“Well, what about a card?” she asks. “I know you love to write.”
“Actually, that was Ryder.” I sigh exhaustedly. “Look, Mom, I have to go.” This is how things have gotten. A vicious cycle. One I’ve been stuck in for years with her. And she seems to be getting worse with each passing day. But instead of getting caught up in the endless circular pattern, I end it. “I have to go. I’m working,” I lie, getting up from the chair and crossing the room toward my bed.
“Tristan, wait,” she hurriedly spits out before I can end the call. “Please don’t do this to your sister.”
“I’m not doing anything to Ryder.” I sink down on my bed, the mattress concaving beneath my weight. “Because she’s gone.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispers in horror. “I can’t believe you would say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“I know, but…” she huffs, exasperated. “God, why are you doing this? You’re a terrible brother, living with the person who killed Ryder.”
I glance back to make sure the bathroom door is still closed, not wanting Quinton to hear any of this. “What happened wasn’t Quinton’s fault. Accidents happen and you need to start accepting that.”
“No, they don’t!” she shouts, clearly out of her mind, probably from popping too many pills. “This wasn’t an accident! It wasn’t! It would have never happened if he wasn’t driving.”
“That’s not true.” I work to stay calm through her irrationality. “He was the only one sober in the car for God’s sake.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean he was driving safely. It’s all his fault any way you look at it. Because of him, your sister’s gone and you’re a traitor for living with the person who killed her.”
I’m starting to worry that it’s not just the pills making her insane, but that she’s losing her sanity. I think my dad even worries because while I was visiting he kept saying subtle comments that implied my mom might need some help.
“Mom, where’s Dad?” I ask as I flop back on the bed, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose, and shutting my eyes.
“At the store,” she answers heatedly. “And I’m done with this conversation unless you say you’ll come home.”
“Why do you want me to come home so badly?” I ask through gritted teeth. “When it’s clear you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I’m just… disappointed in who you are.” A long pause follows. I’m just starting to wonder if she’s hung up, when she speaks again. “And by the way, that Dylan guy came here looking for you the other day. Said he needed to talk to you about something.”
“Dylan came looking for me?” What the hell? I haven’t seen Dylan since… Well, since my druggie days. And for a good reason. Not just to keep my sobriety, but because… “Mom, please tell me you called the cops when he showed up.”
“Why would I do that?” she asks. “It’s not my job to do that.”
“Haven’t you read the local paper at all over the last year?”
“I hate the papers. The articles are always depressing.”
I open my eyes, lower my hand from my nose, and shake my head. “Mom, the police have been searching for Dylan for almost a year. They think he might have killed that Delilah Pierce girl I used to hang out with.”
“That redheaded that always dressed like a prostitute?” she asks with zero sympathy. “Nichelle Pierce’s daughter?”
“She wasn’t a prostitute,” I reply, but it’s kind of a lie. Dylan was Delilah’s boyfriend and he sometimes sold her out for drugs. Delilah was always so doped up she’d never really put up a fight. Dylan also used to hit her, even though Quinton and I would sometimes try to intervene when we were living with them. Delilah would always go back to him, though. “And did he say why the hell he stopped by the house?”
“He just said he needed to talk to you, but I kind of thought…” She trails off. “You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”
Having spent years in trouble, I have to really think about it. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” She laughs cynically. “God, you’ll never change, will you?”
I sit back up. “Mom, call the police and report Dylan’s visit. I have to go.” I hang up on her and then there’s nothing except silence.
My chest is heavy as I roam outside and then stand on the front patio section. I never should have gone home for those few weeks. It’s made me regress. I think part of me, though, hopes—always hopes—that my mom will change her mind about me. That she’ll see me as the son she has instead of the child who she has been stuck with. Although, it didn’t help that Dylan showed up at the house. Why the hell would he go back to Star Grove of all places? And then stop by to pay me a visit?
“Probably to score,” I mutter as I grab a pack of cigarettes from my pocket.
I stay outdoors for a while, smoking and staring at the road until one of my neighbors five doors down from me comes barreling outside. I swear I have some sort of drug radar inside me. Maybe it’s all that time I spent living in crackhouses, getting spun out of my mind that’s causing the radar to go off. But, for some reason, I can always tell who I can buy drugs from.
Take the guy. He’s arguing with the woman who I think is his girlfriend, but that’s not the dead giveaway that he’s a meth head. It’s in the speed he’s talking and the rapid tick in his jaw as he shoves her, his sentences so tightly strung together. It’s just like Dylan and Delilah had been, and I find myself torn between stepping in and going back inside.
But then, in the snap of a finger, they start kissing passionately. And I feel envious toward them, not just because they’re high, but because they’re kissing that intensely. I mentally note that if I’m going to break down, that’s the place to go. I hate myself for making that note, but it comes more naturally than breathing.
Because this is my life.
My addiction.
After everything I’ve been through, it feels like it’s never fully going to go away and part of me doesn’t want it to because what else is there to me?
“Whatcha doing out here?” Nova asks as she steps out of the room and interrupts my drug-addict thoughts. She’s changed out of her work clothes and into a dress. Her hair is up, her freckles are showing on her nose. She looks nice, but she always does.
“Just smoking and thinking.” I flick my cigarette before getting to my feet and brushing the dirt off the back of my jeans.
I think about letting Nova know that Dylan is back in Star Grove, because she was once friends with Delilah, and I know Delilah’s death still haunts her. But I don’t want Nova to worry, so I opt to keep my mouth shut, at least until Dylan is found.
