Honey
Sadness gripped Honey like a cold fist. Leaving the hotel, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Grit, the father of her baby, had just banished her from his life for good, and the worst part was that she knew on some level that he was right.
I was stupid, she thought, driving home. Fucking stupid. I knew that Charlie giving away his product was the smoking gun that Grit needed, but I didn’t do anything about it. What did I think was going to happen, that I’d learn that Charlie hadn’t actually done anything? That Bethany was just making things up?
She shook her head in disbelief. On top of everything, Honey was furious with herself for not telling Grit the news that she’d called him to discuss—the baby. But she felt wrong about it somehow, as though bringing it up while Grit was scolding her for her stupid decisions would’ve been somehow manipulative. Or worse, that his mind wouldn’t have changed at all, that she would be gone from his life, baby or no baby.
Honey needed to talk to someone. Pulling out her phone, she fired off a text to Bethany. But there was no response. Honey decided to stop by a diner and have a cup of coffee while she thought everything over.
A half-hour later, the coffee in front of her and her heart feeling ripped in two, Honey realized that she was alone in the world, utterly alone.
Then, the phone buzzed on the cheap, white diner table. It was a text from Bethany.
Hey, girl. I’m with Charlie right now, and I’m honestly feeling like I just can’t keep my eyes open. He’s about to leave, but I think I’m just gonna have to go to bed. But I promise we’ll talk tomorrow.
It struck Honey as a little strange that Bethany would be spending time with Charlie, but she knew that Bethany and Charlie were often the last ones to leave Fantasies, and they’d usually head out for a late-night drink when they did.
Sure. Sleep well. Talk to you tomorrow.
Honey fired off the text and returned to her coffee. Resting her head on her chin, she looked around at the low-lifes around her at the diner, a mixture of druggies, punk kids, and thugs. She’d tried so hard to avoid living lives like them, always saving a little money when she could and doing her best to stay away from the drugs and seedy living that came with her line of work. But she knew that when the baby came, if she didn’t have any sort of support system, she’d be screwed. She imagined having to break her rule about sleeping with clients in the back room, spending her evenings screwing strange men for diaper money, no better than a common streetwalker.
Honey wanted to cry right then and there. Instead, she finished her coffee and headed home, where she fell into a restless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She woke up the next morning from strange dreams. During the night, Honey imagined walking through dark woods, leading a child by the hand. And though she couldn’t see through the shade of the trees, she could see and hear the movement of wild animals among the trunks. She remembered being gripped by an intense fear and a certainty that the animals were closing in by the second. And there was nothing she could do.
The first thing did when she sat up in bed was place her hand on her stomach. She still had trouble with the idea that she had a life growing inside of her, and the thought was enough to cause a small tremor of terror to grip her. Suddenly, her dream made much more sense.
Picking up her phone, she checked it, hoping for both a text from Grit and from Bethany. Instead, there was neither. Honey knew that it was silly to expect an uncompromising man like Grit to contact her and apologize, but she still held out hope. Bethany, on the other hand, would normally wake her up with a text asking to get breakfast, especially after a night when she’d had to take a raincheck on plans.
Honey needed to talk. She fired off a quick text to Bethany and decided to take a shower. Once she was done, she picked up her phone and saw that there was still nothing from her friend.
This is fucking weird, thought Honey. That girl’s phone is practically attached to her hand.
Honey pulled up Bethany’s number and gave her a call. It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail.
“Hey, girl,” said Honey, twirling her hair with her finger. “Um, just seeing if you’re still down to hang out and chat. Sorry to bother you, but I just had a really rough night last night. Call me when you get this. Bye.”
Honey hung up and realized that she’d never once had to leave a voicemail on Bethany’s phone. Bethany was usually so quick with the texts that even phone calls were never really needed.
Honey prepared herself a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, picking at the food and forcing it down. She wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but she knew that even something as simple as what she put into her body wasn’t her call anymore.
Now you’re eating for two, she thought, looking in the mirror across from her kitchen table and imagining what she’d look like with a full, pregnant belly.
When she was done, she cleaned up and checked her phone. Still nothing.
Okay, this is fucking strange, thought Honey. Is she with a dude or something? No, she said she was with Charlie, and unless those two are knocking boots, which I seriously doubt, then she probably went to sleep early.
Honey thought about how tired Bethany had sounded on the phone, and wondering if maybe she was just sleeping in. She came up with a handful of rational explanations for what was going on, but none of them sat right with her. Something was wrong.
Throwing on some simple clothes, Honey grabbed her keys and phone and headed out. She spent the drive over to Bethany’s doing her best to ignore the anxiety that was building in her stomach by the moment. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but something about this whole thing seemed off.
Once she arrived at Bethany’s place, Honey strode up to the front door and knocked. Moments passed, and there was no response. She knocked again, and just as before, nothing. Honey pulled out her phone and called, and again received no answer.
What the fuck is going on? thought Honey.
She looked around the porch for the fake rock where she knew Bethany kept a spare key. Opening the door, the smell of something vile, like old garbage, hit her right in the face.
“Whoa!” shouted Honey, waving her hand in front of her.
The first thing she noticed was just how dim the place was. The lights were all off, and the curtains were pulled shut. It was like walking into a cave.
“B?” called out Honey. “It’s me!”
Honey stepped into the living room, deftly moving through the garbage that Bethany still had yet to clean up. She walked over to the nearest curtains and pulled them open, casting light on the dingy living room. And as soon as she had a little light to work with, she spotted something on the coffee table.
There were two needles, two spoons, and a small amount of drugs.
Shit, shit, thought Honey. She was fucking using again.
“Bethany!” called out Honey, her heart now racing, a sense of dread taking hold of her. “Please! Where are you?”
Honey darted around the place, trying to find any sign of her friend. Finally, she came to the bedroom door, which was shut tight. Her stomach tightened into a hot ball as she placed her hand on the knob. She knew that whatever was on the other side wasn’t going to be good.
Taking one final breath, she opened the door.
The bedroom, like the rest of the house, was dark and devoid of light. But there was one difference: on the bed, sprawled out, her limbs limp, was Bethany.
Honey rushed over to her, checking her for any sign of life. Bethany’s eyes were open, her mouth was slack, and her skin was cool and clammy.
“Bethany!” cried Honey, trying to shake her friend to consciousness. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”
Hot tears formed in Honey’s eyes and her heart pounded as she looked over Bethany. All around her she saw the signs of what had likely happened—drugs. Honey pressed down on Bethany’s chest, doing her best to imitate the CPR she’d seen on TV. But to no avail. Bethany stayed as limp as she’d been when Honey entered.
She was gone. And all Honey could do was scream.