My hand retracts and the tower comes Jenga-ing down, black-and-white covers spilling all over the hardwood floor.
“What the hell’s this?” I say, dizzy from the alcohol but trying to assert control over the situation.
“I had to get my shit out from my apartment.”
“…And why is it here?”
“You mind?”
“A little.” No response from Silas, so I fill in the silence. “You could’ve at least asked.”
Tobias peers over Silas’s shoulder, carrying yet another cardboard box to deposit in my living room—more dusty books from the smell of it. “Can I put this down?”
“It’s just temporary,” Silas says to me, ignoring Tobias.
“Two days? Two weeks? How long is temporary?”
“Nothing lasts forever.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m going to live forever.”
He looks so dead serious when he says it, I actually have to take a second to figure out if I heard him correctly. “Not in my apartment, you’re not. You want to live here, then pay rent.”
“This is really getting heavy,” Tobias pipes up, but neither of us are listening to him.
“We need to talk,” I say to Silas. “You and me. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock?”
He shoots me down: “I’ve got plans.”
“Nine? Ten? Or should I change the locks?”
“Fine. Ten.”
“Promise me you’ll be there.”
Silas shrugs. “Promise.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay, Christ, Erin, cross my heart. Are you satisfied?”
A to B is a bit blurry for me, but the next thing I know, my face is buried in my pillow. I can hear the faintest trace of whispers down the hall as Silas and Tobias conspire in the living room. I can’t hear what they’re saying. I don’t care. I just want his shit out of my apartment, preferably when I wake up. Poof. Gone.
I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I’m praying for sleep but it just won’t come, so I start listing off my week: Intervention on Wednesday. Job interview on Thursday. Clean slate on Friday. Brunch with Amara on Saturday…
I check the alarm clock and realize only three minutes have passed. I spot my Sharpie on the nightstand table and pick it up, twirling the marker in my fingers a few times before facing the wall. I bite the cap and pull it off, adding a tag next to my bed: ERIN IS HERE
I’m here, I think. Something about the permanent marker makes it feel all the more, well, permanent. Let my landlord pitch a hissy fit. I’ll paint over it before I move, whenever that might be, but right now I feel content knowing a little part of me will always be here, even if it’s buried under layers of Chantilly Lace paint.
intervention
Tonight’s the night. Our Big Intervention. I spent the day writing my impact statement, making sure it doesn’t sound like a personal attack. I researched different treatment programs in the city, focusing on secular clinics Silas won’t completely scoff at. Amara did the hard work of recruiting Tobias, who resisted initially but crumpled under the weight of Amara’s emotional blackmail. The three of us even rehearsed, for Christ’s sake, as if we were about to stage a high school musical. Merrily We Arbitrate Along. Now it’s showtime—or supposed to be. We’re still missing our leading man. This all has the vibe of a surprise party stalling out. I put out a bowl of chips, which I immediately regret. Who the hell serves snacks at an intervention?
Tobias keeps checking his phone. He texts somebody.
“Hot date?” Amara has this unhealthy tendency to pick apart people’s insecurities and Tobias is barely held together by his.
Toby glares at her.
“Tobyyyyyyy,” Amara woundedly croons. “Don’t be mad at me, I’m just booored.”
Silas adopted Tobias freshman year. He was an abandoned pup who had yet to talk to a single member of the opposite sex. He became a pet project for Silas—for all of us, actually—teaching li’l Toby how to speak to women without melting into a mealy-mouthed mess.
You know he’s got a crush on you, Silas teased me while we were still dating.
Worried he might steal me away? I bit back, trying to keep things light and not sound like I was a little unnerved by the fact that Silas would bring it up in the first place.
I was actually wondering if you’d sleep with him.
I laughed at first, but stopped the second I realized Silas was serious.
You can help him out of his shell, he said. That particular conversation didn’t end well.
Tobias finally puts his phone away. “Are we sure about this?”
“A little late to back out now,” I say.
“What if he doesn’t come?”
“He’s got nowhere else to go…unless he’s hiding at your place?”
“No.”
Silas burned all his bridges. He’s tapped every friend of a friend. Every mysterious faceless girlfriend I’ve never met, ex-girlfriends going all the way back to high school. He’s borrowed all the money he can borrow, crashed on his last couch. We are it for him. Now it’s time for us to draw the line.
Amara glances at her own phone. Tobias’s anxiety is infecting the rest of us. “Where the hell is he?”
“He’ll be here,” I say. Even I can hear the strain in my voice. The uncertainty.
“He’s not coming.” Tobias cleans his glasses on his shirt for the fifth friggin’ time.
“He’s coming.”
“Maybe he found somebody else to stay with.”
“Who?” I ask.
“I don’t know! Silas is always making friends. Maybe he met somebody new.”
“He’ll be here,” I say, hoping to convince myself. “Give him another minute.”
“It’s already eleven thirty,” Tobias mutters. “I’ve got work in the morning.”
“We’ve all got work.” Tomorrow is the Most Important Job Interview of My Fucking Adult Life. I’d like to get some sleep beforehand so I can be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but you don’t hear me griping. “This is Silas we’re talking about. We’re doing this for him.”
“Yeah,” Tobias says, “but he needs to be here for us to do anything.”
“Just a little longer. Please. We’ve come this far.”
“You ever think that maybe he just needs to go through with it?” Tobias asks. “The only thing that’ll actually make any difference is for him to deal with it on his own.”
“So we should just let Silas OD?”
Tobias nods, as if that’s actually a good idea. “Maybe, yeah.”
“I’m not going to just watch him—” We all hear the front door unlock.
I was going to say die, but my throat constricts as I listen to the door open and shut. A set of keys—my spare—land in the goldfish bowl on the IKEA table by the door. It’s something my parents purchased, a housewarming present to make the apartment look more respectable.
“Erin?” Silas calls out. His voice echoes through the hall, reaching for me.
I don’t say anything. Why can’t I talk? Why do I feel like I’m hiding?
“Anyone home?”
“In the living room,” I say, the words almost choking me.
Silas ambles in. If he’s caught off guard by the presence of his friends, the expression on his face sure doesn’t show it. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days—Jesus, weeks. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Maybe even the day before. He’s still got his plastic shopping bag with the smiley face.
Amara and Tobias both shrink into the couch. Tobias lowers his eyes the moment Silas’s land on him. The silence sickens me. He knows. Of course he knows. “What’re we celebrating?”
“Silas…” I sound so pitiful. So weak. I can’t do this—not alone.
Amara picks up the sudden slack. “We need to talk.”
“Ah. I see.” Silas turns to Tobias. “You wanna talk, too?”
Tobias shrugs. “It was their idea.”
I turn to spineless Tobias, furious at him for throwing the whole fucking intervention under the bus in one dismissive flick, but Silas seems to take it all in stride. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
I’m supposed to speak first. I have my statement in my hands. The sheet of paper feels flimsy between my fingers. I want to ball it up and throw it in the trash. The words on the page feel dirty, somehow. I can’t do this. Not to him.