Toxic (Better Than You) (7 page)

             
He picks me up gently, the softest he’s ever been with me, and carries me to the bathroom. After setting me on the edge of the tub, he roots around the cabinets for a while before running out of the bathroom. I can hear him opening and slamming cabinets and cursing up a storm. This side of him, frantic and caring, is something I’ve never seen and it makes me smile.
Maybe I’ve lost more blood then I thought
.

             
He’s back almost as soon as he’s disappeared and starts setting up a bunch of stuff on the bathroom counter. The he turns and squats in front of me, meeting my eyes. “This is going to hurt, Lo, but you can’t move. Okay?”

             
All I can do is stare and nod because this boy, this gentle, caring boy, has made me speechless. Appeased with my answer, he stands and grabs something off the counter before coming back to my side.

             
“Bite down on this,” he says and hands me a dish towel. I don’t even know where he got it from.

             
As soon as my teeth clamp down on the towel, he grabs my jaw with one firm hand and then I hear metal tinkling against glass and feel him dislodging the shard from my temple. Everything swims out of focus and the world goes black for a second, but then I hear Danny telling me that the worst part is over, and I’m really hoping it is because I’m done with life’s lemons.

             
He pours some vodka on the towel that was just in my mouth and starts to mop up the blood from my skin. As soon as it comes into contact with my open wound, I scream in pain because it feels like he just stuck a blowtorch to my flesh.

             
“I’m sorry, Lo. Almost done.”

             
And it’s true. Just three minutes later (I know because I was counting) he’s telling me he’s done and smoothing my hair away from my face. With his help, I stand and look in the mirror, surprised to see that the only blood on me is stuck to my shirt. My temple is an angry red and a little swollen, but nothing else looks different.
How did he get it to stop bleeding?
I wonder, and as if he can read my thoughts, he shrugs his shoulders and meets my eyes in the mirror. “Super glue,” he says, as if it happens every day.

             
I laugh, mostly to keep from crying, but also because I’m just so surprised that Danny took care of me like he did. He smiles widely at me, his shiny white teeth such a contrast to his dark skin, and I see how handsome he really is; another first.

             
“We need to get out of here,” I tell him.

             
“We do,” he agrees, then takes my hand and pulls me into my room. Moving quickly, he grabs a duffle bag from my closet, tosses it on the bed, and then points at it. “Grab some stuff.”

             
I fill it as much as I can with everything I know I’ll need if I’m staying away for a long time, which is what I plan on doing. Danny grabs it when I’m done, throws it over his shoulder and then reaches for my hand. Somehow I know that putting my hand in his will change everything, but I do it anyways because there’s no other choice. He’s all I have.

             
Mom is sitting on the couch when we walk past her, just watching us leave and never saying a word. I’ve never seen her look so sad and I start to wonder if maybe she’s sorry, start to hope that she’ll say something to keep me here. That she’ll change, get help, be a better mom. Visions of her getting a job, making dinner, cleaning, cloud my head but before I can get any farther with those thoughts, Danny pulls me out the door and to his truck. He helps me get in and hands me my bag before running around to his side and jumping in. As we pull out of the driveway and the down the street, I watch my side mirror the whole time. Mom never leaves the house.

             
Danny takes the road that leads us to his apartment, not to the school, and I’m back to the here and now, confused as hell. “Your graduation,” I whisper.

             
He glances at me then puts his eyes back on the road. “Fuck graduation.”

             
Without my permission, my heart swells with his words.

             
Danny’s brother Miguel pulls up to the apartment at the same time we do, angry and confused. “Where were you?”

             
Danny sighs then runs his hand over his face. “I had something to take care of.”

             
Miguel glances at me, at the blood on my shirt, then back at his brother. “Was it important enough to miss graduation for?”

             
“Yes,” Danny says coldly. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Danny speaks again. “She’s gunna be staying with us for a while.”

             
“What does her mom have to say about that?”

             
“Absolutely nothing.”

             
I really wish they’d stop talking like I’m not here, but I keep quiet and let them work it out, afraid that Miguel will say no and that I’ll have to go back home. Apparently staying with Danny is something that I want.

             
“Alright, but she chips in.”

             
And just like that, it’s settled and everything is alright. Danny marches us up to the apartment and into his room, closing the door behind us. As he walks over to his dresser and pulls out a shirt, I watch him with new eyes. Notice little things like how his shoulder muscles bunch or how he absent-mindedly runs his fingers through his short hair. I’m not afraid when he comes back to me and begins to undress me, taking extra care not to aggravate the gash on my head. When I’m standing there naked, he slips his shirt over my head and leads me to his bed.

             
Sitting on the edge, I watch as he undresses, reaching his hand into his pocket before throwing his jeans into the corner of the room. “Here” he says, placing a little blue pill in my hand. I swallow it without knowing what it is because right now, in this moment, I trust him. We lay back on the pillows together and he pulls me up against his body, back to chest. His breathing is rhythmic, lulling. It calms my heart and dulls my senses. Soon it feels like I’m floating, like my body isn’t my body and I’m detached from everything in the world.

             
“Sleep, Lo,” Danny whispers against my hair.

             
I listen, and I fall, into the bed, into Danny’s arms, into the darkness.

