Ballads of Suburbia (18 page)

Out of the blue, Cass said, “I love him.”

“What?” Maya asked groggily.

“Quentin. I love him.”

“You got an ecstasy contact buzz?” Maya teased.

I propped myself up on my elbow because I wanted to see what real love looked like. Quentin was asleep. He and Cass curled toward each other, feet touching, backs rounded. Cass's head pressed against Quentin's chest and his lips brushed the top of her head like he was kissing her. The outlines of their bodies almost formed a heart. It was beautiful. I ached to find something like that. Damned ecstasy.

“No, I'm still tripping, but I'm in one of those lulls where I'm lucid,” Cass explained. “Normally, I'd be looking for another hit right now. But I can't do that anymore.” Her voice cracked, throat coating with tears. “Because I love him and I don't want us to screw it up and we are. I've been on acid for months now and in the meantime he got hooked on something way worse. I have to help him.” She caressed his cheek gently, the way I wished someone would caress mine. Cass sighed, rolling onto her back and crying freely.

Maya sat up. “Cassie, are you okay?”

“I need Wes,” she choked. “I can't take care of everyone like he did.”

“Let's call Wes,” Maya urged, stroking Cass's arm.

I watched Cass nod slowly and then I whispered to Maya, “I'll go find Christian and Liam, let you guys call Wes alone.”

When I left the bedroom, Liam was nowhere to be seen, but Christian stood by the stairs, waiting for me. I tried to straighten the top of my dress without making too obvious an attempt to hide nonexistent cleavage from him. I felt like we'd been at a very bad prom and had no idea how to proceed.

Christian behaved just as awkwardly. He stammered, “What happened earlier…”

“The ecstasy,” I said quickly. “It's the drug.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed, but he stepped forward. “Sometimes a
drug like this brings out your true feelings, though.” He squeezed my hand.

I squeezed back. It felt good. Not the same kind of crazed hormonal good as the kissing, but comforting good. I hadn't felt comforted in years and I needed it. I'd needed it when Stacey abandoned me, when my dad left, to get over Adrian…

Behind Christian, Adrian emerged from a bedroom, his curls disheveled, shirt on inside out. The purple-haired girl trailed after him. She giggled, grasping playfully for his belt, trying to reel him back. Until he caught sight of me, Adrian was smiling, too.

I wanted to punch him, not to mention kick that stupid purple-haired bitch's ass, but I forced my focus to remain on Christian, on the positive energy that was pouring from his hand into mine and on his suddenly nervous face. He said, “Kara, if I asked you to go out with me again…”

I managed to meet Christian's gaze and look at Adrian out of the corner of my eye. “I would say yes.” Adrian stood right behind Christian as I repeated, louder, “Yes.”

Christian pulled me into an embrace. He sighed with satisfaction and so did I as I watched Adrian shove the purple-haired girl's hand away from his waist. He shook his head at me, stomping loudly down the stairs.

“What did you expect?” I called after him.

“What?” Christian asked, clueless about Adrian's presence.

“Don't worry about it,” I told him, snuggling closer to his chest, letting myself become absorbed in the glorious sensation of hugging. I lost myself in his arms for a long time, but then doubt pricked my brain. Had I said yes because this was what I wanted, because I yearned for the kind of love that I witnessed between Quentin and Cass? Or had I said yes to hurt Adrian? These worries seemed to literally scratch away inside my head and it made me squirmy.

Christian slid his hands down my shoulders. “Feeling okay?”

“It's been a weird night and I'm ready to get out of here. Why don't I find Liam? Then we'll see if Maya's ready to go.”

“Why don't we both find Liam?”

“No,” I said quickly. “You stay here so we can keep track of Maya.”

“Okay.” He kissed me. The gentle tease of his tongue against mine sent shivers down my back. I could find the love I was searching for with him. Definitely.

But for some reason, I went to find Adrian anyway.

I told myself I was looking for Liam, but I knew Liam would be out back, smoking pot with his skater buddies to chill after Cass's breakdown. Instead, I checked the front porch first-where Adrian always retreated when he wanted to be alone. And there he was, perched on the banister, huddled into his leather jacket, chain-smoking and flipping through his beloved notebook.

He was sulking and I felt smug. I'd had my revenge, now I could move on. Satisfied, I started to walk away, but Adrian's gruff voice stopped me.

“What are you doing with Christian, Kara?”

I turned around. Adrian's face was hidden by shadows, but his eyes glittered hard and judgmental. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, feeling overexposed by my silly Halloween costume. Then I remembered that he had no right to be critical. “What were you doing with what's-her-name with the purple hair? Oh yeah, the same thing you were doing with her when we were still…whatever.”

