Drop (20 page)

He’s still not laughing. Can’t get this stone to bleed. I stagger to the back door, strangely OK with the stumbling. It must be beer confidence, drugs confidence.

“Maybe I should take you home,” Isaac says.

“Why? I’m fine.”
Fine and dandy
. “Have you seen Finn?”

Isaac sighs. “Bedroom.”

I move for the stairs.

“Carla.”

“Yeeeeeesss?”

“The rollie. You can’t smoke in the house.”

“Oh,” I say. I spot a beer can on the coffee table, put the rollie in and let it fizz out.

The stairs are changing shape, thick, thin, high, low, tilting one way, then the other. I cling to the handrail to pull myself up.

I hear Georgia’s voice from behind a door and push it open.

Violet’s sitting next to Finn on the floor, carving up lines on the back of a French revision book.

“Hey, you.” Finn smiles. I crash onto his lap, planting a kiss on his neck.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You conked out for a minute,” Violet says. “Happens to all of us. Like Greggers here.”

Greg’s half-asleep, hand on stomach, head against the wall, long legs outstretched on the bed. Georgia’s bouncing cross-legged on the mattress, like when you play Fried Eggs on a trampoline. Greg is inevitably bouncing with her, looking pale and ready to hurl at any second.

“He’s just sleepy,” Georgia says, flicking her mane-like hair.

“Rack up one more,” Finn instructs. Violet doesn’t look up, but does what she’s told.

“Well, this is cosy,” Finn says, looking into my eyes. I hear the
ssshhhhoosh
of Violet’s line disappearing. She passes the book to Finn and he does his
. “Merci beaucoup,”
he says, and passes the book to me.

The lines look
massive
.

I push my nose from side to side and sniff. Got to be in it to win it, eh? I snort it like a trooper, and hand the book to Georgia.

“Brrrrriing, brrriiinggggg! Gregory, this is your wake-up call!” she says, nudging Greg awake. He stirs, and takes the book.

“That’s what I call room service,” he says.

Immediately, things change. I’m awake. AWAKE. Zip, ping, chemicals. VERY AWAKE. JUMP-STARTED AWAKE.

Greg is miraculously revived. He and Georgia bounce out of the room for a dance.

I stand up.

“Shall we dance?” I ask Finn. My heart’s galloping.

“Yeah.” He turns to Violet. “Coming, Vi?”

“Let’s all go,” she says, holding out a hand to be pulled up.

A few hours later my heart starts to sink. The clouds have cleared, leaving a sky of sapphire. The wind wraps around the trees in the garden as if choking them. We huddle together on a fluorescent orange blow-up sofa on the patio. I imagine we’re floating, adrift at sea on our inflatable tangerine life-couch, bobbing up and down in epic darkness, freezing water lapping at our ankles. Just another ridiculous thought emanating from my subconscious. Silly ideas flash on and off in my head like a faulty light bulb.

God, shut up, brain. Everything’s normal.

Finn’s got hold of my hand, tight, reassuring me. I shiver, freezing, no longer wearing my beer coat. He wraps his jacket around my shoulders, and whispers, “I love you, tiger.” I look at him, but … I have a
bad
feeling. Might just be paranoia setting in, but something isn’t right. The world’s askew. I can’t see straight. People seem crooked. Like I can see the dark side of people.

Shut up, brain. Everything’s normal.

I just rest my head on him, thinking how crazy my body feels, full of all these chemicals… I feel … helpless.

My mouth’s desert dry. I sip some water, then take a long slug, draining the glass, but it feels foreign in my stomach and I don’t think it’ll be there for long…
Vomit cometh.

“I’ll get us a water refill,” he says.

I watch him walking away, rubbing his temples.

Georgia comes into the garden, and sways unsteadily above me, a can of Red Bull in one hand and a spliff in the other. Seems contradictory to me, but she dances to the beat of her own drum. Her red lipstick has rearranged itself into a map of Australia, smeared and colonizing the skin above and below her lips, but she still pulls it off. Don’t-give-a-fuck-chic.

“Have a toke,” Georgia says, offering me the spliff, smoked almost to the roach. “You look like you could use it.”

Can’t talk.
I feel broken
…

“Thanks,” I manage. My voice is someone else’s. I am someone else. Is this what I wanted? I wanted to be someone. But
this
someone? I don’t like it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I really don’t like it. Will I feel this way for ever, so out of control, so God-awful?

Maybe the weed will help relax me. I take a drag. “I’m feeling a bit messy,” I say.

“Yeah. Me too, honey. I’ve been bouncing off the walls tonight. Comedown’s starting to hit me now. Got to do this slowly, land it like a plane.”

I swing my legs from the sofa, making room for Georgia. She slides next to me, rubbing my shoulder to keep me warm. I finish the spliff and stub it out on the side of a giant terracotta flowerpot, where a gnome sits, fishing.

Finn reappears with water.

“Thanks,” I say.

He takes my hand. It feels cold and sweaty. Like melting ice.

My head pounds. I’m sick and spent and sad and empty.

“Let’s get you home,” Finn says. I think that’s a very good idea.

At home, stars bounce around the white-walled cube. I hunch over the bathroom basin, then stand bolt upright, roll my shoulders out, then hunch again. Can’t decide. Do I feel sick? Am I just hungry? No food since yesterday lunch. I tried to have dinner last night, but nerves had shorted out the circuit that tells my brain to eat. Anyway, eatin’s cheatin’ when you’re going out.

I nearly fall into the mirror like Narcissus. Eyes glassy and avian, I’m staring at a scary stranger. Not a bewitching beauty, definitely not a bird of paradise, but a strange creature who looks a bit like me and occasionally thinks the same thoughts.

