Life of the Party (62 page)

I ripped my arm
from her grasp.

“Mackenzie!
Mackenzie! Where are you going? Come back!”

But I was
already gone, running down the hallway, searching for the exit. I’d
go and find Grey before he got away. Then, together, we’d take the
money and go live on an island somewhere, away from all of this.
We’d sit on a porch swing at sunset and laugh about how we overcame
all the odds, how we’d finally made it, despite everything.

I burst through
the front doors and into the staggering cold. Yes, we’d definitely
have to find an island somewhere. I hated winter. Grenada,
maybe—I’d heard great things about Grenada. I searched frantically
for my car; I couldn’t really remember driving it, I couldn’t
remember following the ambulance to the hospital. The red lights
had been blinding, the sirens ear splitting.

But the lot was
small, so it didn’t take long before I was in the driver’s seat,
starting the engine. I just had to make it home. Then I’d be able
to forget everything. As my car wheezed slowly down the street, I
dreamed of the beach. I dreamed of grass and sunshine and an
eternity of summer. I thought of waves pounding on the shore, the
wet sand between my toes, the far off call of the gulls. I kept
this vision in my head until I pulled up before the house. I ran
inside, out of the cold, towards the only possible thing that would
give me any measure of comfort.

“Mackenzie!”
Alex stopped me. His face was ashen with worry. “How is he?”

I shook my head
and ran down the hall to my bedroom. They want us to believe he’s
dead, Alex. But we’ll show them. Don’t worry. We’ll show them.

I grabbed the
needle that I had pried from Grey’s fingers only hours ago. My
hands were shaking as I cooked up the batch, a little stronger than
usual. I knew I would need it. I always hated it when Grey was
gone.

The needle hit
my vein with the telltale sign of spurting blood, and then I
slammed the drugs into myself. They nearly knocked me down, they
were so potent. But it was nice. I could breathe again. The horror
that had gripped my heart all night finally eased. I lay back
against the bed and shut my eyes.

Don’t worry
Grey. I just needed one more shot. We’re still going to get clean.
We’re still going to start our new life. Don’t worry. I just needed
one more shot ….

When I woke up,
or rather “came too,” my first thought was of happy endings. I had
to conjure the thought quickly before anything else could get in,
before the pressing, nagging feeling rimmed in dread could break
through my denial and reveal itself. I focused intently as I
quickly mixed the heroin in my spoon. I thought of Cinderella and
Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and all those other bitches who were
rescued by their prince and got their happy endings. I was
determined to get mine.

I shot up
quickly, my eyes rolling back into my head with a pure spasm of
pleasure. I let out a shaky breath and slowly pulled the needle
from my arm. That was the thing about heroin, the thing I loved.
Instant gratification. One second you’re losing it, and the next
you’re better than you’ve ever been in your whole life. Like each
syringe contained it’s very own special, happy ending. A weak smile
lifted my lips. And she lived happily ever after ….

When the
intensity faded, when I was able to think more coherently, I
realized that I was missing one vital portion to my happy ending.
The Prince. He had yet to come back. But he was going to come back
for me, of that I was certain. And when he did, I was going to be
pretty for him. I was going to look like a Princess. Shakily, I got
to my feet, buoyed by the idea. It would give me something to do
while I waited; it would help me pass the time until Grey came
back. And I wanted to look good for him. I wanted him to see that I
was healthy again—pretty—so he wouldn’t have to worry about me
anymore.

It was quiet as
I stepped a hesitant foot out of my bedroom. It didn’t sound like
anyone was home. Relieved, I tiptoed down the hallway and into the
bathroom. I hadn’t really done my make-up in so long, I wondered if
I’d still be able to do it. But it was like riding a bike, right?
Bike … mmm. It’d been so long since Grey and I had ridden on his
bike. As soon as it was warm enough, I’d make him take me. Maybe he
could teach me how to drive it ….

Was I being
crazy? I stared into the mirror a moment—at my wide, bloodshot
eyes, the purple shadows beneath them, the messy, stringy hair
about my face. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about the
funny old lady from
Ace Ventura
, the one who’s like, “when
Ray gets back and starts kicking again …,” totally delusional. And
then when the husband’s talking about her, he says, “See, the
engine’s running, but nobody’s behind the wheel.”