Adrian slid off the banister. I hated it, but my pulse quickened with each step he took toward me. He wore a remorseful expression. “You're right. I can't say anything. But don't hook up with him just to get back at me.”

“I'm not. I don't use people like you do.”

“I wasn't using you. You never said you wanted an exclusive thing. If you had…”

“What?” I raged. “I said I love you and you didn't respond. You took me home and went to a party and hooked up with someone else. What the hell was that?”

Adrian seemed momentarily stunned by my anger. Then he shrugged. The insolent shrug reserved for parents, teachers, and now me, the foolish girl who couldn't even technically call herself the ex-girlfriend. “I didn't know how to respond. You caught me off guard.”

“So you made out with someone else to figure things out?”

Adrian took a slow drag from his cigarette. “No, I snorted smack to figure it out. Viv was there and things happened. I screwed up. I have a tendency to do that.”

His nonchalance burned. A breeze swept across the porch and it didn't even chill me. The thing they don't tell you about ecstasy is that it doesn't just heighten the positive emotions. Anger, pure, venomous hatred, that gets magnified, too. Yelling at Adrian felt good. I realized that I never yelled, I cut and cried instead. When people hurt me, I hurt myself. Where was the logic in that? Especially when screaming clears your lungs, allows you to spit people's bile back at them. In that moment, screaming at Adrian felt better than kissing Christian had earlier. It felt better than kissing Adrian ever had. So I let Adrian have it.

“Well, I lied when I said I love you. You tricked me! You're incapable of love. All you do is hurt people! Like your supposed best friend, Quentin, who you got hooked on heroin. Did you know he nodded off and Cass thought he was dead and totally freaked out? Where were you? Screwing some slut? You don't deserve them and you don't deserve me either!”

A faint whoop trickled through the door behind me, and though it sounded too distant to be coming from someone who'd actually heard me, I took it as a sign of support. Even though Adrian towered over me by half a foot, I felt taller than him, especially as his gaze dropped to the scuffed toes of his boots.

Adrian exhaled cigarette smoke that floated past my ear. I tried not to think about how it had come from his mouth and how his lips had once felt grazing my earlobe. “You're right. You deserve the best. I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

That shattered whatever hold he still had over me. “Aw,” I mocked, “you don't? Well, it's a little too late for that, thanks to you.”

I stomped my combat boot down on top of his, which felt good, even though I'm sure it didn't hurt him. Not physically. But when I walked off into the house, into Christian's arms, I knew that I'd left Adrian as devastated as he'd once left me.

W
HEN
I'
D FOLLOWED
M
AYA INTO
S
COVILLE
Park in April, I wanted “a life” in the typical teenage sense, meaning people to socialize with. I thought there were certain things I was supposed to be doing at sixteen to make my youth worthwhile. So I did stupid shit like set fires, go to parties, get drunk and high, and make out with boys who were incapable of connecting on any emotional level.

I'd been doing that for almost seven months and then, the morning after Shelly's Halloween party, I awoke to the realization that it wasn't really working out for me. My make-out sessions hadn't stopped me from feeling lonely late at night. Drugs and alcohol hadn't curbed my desire to cut my skin. Having a ton of friends and acquaintances hadn't kept my family from falling apart. My “life” wasn't making me happy.

Shit, Maya had warned me that the comedown from ecstasy would be harsh, but I didn't think I'd wake up the next day feeling like life was devoid of all meaning.

To add to my insurmountable list of problems, there was Christian. Why had I agreed to go out with him? I did not do well with those who possessed the Y chromosome. I had daddy issues, a spotty track record as a big sister, and then…Adrian.

I groaned, jerked the covers over my head, and planned to
stay in bed for eternity. But the smell of pancakes eventually lured me out of my cocoon.

When I noticed that she'd already vacated the My Little Pony sleeping bag she'd crashed on, I figured Maya was responsible for the breakfast odor. After all, Mom was out at Sunday brunch, a new post-divorce tradition with the friends she'd paid too little attention to while married. Liam never rolled out of bed before noon on the weekend, not to mention he hardly knew how to make toast. But the cook turned out to be someone I hadn't considered.

Halfway down the stairs, I ran into Christian, who carried a steaming plate of pancakes. He was dressed in a ridiculously frilly apron of my mother's and, god knew where he found it, the goofy chef's hat Dad wore when he barbecued. Considering my raw, chemically induced emotional state, the sight of the hat nearly triggered a crying jag, but perched atop Christian's red tangle of hair, it was too cute.

“I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” he said, but then he gestured with a spatula for me to follow. “Come join the rest of the family.”

He led me to the kitchen. Dad would have freaked at the sight of it coated in flour, batter, and grease, but I thought it smelled good and felt warm, and it was filled with laughter like a kitchen should be. Liam and Maya sat beside each other at the table, giggling uncontrollably, obviously in the midst of a food fight. Liam had chocolate smudged on his face and Maya had powdered sugar in her hair.

