything feel worse. It makes me miss Kayla more. I hadn’t gotten to tell her about what happened that night at The Back Door, but part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me hesitates blabbing everything like I usually do. What would she think of the fact I took molly? I didn’t tell Diana or Yvette. I haven’t told anybody. Would she be disappointed? Would she hate me? I’m still disappointed in myself that I took it. And she wouldn’t be happy to hear about Jack, and how we’re practically strangers now. And I know for a fact she’d hate my stories of making out with any dude who looked nice at frat parties. She wouldn’t understand it. I’d just disappoint her. My life isn’t exciting and romantic like hers.
There it is again. Jealousy. I swallow it whole and try to convert it into exactly what it is – poop.
I get up and stretch, tracing the bandage on my arm lightly. Jack touched me there, and it’s stupid to think about, but sometimes in the quiet moments I touch the same place and wish things were different. But tonight is not the night for self-pity. I pull on shorts and a loose t-shirt and stuff a sidebag full of the fake blood packets, some gum, forceps, and a credit card.
Tonight is the night for revenge.
Granted, as I walk through the sunset-washed campus with happy couples clinging to each other and excited, dolled up girls on their way to parties, I have the minor revelation that I probably shouldn’t be doing this. I brush the nonsense off – of course I should be doing this. Doing possibly illegal things that would get me kicked out, such as breaking into Professor Summers’ office and sending him a message, is going to be hells more fun than sitting around another frat party waiting to die slash furthering my reputation as a slut. People stare. But then again, people have always stared. I smile and wave.