September 13
th
, 2007

             
It’s only been a few weeks since school started but I’m already failing half of my classes. I can’t stay focused long enough to get through chemistry or to read another old English poem. It’s not that there’s too much other stuff on my mind; it’s that it’s just barely there at all. I’m existing in a state of half-empty.  The pills numb me, take away who I was and who I am and who I’m supposed to be. The person everyone sees walking down the hall is a shell, lost inside herself, never to be found again. By the end of the day, the Vic has worn off but I don’t take more. Things are expected of me at Danny’s place and I need to be sober enough to do them.

             
Their fridge is always full, the water runs hot, the air conditioning cold. If I’m bored, I turn on the TV. When I have an assignment that needs researching, I turn on the computer. It’s a normal enough life, but every time I open the pantry and see food or turn the faucet and the water runs clear, I’m amazed. So I clean every day, I make dinner, I do laundry and I stay out of their way. Miguel doesn’t speak to me other than to say thank you when the table is set. Danny tolerates me long enough to get me into bed, and then he turns his back on me and falls asleep. It’s the same thing day in and day out.

             
Mom hasn’t called, hasn’t tried to see me, not once. I didn’t expect her to, not really, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting or reminding me how little she cares.

             
Dinner’s ready so I set the table and sit down, waiting for Miguel to come home and Danny to decide to come out of the room. He takes a couple of classes at the community college, but he spends most of his days sleeping off his late nights. I don’t know where he goes or what he does, just that he comes home way past midnight and smelling like every kind of alcohol there is. It hurts because it makes me feel like I’m not enough. I’ve never been enough. Not for Mom to change, for Melissa to stay, for Sam to push. Not for anyone to notice how wrong everything is.

             
By the time Danny lumbers out of the room, the ice in the glasses has melted and the food is cold. Miguel walks in just as Danny sits across from me, huffing and yanking off his tie like it personally offended him.

             
“God, what a day,” he says as he sinks into the chair at the head of the small table. “This looks great, Logan. Thank you.”

             
I know he’s lying though, because it looks far from great. The top layer of the mashed potatoes has hardened and the gravy is a lot darker than when I made it. The vegetables are soggy and the chicken looks greasy. It’s all wrong, and unlike his brother, Danny isn’t afraid to point that out.

             
He lets out a sarcastic snort and says, “If you didn’t start dinner so fucking early than it wouldn’t look like shit by the time we sit down.”

             
“Knock it off, Danny. It isn’t her fault you don’t know how to read the damn time.”

             
When Miguel sticks up for me, which is only on very rare occasions, things get really rough really quick. Danny doesn’t like to be told what to do and usually Miguel keeps his mouth shut. I don’t know why tonight is any different, but I look down at my hands and try to control the shaking. My head is pounding and their yelling is making it worse. I think I’m about to hyperventilate.

             
“She’s my fucking girlfriend! I’ll talk to her however the fuck I want!”

             
“She’s still a fucking human being, asshole. She’s not a piece of property!”

             
“Oh shut the fuck up, you self-righteous bastard.”

             
The chair falls over as I push it away. The screaming stops and they both watch as I run into the bathroom and slam the door. It takes me two tries to get it locked because I’m shaking so badly. It takes three tries to get the bottle open, and when the top finally comes loose, the little blue pills inside spill all over the bathroom counter.

             
“Shit,” I mutter, picking them up one by one and sticking them back inside. When there’s only two left, I pop them into my mouth and under my tongue. They dissolve, filling my mouth with their disgusting taste. But it doesn’t matter because soon enough I won’t taste anything at all. I sit on the closed toilet with my hands between my knees and wait for the blissful high to take over.

             
It’s always the same; it starts in my fingers and toes, then travels up my arms and legs until it feels like they’re not even there. Soon it’s in my stomach, numbing the hunger and the nausea. Then my heart, slowing its rapid pace. Then my head, obliterating any thoughts or worries. I feel light, inconsequential. As if I’m watching from a distance, I see myself get up and turn the faucet. My hands are under the water. It’s cascading over each finger, down my wrist, splashing on the counter. I can see it but I can’t feel it. I don’t know how long I stand there before there’s a knock on the door.

             
“Lo? You okay in there?”

             
It’s Miguel but I don’t answer because I’m completely engrossed with the water. It’s beautiful, pure, predictable. I wish the sink was bigger so that I could immerse myself in it.

The tub.

              The water sprays to life, turned on as hot as it can go. The tub starts to fill so I take off my clothes and sink into it. It creeps up my thighs, my torso, cups my breasts. I sink lower and it devours my shoulders, my neck, my head. It consumes me, cradles me, carries me. The burning in my lungs is only a distant feeling. Something tells me I should come up for a breath but I can’t feel my body enough to control it, can’t tell where I end and the water begins.

             
Just as I’m about to give up, to accept the fact that the water and I are one, I’m violently ripped away. Strong hands are pulling me out, wrapping me up, holding me. Rocking me. Soothing me.

             
“Jesus Christ, Lo. It’s okay. You’re gunna be okay.”

             
Miguel’s words barely register. It’s not okay. Nothing will ever be okay. All I know is that my body is refusing to stay awake.

             
“
How much did you take
?”

             
He’s shaking me, gripping my arms so tight that I actually feel it.
What did he just ask me?
His eyes look so much like Danny’s, but only the color. Dark, so dark that the irises and pupils blend together. But Miguel’s are softer, kinder. Maybe he could love me. I press my unfeeling lips against his, but he pushes me away.
He doesn’t want me.