Christian chided, “Can't leave you two alone for a minute. You're worse than my little sister.”

He set my plate down in the place across from Liam, but I stood there blinking at the three of them. “Did you guys, like, wake up and start drinking or something?” I glanced around for liquor, hoping they'd left some for me.

Maya rolled her eyes. “Naw, silly. It's too early for that. We're having good old-fashioned sober fun.”

“Cooking?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “I came downstairs and Christian had already started on the pancakes, so I joined in. We were both excited 'cause I live in a hotel and he lives in a bachelor pad, so we aren't used to a stocked kitchen. I found chocolate chips to make the pancakes tastier and your mom's aprons to make things more festive.” She gestured to Christian's frills and Liam's green apron, which proclaimed “Kiss the Cook.”

“They even dug out Dad's old hat, but when Christian wears it, he doesn't burn everything.” Liam smirked, mentioning my father without a trace of bitterness for the first time in forever.

Christian carried his own plate to the table and sat down across from Maya. I cocked my head in his direction. “You cook?”

“My stepmother taught me a thing or two. And like Maya said, I live in a bachelor pad, so I have to fend for myself.”

I studied Christian intently, ignoring the absurd apron and hat and trying to figure out who the hell he was. So many ingredients went into his personality. His usual cocky front that had sparked my early crush on him: the torn jeans, faded ironic T-shirts, and sheaf of messy red hair that hung in impish eyes. The defensive side that emerged when he felt like someone had betrayed his friends: the way he'd freaked out on Mary for insulting me and Maya. Then his softer side: he'd consoled my brother, a kid he hardly knew, during his worst moment; he regularly doted on his sister; and that morning, he'd transformed his little group of friends from broken homes into a family. Adrian had been mysterious, but Christian was complex and genuine. He was sensitive like me-the cocky front and defensive behavior, his way of protecting himself. Unlike with Adrian, I really understood where Christian was coming from.

Christian also had a sense of humor. He flicked a warm, gooey chocolate chip at my nose and asked, “Why don't you just sit down and try it?”

He indicated my food, but when I said “Okay, I will,” I meant I'd disregard my ecstasy comedown-fueled worries and try him, a real relationship, and a new life that might actually contain the substance I needed.

A
WEEK AFTER
H
ALLOWEEN,
C
HRISTIAN AND
I
were making out in his bedroom. He peeled off my cardigan right away. After ten more hot-and-heavy minutes, his hand roamed beneath the long-sleeved thermal I'd layered under my T-shirt. The idea of Christian seeing me in nothing but a bra was not nearly as intimidating as being forced to expose my left arm. I wanted to kiss, not discuss cutting.

I wrestled Christian off of me and sat up, hands poised at the bottom of my shirts, trying to indicate,
Okay, I'll take off mine while you take off yours.
I figured that while his shirt was over his face, I'd lean on my left arm to hide it. But Christian's eyes were on me, probably thinking I meant to do some sexy striptease. So I took the shirts off as fast as I could and flung my arms around him, hoping he wouldn't notice the scabs and scars.

“Whoa.” Christian grabbed my left wrist and held my arm out between us. My cheeks burned in humiliation, so I turned away, but his soft voice compelled me to glance back. “Why do you hurt yourself?”

I could actually see tears welling up in his eyes. This extremely sensitive reaction was not on the list of what I'd anticipated. I'd expected him to be uncomfortable and I'd be blasé and tell him to ignore it, which he eagerly would. Or maybe he'd
be judgmental and then I'd leave because obviously we weren't compatible. And, of course, deep down, I hoped he did it, too, and we'd share a mutual understanding like Adrian and I had.

I glanced down at the little red lines in various stages of healing and stammered, “I don't know. I just do it when things upset me. My family. School. Life.” I cradled my naked arm against my chest.

Christian reached for it again, but stopped himself, fingers dangling in midair. “Why don't you talk to someone about what upsets you instead?”

My laugh sounded jagged and brittle as my scabs looked. “Who wants to listen to my petty problems? Everyone has them. I don't want to be the one who whines and complains.”

“Maybe everyone would have fewer problems if they talked about them.” Christian forced me to meet his eyes. His fingers stretched toward my wrist, gently caressing the unmarred skin near my hand. “Please call me before you cut. I'll listen.”

I'll listen.
Those two simple words spoken with sincerity summed up what I'd been seeking at Scoville Park. If I had someone who would listen and understand, I wouldn't have to cut. I mean, I never had to before Stacey bailed on me, right?

And for the next couple weeks, I didn't cut. Then again, I didn't have the urge.