My nostrils are caked in crap. I blow them out.

Head against the white tiles, I close my eyes and tiredness overwhelms me. Like a chainmail suit, it weighs every limb, yet, agonizingly, my brain still finds thoughts to keep me awake and my heart is going crazy fast.
Fuck, fuck, fuck… I knew this would happen. Why did I do it again?

This is so messed up.

My internal organs have turned themselves inside-out and are making a bid for freedom. I can’t stop it. Acid rises, choking me, then projectiles into the bath and all over Mum’s fancy soaps. The loofah is coated. I’m surprised it doesn’t disintegrate. Whatever’s coming out of me is corrosive, fucking battery acid, and my raw throat gets more raw. I retch until nothing more comes, and my ribs ache from heaving and crunching over the hard edge of the bath.

I twist the taps and let the water fall, washing away the sick; then dunk my head under the water. I’m not even afraid of inhaling bubbles. I put the plug in.

I don’t wait for the water to rise, but haul myself into the tub, fully-clothed. The water gets too hot, but I can’t find the energy to turn up the cold.

A drop of red swirls in the water, and then another. I put my hand to my face and bring it back to see blood. Nosebleed.

I feel tears pressing like hot pokers. Can’t stop them. No control. My body’s being driven by someone else, someone evil, sadistic and cruel.

Fast-flowing tears mingle with blood.

This is it, the end. I wish…
I wish I was dead. Don’t think that. It’ll pass. It has to. Don’t think that.

Just make it stop. Let me feel normal again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
I think I’m going to have a seizure or something… My heart’s racing. I’m so tired but it’s still hammering on without me … too fast … too much…

Sudden death.

Heart attack.

Cocaine.

Paranoia. Got to just be paranoia. I’m fine, right?

Yeah, I’m fine.

I’m telling myself I’m fine.

Oh God. Talking to myself.

It’s just paranoia.

I mean, I’m fine, right?

The steam rises, and then and then…

I hear hammering in my head.
Bash, bash, bash.
No, not my head. The bathroom door.

“Carla? You in there?” Dad calls.
Bash, bash, bash.

“Um.” My voice is a rasp. The water’s cold – mind-bendingly sub-zero freezing. I pull the plug to let it drain. My soaked clothes cling to my hollow body, an icy suction suit.

“Just a minute,” I manage, panicking.

I hear footsteps fade away, peel off my clothes, wrap myself in a towel. My teeth chatter.

I crawl across the landing to my bedroom, embedding carpet grit in my palms. I’m a drunk, cumbersome animal. So far from human.

I lie, fixated on the ceiling, and click
PLAY
on Finn’s iPod.

My heart dances and aches for him all at once, all the time…

Like a breaker I could carry you, thrill you, together we’d ride. Or I could draw you under, let you drown in my depths. Fill your lungs with me, drink me in and never leave.

I read somewhere that the body has no memory for pain. That’s why women can go through childbirth over and over again. I think maybe it’s true, because something’s messing with my head, telling me the comedown wasn’t
so
bad and
didn’t you have a good time? It was worth it, right? Come on, body
, my brain’s saying,
you had fun, didn’t you? Let’s do it all again!

I’m having a schiz-out. All I want is for the weekend to come round again.

Next time I gobble down chemicals and my dopamine levels plummet to a dopa-minus, I may change my answer, but now, it all feels in the past. It’s fucked-up crazy shit.

What am I doing?

It’s totally worth it, isn’t it? I believe it. Sort of.
Goddamnit.

In school on Monday, I can barely talk. The text in my book is a blurry word jumble. My head’s a desolate thought graveyard, except for two that kick and scream to be heard:

How long until I can do drugs again?

Are you out of your mind?

Finn drapes an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him and could drift off to sleep, right here, right now … I could fall… Paluk eyes us from the front of the class.
Wake up. Got to wake up.

“I was thinking, this weekend we could hang out, just the two of us,” Finn says.

“I think that’s a perfect idea.”

“I’ve got these new pills. I’ve heard they’re amazing.”

This is January:

This is February:

This is March:

Full

of

h o l e s.

It’s been a while since I sat with Lauren or Sienna at school. I haven’t been avoiding them, it’s just we’ve been running in different circles. Parallel paths, not crossing. Same place, same age, different lives. Still, I find myself missing them. Missing normality.

I thought I wanted this. I do want it, but can’t I have both?

Lauren/Sienna vs Finn’s crowd

Can’t I have it all?

I find Lauren and Sienna in the common room at lunchtime.

“Hey,” I say.

“The ugly duckling returns,” Sienna says, looking me up and down, “a beautiful swan. Nice ribs.”

I clutch my middle. I guess I have lost weight. Dancing burns a lot of calories.

“I’m not here to fight. I thought … wondered if you wanted to come over, after school.”

“Finn busy?”

“No … I just… Look, don’t make this hard. I’m trying to… Never mind.” I turn to leave.

“Yeah, we’d love to come over,” Lauren says. “Wouldn’t we?”

“Fine. That’d be nice,” Sienna says, tight-lipped. “But don’t think we’re going out car-jacking with you.”

“Sienna!” Lauren says. I swing around.

“You don’t
have
to come,” I say to Sienna.

She shrugs. “We’ll come.”

After school, we walk across the park towards my house, but I’m too tired to cartwheel, too knackered even to form proper sentences, let alone flip and twist my body in the air. I’m always tired these days.

We go up to my room and stick a film on, but end up chatting and completely ignoring it and it actually feels kind of nice. I’ve been severely neglecting them recently. Sienna has every right to be mad.