“An old roommate.” Truth with the omittance of exactly who he was.
Dana had bouncing red curls falling all over her head as if she’d been in a wind storm, and she dressed rather . . . provocative, especially compared to me. Even at the beginning of October, it was still warm and I wore long sleeve shirts. I had no intention of being asked questions about the words burned into my wrist.
She shrugged it off. And I think that was why I was okay with Dana. She was laid back and calm, and didn’t pry into my past. Of course, she asked the usual questions: where I was from, what schools I went to. None of which I answered and she didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t, merely proceeded to tell me about herself.
She lived with her dad and older brother on the outskirts of the city. Her dad was a mechanic and had his own shop, and her brother was currently helping out. She never mentioned her mom and I didn’t ask.
“My place or yours? Just saying, my place sucks. Dad. Older brother. You know, annoying as hell.”
I didn’t know. I’d never had a dad, neither Lenny nor Olaf could ever be classified as a dad, even a bad dad. I had no idea who my father was, didn’t care, and I suspected my druggie mom didn’t know either.
My brother I’d never consider annoying. I loved him more than anyone; he was part of me, the good part. We may have been separated, but there wasn’t a day that I wasn’t reminded of him. Sometimes, those reminders were cruel because I missed him, but I locked my feelings for him in the compartments of my mind. But seeing him again unlocked the compartments along with other parts of me.
A girl nudged by me, giving me a dirty look beneath the rim of her glasses as she went into class. I met her glare, unflinching, and she was first to look away. I hitched my slipping book bag up on my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Dana rolled her eyes and her long lashes, accentuated by heavy mascara, touched the light pink eye shadow below her brows. “The party?”
I was hoping she’d forget about that. But I knew better. Dana was the opposite of me in that she loved to socialize. She was also a few years younger than me since I had started university so late.
“You promised.” She lowered her voice as she leaned toward me. “Dillon will be there.” And Dana liked Dillon—a lot.
Dana bounced on the tips of her toes as she grinned at me. I’d avoided three parties so far and finally said yes when Dana begged about this one, insisting it was mostly friends of hers from her old school and the lacrosse team. The lacrosse team weren’t like the football team and appeared sort-a-kind-a okay. But what won my yes to the party was the fact that appearing social and having friends was normal and I was trying my best to get that, despite the gun lying at the bottom of my bag right now.
“So, your place to get ready?”
“Okay,” I said. At least no one would be there as Ream wasn’t back yet and Crisis and Kite had bought a new place.
“Great,” Dana shouted then flung her arms around me.
I stilled. The immediate reaction to her touch pushed the trained response in me and my body tightened up like a spring, hands curling into fists.
She must have felt my tension because she lowered her arms and backed off. There was only a flicker of question in her eyes before it vanished and she smiled. “Okay, and I’m bringing something for you to wear because you aren’t going like that.”
I looked down at my black jeans and my long sleeve baggy shirt. There was nothing sexy about my clothing and I liked it that way.
Dana spun on her heel calling over her shoulder, “See ya at seven.”
I watched her flounce down the hall and then I slipped inside the large auditorium where Professor Neale cleaned the chalkboard from the previous lecture. I heard my phone vibrate against something hard in my bag.
I walked up the steps to my usual seat at the back right then unpacked my writing book and saw the bright glare of words on the screen of my phone in the bottom of my bag. I took it out and glanced at it.
You reading this?
That was all he said. I went to put my phone away when it vibrated again.
Do you realize that reading my texts and not responding is considered bad etiquette?
I sighed. I was pretty sure if he texted one of those girls in the cafeteria, she’d have texted back within milliseconds.
I’m ego-dented. You realize that, right?
I huffed and felt the corners of my mouth curve up. I dropped my phone into my bag hearing it vibrate again, but I ignored it as Professor Neale wrote on the chalkboard in big capital letters Heads-Up.
A Heads-up was where we wrote non-stop for an allotted amount of time. Our pens had to remain moving no matter what, even if we had to write ‘I can’t think of anything to write’ over and over again.
I hated it at first and that is exactly what I wrote over a hundred times the first day. The second time, I wrote that only fifty times then my mind got sick of it and I started writing about Urma’s shed.
I don’t know where the memory came from because I’d been high most of the time. Ream and I huddled in the corner of the shed, between the rake and the snow shovel. He’d found an old smelly brown blanket with oil stains all over it, which he tucked around me. I tried to share it with him, but he always insisted he wasn’t cold.
I closed my eyes. God, I failed him time and again. I’d been so broken and weak and scared, spiralling out of control into the escape of the drugs, needing anything to make the pain disappear. And Ream . . . Ream never gave up on me. He kept trying and I kept screwing up until Olaf finally found me in the hospital after one of my overdoses and took me away.