Thankfully, after the two (dragging, friendless) summer months we've already had in this town, I can drive home without thinking about where our house is in this suburban maze that's still new to me. I have a sigh of relief when we finally make it to the two-story sandstone, with its clipped lawn, and manicured trees.
Normally I sneer whenever I get here. It isn't us. Well, it isn't me, anyway. Amy loves it, of course. And my parents seem cautiously hopeful. That's another reason I try not to resent the move. I think things will be better here.
But today I can't think about anything beyond getting to my room for some solitude.
I park in the driveway and shove out of the car, ignoring Amy—who's still talking—because there's a coppery tang on the back of my tongue I'm desperate to escape. I haven't been hit with the hunger this hard in months, and thinking about the dazed look on that girl Brittany's face is just making it worse.
I can handle it.
I'm preoccupied enough that I don't immediately notice the hush around our home. It isn't until I grab my bag from the back seat and start up the path to the front door that I hear the yelling.
My stomach sinks.
Their voices are muffled, but discernable. Which means inside will be hell.
" . . . did not come to this place to have you disappear every three days!" Dad shouts.
Amy stops dead in the middle of the walk.
"I have no control over what my job requires!" Mom shrieks. "This was the only part-time option, so you can't—"
For one second, I almost give in.
Turn. Leave. Drive. Find Aiden. Get pills. Escape.
I jerk to a halt on the walk. It isn't until Amy turns to look at me and I realize she's not talking anymore and her eyes have gotten big, that I swallow and take another, very heavy step forward.
"C'mon," I say low so only she'll hear as I take her by the elbow and urge her forward. "We'll go to our rooms and leave them to it."
She sighs and her shoulders slump. But she follows me anyway. "Why do they do this?" she whispers as we reach the door.
I wish I knew. They promised it wouldn't be this way if we moved, if I stayed off drugs, if they had less stress, if there was more money . . .
Guess they lied. Again.
I swing inside, tensing as their voices rush to full volume.
" . . . can't believe you'd even imply that!"
"Why? You're clearly enjoying jetting around with Gerry—"
Mom and Dad cut off at the sound of the door. They're in the living room, visible to the entry via a double-width, rounded doorway. As I usher Amy in, both of them whip around. Dad grimaces, but Mom folds her arms. Her chin goes up.
For a moment, I see them as other people must: Not as parents, but as people. I have to admit, Mom's striking, especially now that she's had her dark hair streaked with copper highlights. The business suit she wears for the events she manages flatters her figure, too.
Dad works from home half the time, so he's usually in a wrinkled button down and jeans.
Taking advantage of their all-too-temporary silence, I throw the door shut and shoo Amy up the stairs to our rooms. Following slowly, it's hard to keep myself in check. Turns out it's pointless to try. Everything I'm feeling—contempt, anger, pleading—must show on my face.
"Don't you look at us like that, young lady!" Mom snaps. "You have no idea what we're going through—"
"Actually, I do. The whole street does at this point."
"Kate," Dad cuts me a warning glance.
"What?"
"I'm sorry if we embarrassed you. We'll try to do better," he says, raising a hand to stall Mom when she opens her mouth. "But you can't speak to us that way."
I roll my eyes and turn for the stairs.
"Kate, we haven't finished talking to you."
I stomp up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.
So much for coming home for some peace. So much for things being better here. I knew it was pointless. I suddenly wish I'd taken my old counsellor up on those guided meditation lessons. Something to help me drown out the urge to get so high I won't float down to earth for days.
My skin prickles in time with my racing heart.
Thumps sound from Amy's room and for a second I consider going to her. But I'm too tired by this day, my limbs weak and shaky.
I throw myself onto my bed and put my arms over my face. Even if there's more money, there's nothing fun in this place. And even if things were bad back home, at least I had people. Friends. A life.
Digging under my pillow, I find my earbuds, put them in and plug them into my phone so I won't hear the inevitable escalation of Mom and Dad's unfinished fight.
I close my eyes, breathe in time with the heavy beats, soothe the beast inside fighting to get out and send me down the drug-induced rabbit hole. But instead of clearing my mind, the jagged guitar riffs and soaring melodies call to mind Aiden's piercing gaze, and the edge in his voice as he told me, Careful, now.
I shiver, shove my hands under my head and try to loosen all my muscles, breathe the way that counsellor taught me.
Inhale light for four seconds.
Exhale dark for five.
Relax.
Aiden's angular face appears in my head, his smile flashing. I insist to my traitorous minds that he's dangerous to me. To anyone. But the image of his face refuses to leave.
What is wrong with me? Some guy shows up promising nothing but trouble and I want him like water in the desert?
Then I remember, even if I'm good, even if I don't track him down, he'll be at school tomorrow.
My heartbeat which had been slowing, speeds up again.
I groan.
This is very, very bad.