I haven’t bought a pack of cigarettes since Eliza and I last smoked. Smoking is utterly disgusting. It’s mental, but I still smell her, still taste her, and can’t quit thinking about her. I have been in a perpetual state of panic since I left her house. Being away from her, it feels wrong, but I know it is for the best. Too much has happened between us to forget. Too much has happened for things to ever be normal.
I check Facebook, and see a message request from...
Jared?
Isn’t that—
I accept the request, and open the message.
This is Emily’s friend, Jared. I’m really worried about her. She’s in a bad place. Please check on her. I would do it, but she hates me now. It has to be you...
Another...
If I don’t hear from you in thirty minutes, I’ll have to send the police to check on her. She isn’t answering my texts or calls. I’m honestly afraid she might kill herself, but I think I would send her over the edge if I showed up myself.
My heart speeds up, and I drop my cigarette. I check the time on his message—seventeen minutes ago. I message him back, and say I’m on my way to her house, and I’ll get back to him. I don’t ask questions, I don’t take time to mull over why he would be contacting me.
I don’t waste time. I don’t lock my house. I just grab my keys and go, speeding all the way until I skid into her driveway.
I race up her steps, and knock. It goes unanswered, but her car is in the driveway. I call her name a few times, but I detect no movement in the house indicating she is coming to answer.
“Emily! Just let me know you’re okay, all right?”
Nothing.
Finally, a bark from the backyard. I walk around the side. Lucy greets me at the gate, pawing at it, scratching to get out. I reach through the slats and pet her on top of the head.
“Hey, girl … hey, girl.” It occurs to me how weird it is that she would be outside at night. She barks at me, her barking growing louder, more vicious as I ask her what’s wrong.
“It’s just me, girl. You know me.”
Her barking continues as I search for the latch on the gate door and open it. Lucy rushes out, stands on her hind legs and paws at me, then runs across the yard.
My eyes fall on the lifeless body in the grass—on the muddy clothing, closed eyes. I run to her.
Oh my God, he was right. Oh my God, please don’t be dead.
I shake her. “Emily!”
I shout her name, but she doesn’t move. I check her for a pulse, feeling a wave of adrenaline as I find it. It is faint, but it is there. Thank God. Thank fucking God. I run to the hose, and turn it on, then spray her all over her body, attempting to rouse her further.
In a choking gasp, she is jolted awake, her frantic eyes finding me, sputtering for breath. I drop the hose, then rush to her side. My clothes get soaked when I pull her close to me.
“Oh my God. Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”
She pulls back from me, and I wipe the wet hair from her face. “What … what happened?”
“I don’t know. You don’t remember?”
She shakes her head, clutching me with her tiny, wet body as she shivers all over.
“I found you out here. I thought you were—do you remember how you got here?”
Her hand rises to her forehead, a gesture of pain. “No, but I … I must have passed out.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get you inside, okay?”
I take her into my arms, and carry her through the back door, which was thankfully unlocked. I set her on the toilet, and start the shower for her.
“You didn’t take anything, did you? No pills or anything?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I search the house, especially the kitchen and bedroom, looking for any narcotics she could have injected—anything she could have taken. I don’t find anything, so I go back to the bathroom, and help her peel off her clothes, then set her into the bottom of the shower. She is breathtaking—even as much of a mess as she is—and I feel guilty, but our time at the beach flashes through my mind.
She is weak, and struggles to moves, so I wash her hair, help scrub the dirt from her skin. Once she is clean, I shut off the water and get her a towel. Carefully, I find her some pajamas and help her dress.
I get her to the bed, and lay her down, then text Jared to let him know she is okay. I tell him I will hit him up tomorrow so we can talk about it.
He isn’t a bad guy, I think. Maybe I misjudged him.
I tuck the blanket around Emily’s shoulders. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here—on the couch.”
She nods weakly at me and smiles before instantly falling asleep.
The chirping birds wake me up. I roll off her couch, and creep to her bedroom to check on her. She is gone, but Lucy is in her bed. Briefly, I panic, wondering if she has left, but then I hear the toilet flush.
She comes out of the bathroom in shorts and a tank top, a cautious look on her face.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay other than the headache, I guess.”
My arms cross against my chest, aware of the awkwardness that now hangs between us. “That’s good.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but … why did you come? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, honestly.”