“About what?” Insinuation laces her tone but it takes me a minute to catch on to what she’s implying.
“I wasn’t thinking about Avery,” I snap, overly harsh, but it’s the truth. I was thinking about Avery when I first got back to the motel, but after my mom called my thoughts centered on my crackhead neighbors and getting a bump. “And you need to stop thinking that anything is going to happen between us.”
I need to stop thinking that.
“Jesus, relax.” Nova holds up her hands in front of her. “Did I say anything about Avery?”
I flick some ash off my black T-shirt. “No, but you’ve said it enough over the last few days that I knew where you were going.”
“You guys looked pretty chummy working the table saw together today.” She crosses her arms. “I thought you said you were going to try to avoid her—that you didn’t want to get involved with anyone”—she makes air quotes— “ever.”
I had said that, right after the first day I’d run into Avery. But I’m not sure I ever really meant it. It’s just something I said to protect myself from getting hurt. And what happened between us today, which wasn’t anything really—yet it was—was an accident. An enjoyable accident, but still an accident nonetheless.
“You were watching us?” I ask Nova suspiciously.
“Yeah, I worry about you, being alone so much and also because… Well, you’re heart’s more fragile than you want people to believe.” She looks more guilty than worried.
Nova has never said it, but I think she feels guilty for not being able to reciprocate my feelings when I told her I liked her as more than a friend. I think she blames herself for the fact that I’ve been off and on drugs ever since I declared my feelings and then kissed her, even though I was a druggie long before that happened. But that’s just Nova. She cares way more than anyone else I’ve ever met, which is part of the reason I fell for her.
“I’m fine with being alone,” I tell her, but it’s not completely true. I just live in denial to avoid the painful reality. “And trust me, my heart’s not fragile. At all.”
“Yeah….” Nova mulls over something while twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. “Avery does seem really nice and a lot like you in some ways, don’t you think?”
“No one’s like me, Nova.” I’m offended for Avery. The last thing she needs is to be compared to me. Some of the shit I’ve done… my sins…I’m not a good person and no one wants to be compared to that or really be with a person who has a f**ked-up past like mine.
“Tristan, you’re a good person.” Nova shields her eyes from the sun with her hand. “And you want to know what? From my observation, I think Avery likes you. I mean, you even said once that the night you two hung out was hard to forget.”
I shake my head, acting as if I don’t care as much as I really do, pretending the idea of being with Avery isn’t intriguing. Trying to ignore the need I feel deep inside me to spend hours with her. Ignoring the fact that earlier when I was showing her how to cut a board, I wanted to pull down her shirt just enough to finally see the rest of that tattoo of a tree that’s on her back and perhaps kiss the lines that form the soul-baring words.
“Hard to forget doesn’t mean it was a good night,” I reply dryly. “Just one that stuck with me.”
“So it wasn’t a good night?” She’s astounded, but Nova also doesn’t know the details of what happened with Conner and with the bag of crystal either.
“It both was and wasn’t.” Confusion masks her face, and I decide to tell her just enough that she’ll back off. “You do remember when the cops showed up, right?”
“Yeah. You guys said it was because a guy showed up that Avery had a restraining order for.”
“A guy that had a knife.”
Her eyes pop wide. “Tristan—”
“And Avery found drugs that I dropped,” I cut her off.
Nova’s so shocked she looks like she might start crying. I instantly feel like a dick for bringing her to that point just to avoid the truth—that even though I don’t like to admit it, that night was so much more than just a night.
“I didn’t do the drugs.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “See, this is why I can’t get serious with her or anyone. I’m a f**king ass**le, even to my friends.”
“You’re not a f**king ass**le.” She sucks back the tears. “And I’m glad you told me the truth. It shows you’ve grown.”
“Stop looking for the good in the bad I do. Everything I do is bad and if it appears like I’ve done something good, it’s probably for selfish reasons.”
She evaluates me closely. “Why didn’t you do the drugs that night?”
I shrug, trying not to shy away from her profound assessment of me. “I don’t know.”
“No, I think you do.” She slants back, giving me the room I badly seek. “But that’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Her insinuation that there is a deeper meaning to me not snorting the bag of crystal that night is bugging the shit out of me. Yeah, I didn’t do it that night, nor have I done it since, but still…
I’m an addict. Plain and simple.
And I’ll do it again because that’s who I am.
The only reason I’m not right now is because…. Well, I’m still trying to figure that out.
“So where are we going tonight?” I sidetrack the conversation.
Nova smiles, her sadness shifting to cheeriness. “It’s a surprise.”
I frown. “It’s not the Vibe, is it?”
She rapidly shakes her head. “Of course not.”
I recline against the side of the hotel and fold my arms. “You know you’ve never been a good liar.”
She fiddles with a bracelet on her wrist then shakes her head. “Please, pretty please, just go. If for nothing else, just to check on her and see if she’s okay. She seemed really stressed out today.”
“She’s not going to give up until you agree, man,” Quinton remarks as he exits the room. He’s changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He immediately lights up the moment he’s outside on the patio.
“It’s true,” Nova agrees with a nod.
I take out my cigarettes. “If I agree to go, you have to promise you won’t look too deeply into anything that happens.”
“But what do you think is going to happen?” she asks. “Clearly you want something to happen otherwise you wouldn’t have said that.”