That was such a
funny movie. Grey and I would have to watch it when he got back.
“Nobody’s behind the wheel.” I shook my head in amusement and
grabbed my make-up kit from the counter. What a funny thing to
say.

I pulled my
hair up, piling it on top of my head. It felt like straw in my
fingers, the dark strands were dry and lifeless. Then I started on
my eyes, drawing dark, thick black lines around them. I layered
copious amounts of grey eye shadow overtop the liner and then
coated my eyelashes with mascara. After this came blush, and I
swept the dark peach powder over my cheekbones with a flourish.
Remembering how pretty Courtney looked with her deep red lips, I
pulled out a lipstick in a similar color and filled in my mouth,
lining the rim of my lips and painting the rest until they shone
like blood.

I stood back
and looked at my reflection. I looked like a clown. I stared at
myself a moment, taking in the garish, disturbing image reflected
back in the mirror. The sight made me laugh; I didn’t know what
else to do. I pointed at myself and cackled, and in a brief,
fleeting second of clarity, realized I was acting like a
lunatic.

“Mackenzie?
What are you doing?”

Alex’s sudden
appearance made me jump. I held a hand to my chest and willed my
heart to slow down.

“Oh, Alex. You
scared me.” I laughed.

He cleared his
throat, his light eyes wide, and damp. He looked sad.

“You okay
Mac?”

“Yeah.” I
nodded casually. “You?”

“No. No, I’m
not okay.” Alex’s voice was hoarse. “What are you doing?”

“Making myself
pretty.” I shrugged, fluffing my hair in the mirror. “For when Grey
comes back. I want to look good for him.”

Alex’s chin
quivered, only slightly. He took a breath before he spoke, and when
he did, his words were a whisper. “But Mackenzie, Grey’s not coming
back.”

I shook my
head, adamantly refusing the possibility. “He
is
coming
back, Alex.” I insisted. I didn’t feel like explaining the whole
situation to him, how my parents were trying to keep us apart. He’d
probably think I was crazy. But I’d show him, we both would.
Nothing could keep us apart. Nothing.

Alex swallowed
heavily, his eyes falling to the floor, like he couldn’t bear to
look at me anymore.

It hit me
sometime in the night. I rolled over in bed and reached out for
Grey—a familiar motion, something I’d done a million times before.
But this time, he wasn’t there.

He’s not
there
. I bolted upright in bed. Finally, the thoughts emerged;
the horrendous, gut wrenching truth I’d been so fervently denying
came screaming into the light.
He’s not there! He’s not there
because he’s dead! He’s gone! Grey’s gone!

No. No. It
couldn’t be true. Desperately, I clung to my delusion like a branch
hanging over a waterfall, the one lifeline that could keep me from
the horrible, drowning pain that threatened to engulf me. Grey was
coming for me. He was. He had to be ….

But the truth
would not be quieted, not now that it was out. It hit me like a
kick in the guts, doubling me over, making me clutch my chest in
pain as a long, shuddering, soundless sob tore through my body.
Grey was gone. He was gone. Forever. He’d never be back. He was
never coming for me. He had left me all alone. Forever. He was
never coming back ….

I had never
known the echoing emptiness of total loss before. It tore through
me now in a heart-sickening wave. I fell from the bed and hit the
floor, crawling, trying to catch my breath. Grey was all around me,
but he was gone. Our room seemed too still without him there, like
it was holding its breath—expectant—waiting for Grey to come
sauntering through the door with his gorgeous face smirking, his
blue eyes gleaming. His amps were lined up against the wall, the
pages of his lyrics piled on the desk, his scent clinging to his
pillow, his guitar in its stand beside the bed. His clothes hung
neatly on their hangers, clinging to the closet rod as if in fear
of my chaotic, haphazard piles of laundry.