“Jared messaged me on Facebook, and told me to check on you.”
“Jared?” His name is whispered from her lips.
“Yeah. Apparently, you two had some sort of argument last night. You don’t remember?”
“No.” Her head turns toward her shoulder as her eyes appear to search for answers. “What would I fight with him about? We never fight.”
I press my lips together. “You know as much as I do. Maybe you got blackout drunk, and that’s why you forgot? Or maybe you hit your head...”
Her shoulders lift. “I have no idea. I’ll call him and find out.” Her eyes scan the room, lifting blankets and moving pillows, searching for the phone. She’s going to exhaust herself with all the moving around she is doing being as weak as she is.
“Hey, it can wait. I told him you were okay, so let me take you to get some food so you can get some strength. If you want, you can call him from mine after you eat something.”
I can tell she isn’t thrilled with the plan, but she nods and agrees. I ask her where she would like to go, and she says I can choose, so I opt for what I know she likes. We walk in The Flying Biscuit, a location that is closer to her house, and I snag us a booth in the back.
Immediately, the waitress approaches the table and asks what drinks we would like. “Waters—with lemon, right?” I ask Emily. She nods. “Yeah, so waters with lemon, and let me also get a veggie omelet for her, and nothing for me.”
I fold the menu, and hand it to the waitress, her curly hair falling from her bun.
“You remembered what I like to eat?” Emily smiles at me from across the table.
I smile back, tilt my head to the side. “I have a good memory.”
“Thank you for checking on me. It means a lot.”
I want to ask her about the book—get answers as to why she was using it. But now is not the time. I won’t press her until it has been a couple weeks, until she is better. Honestly, I am not sure any answer she could give me would change anything, but I am willing to let her explain.
“You’re welcome. It’s—” A text sounds from my pocket, interrupting my thought. I pull out my phone, and my breath hitches at what I see. The number isn’t in my contacts anymore, but I know that number.
Your new gf is fucking crazy, just FYI. She just keeps on ruining lives. Guess you’re her next victim. Call me ASAP.
What the fuck? I think. I am confused, but I decide to deal with this later. I really don’t want to create any unnecessary drama, and Eliza lives on that stuff. An uneasy feeling washes over me, but there are a million ways Eliza could have found out about Emily and me, and her text is probably part of some scheme to come between us.
Eh … maybe I won’t call her.
“Here you go,” the waitress says.
She places Emily’s omelet in front of her after setting down the waters. Emily sucks her glass down, so I push mine to her, as well. I wish she would be just as greedy with the food, but she only takes a few bites.
When the check is brought, I fill in the tip and drop the pen on the table.
“Gonna use the bathroom. You need to go?”
She shakes her head, and slurps the remaining water in the glass I gave her. “No, I’m good.”
After I take a piss, I look at my phone again, and re-read Eliza’s text. So weird, I think.
I wash my hands and push open the bathroom door, my shoes squeaking against the tiles. Emily is sitting at the table still, thank God, and has a smile on her face. Good to see her smiling, at least.
“You ready to go?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
Carefully, she sweeps the waitress’s pen across a napkin before dropping it. She pushes up from the table, and grabs her purse. I pick up one of the cups and dump some ice into my mouth. My eyes flit to the napkin, and my head juts back, my pulse thudding in my veins.
I gesture toward it. “Where’d you learn to draw like that?”
She shrugs, her eyebrows raising. “I don’t know.”
My head cocks, my eyes squinting at her. “You’re not friends with someone named Ivy, are you?”
Slowly, she shakes her head, her eyes moving back and forth as she tries to place the name. “No.”
I lean across the table and pick up the napkin, swallowing as I take in the ornate sketch. “Do you have a thing for pandas or something?”
The waitress grabs a plate from the table as she answers, “Not really. I mean, they’re cute. Just drew one.” She shrugs.
“Huh...”
“What?”
I shake my head, and put the sketch back on the table. “Nothing, just … never mind. You’re talented.”
A small smile appears on her face. “Thank you.”
I place a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest.”
Disappointment flashes through her eyes, followed by a somber nod, before she spins on her heel and heads to the door. I hesitate, my feet not moving, my head stuck on the drawing. I don’t know why I feel compelled to do it, but I snatch it from the table, fold it, and put it in my pocket.