The Thousandth Floor
“There you are.” Mariel appeared at the top of the stairs. Snippets of the music drifted through the doorway with her. “I’m heading out, if you want to come.”
“I don’t want to leave yet.” Eris was still looking up at the stars.
“Really? You’re gonna take the monorail alone later tonight?” Mariel teased.
“Fine.” She heaved a dramatic sigh and turned around, stumbling a little.
“Hey there.” Mariel reached forward to steady Eris, who was swaying in her wedges. “Drinking yourself stupid won’t make it better. Trust me, I’ve tried,” she said, surprisingly earnest.
“Whatever.” Eris wasn’t really listening. She was studying the sooty thickness of Mariel’s lashes, the bright cherry red of her lips, the soft curve of her neck. She wanted to trace it, so she reached out and did just that. Mariel stood there, utterly motionless.
Eris leaned in to kiss her.
She tasted exactly like Eris had thought she would, like smoke and rum and waxy paintstick. Eris kept a hand lightly on Mariel’s neck, enjoying the feeling of her pulse skipping erratically, and reached the other around her head.
Mariel broke away and took a step back. “Eris! What are you—never mind. You’re drunk,” she said, stating the obvious. “You need to get home.”
“That’s right. Let’s go home.” Eris started to pull Mariel down the stairs, but Mariel dug her heels in.
“Eris—”
“Come on. I want to see all your inktats,” she teased mercilessly, though she wouldn’t have really cared if Mariel pushed her away; she was past caring about anything. Still, this was fun, the teasing and the flush on Mariel’s cheeks and the stolen kiss. Eris loved these games. She was good at them. Play to your strengths, her dad used to say. She’d always assumed he was talking about her beauty. Everyone knew that was her greatest strength.
No. She shouldn’t be thinking about her dad anymore.
“Well … okay,” Mariel said, and laughed. “Let’s go. You are my date, after all.”
Eris nodded, feeling reckless, not caring about anything but this moment.
* * *
Eris’s head was pounding. She started to reach for the sheets she’d kicked down near her feet—and froze, blinking into the unfamiliar darkness. The bright pink contacts-clock at the corner of her vision told her it was 4:09 a.m. Next to her was the sound of quiet, steady breathing.
Slowly, carefully, Eris turned. Mariel lay sprawled alongside her, her dark hair spilling out over the flat white pillow.
Shit, shit, shit.
Eris stayed utterly still, practically holding her breath, as she pieced together the events of the night before. She remembered taking all those shots of cheap liquor at the party … kissing Mariel on the roof … then heading out together into the warm summer night, to come back here, to Mariel’s room …
Mariel shifted in her sleep, and Eris’s heart lurched in sudden panic. She needed to leave. Moving as hurriedly as she dared, she slid out of the bed and hunted for her clothes, which were strewn all over the floor. Buttoning her jeans with one hand and holding her wedges in the other, she walked barefoot out of Mariel’s room.
Eris hesitated a moment in the hallway of their apartment, disoriented—she hadn’t been paying attention when they stumbled inside a few hours ago. But then she heard muffled footsteps and a low voice, and she jumped to action. She could not be confronted by Mariel’s parents right now. In a sheer panic, she grabbed what looked like the front door, and escaped into the cheap fluorescent lighting of Baneberry Lane.
Seconds later Eris had slunk the three doors back to her apartment and was safe in her room. She didn’t even bother changing into pajamas, just curled up in her bed and squeezed her eyes shut. God, she missed their old apartment. She missed her old bed, with its soft rounded edges and aromatherapy pillows and her expensive Dreamweaver.
Tonight had been a mistake. Eris blamed all the shots she’d taken, and her bizarre mood. Thank god she’d at least woken up when she did, and saved herself the awkward morning-after conversation. And thank god none of her friends knew what she’d done tonight.
So she’d hooked up with Mariel—oh god, what was her last name? Eris winced. Well, it didn’t count and didn’t matter, she thought as she drifted restlessly back to sleep. It would be like the whole thing had never happened at all.
AVERY
LATER THAT WEEK Avery stood in the middle of her closet, skirts and dresses and tops from last season strewn around her on the floor like piles of brightly colored leaves. “To Leda,” she muttered, composing a flicker on her contacts. “Designer Day cleanout! Come over?” She started to turn her head all the way to the right, the motion she’d programmed to send messages, only to change her mind, whipping her head back around to save it as a draft. She wasn’t actually sure she wanted one-on-one time with Leda right now.
Leda still hadn’t said anything about the growing distance between them. Avery knew she should try harder, but everything between them lately felt stiff and forced. She couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on with Leda and Atlas. Had they hung out again since the date she’d managed to sabotage? Had they kissed? Avery couldn’t ask either of them about it, so she kept torturing herself by imagining them together. It was a constant source of anguish.