I took all this
in, my eyes wild, my mind reeling. How could everybody say that
death was natural? How was it natural for someone to be here one
moment and then be gone the next? Forever? In the deepest pit of my
heart I missed him. It had only been a matter of hours—maybe a day
since I had last seen him, touched him, kissed him. Knowing I’d
never be able to do so again, that he’d never smirk at me again,
that he’d never whisper in my ear or sing to me with his beautiful
voice, ever again … it was too much to bear.

Sobs ravaged
through me, quiet sobs that shook my entire body, coming from
somewhere deep inside, rattling my core with agony and torment. I
grabbed the closest thing I could find, some remnant of Grey,
anything he had once touched with his warm, strong hands. I cuddled
myself around his amplifier. This was all that I had left, his
things. Never him. Ever again.

I couldn’t take
it. My mind was too fragile, too weak to cope with the depth of
such sorrow. I felt it tearing my soul apart, threatening to break
me. It was unbearable, it was excruciating. There was only one
thing that would help me escape, one thing that would enable me to
survive such anguish. With tears flooding my eyes, gasping, I
reached for my supplies.

Things were
much better after. I found I could breathe again when I wasn’t
being crushed with the weight of total despair. I curled up in a
ball on the bed, wrapping my arms around my legs, and buried my
face into Grey’s pillow. It smelt like him, like the delicious,
masculine scent of his cologne.

I lay
emotionless, slack with relief, blinking slowly, staring at
nothing.

At some point,
Charlie came. I honestly had no idea how much time had lapsed since
Grey’s death. It could have been hours, it could have been days.
But it felt like eternity. I hadn’t moved much, maintaining a near
zombie-like existence on our bed, clutching Grey’s pillow to my
breast. As soon as I came down enough for the thoughts to permeate
the velvet veil of self-medicated fog, I’d shoot up again. This was
how Charlie found me, in a state somewhere between living and
dying. Numb.

It was dim in
the room, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t imagine what I
looked like, especially now with the bright, clown like make-up
smeared all over my face; the black trails of mascara that surely
stained my cheeks. But Charlie didn’t say anything about it. She
just climbed into the bed behind and wrapped her arms around
me.

“I’m so sorry
sweetie. I’m so sorry …,” she crooned, like I was a little child,
smoothing my hair back from my brow. I couldn’t respond; I didn’t
have anything to say. I just blinked and continued existing.

When I next
woke up Charlie was still there. She was sitting at the end of the
bed now, my feet tucked in her lap. Zack was with her, sitting in
the chair beside, his head bowed in his hands. They were talking in
low, hushed voices. I didn’t want to disturb them, but I needed to
shoot up again. I propped myself up on an elbow and went about my
business. The talking stopped, and I could feel them both staring
at me.

“Mac?” Charlie
had tears in her throat, I could hear them. “You okay?”

I gave her a
sidelong glance and shook my head once, curtly. No.

“Do you want to
talk?” she encouraged.

I shook my head
again. No.

“I’m sorry
Mackenzie.” Now it was Zack’s turn. “I’m so sorry …. If I’d known …
I could’ve …. If I only would have checked on him, once ….”

I shrugged.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I choked them back. I didn’t want to
think about it, I didn’t want to dwell. I shook my head, fighting
for control, just long enough to feel the needle slice into my
skin. I pushed down the plunger and collapsed back onto the bed,
relieved.

More time
passed in much the same way. Sometimes I slept, sometimes I dreamt,
sometimes I just lay there, staring at nothing. The light streaming
through the open window would fade and I’d know another day had
passed. This was my life now, the only way I could possibly live
without Grey. It was bleak, it was grim. But it was better than the
alternative.

There was talk
of a Wake, but I refused to go. I didn’t want to see Grey that
way—pudgy from the embalming fluid, swollen in death. I didn’t want
to remember him as anything but totally alive. He was beautiful in
life. He was so beautiful to me ….

Why!
Through the haze, I suddenly pounded the pillow with my fist,
overcome with emotion.
Why! Why did he have to die? He was
always so careful. How could he have overdosed?

Tears pushed
through. I let them come, now, when I was all alone, when no one
else could see.
Grey; please … please don’t be dead. Please,
come back to me ….