"And that's how you see us? As party crashers?" Haven shrugs and takes a hearty sip of her drink.
"Now that's just wrong." Miles shakes his head. "We're your best friends, so by law, you have to tell us."
"Not this," Haven says. "I'm sworn to secrecy. Just know that I'm so excited I could burst!"
I gaze at her, sitting before me, face flushed with a happiness that sets me on edge, but my head hurts so badly, and my eyes are really tearing, and her aura's so merged/with everyone else's, I can't get a read.
I take a sip of my drink, forgetting about the vodka until a trail of hot liquid slips down my throat, courses into my bloodstream, and makes my head sway.
"You still sick?" Haven asks, shooting me a worried look.
"You should take it easy. Maybe you're not completely over it."
"Over what?" I squint, taking another sip, and then another, my senses blunted a little more with each taste.
"The fever-dream flu! Remember how you fainted that day at school? I told you the whole dizzy nausea thing is just the beginning. Just promise to tell me if you have the dreams, because they're amazing."
"What dreams?"
"Didn't I tell you?"
"Not in detail." I take another sip, noting how my head feels woozy yet clear, all the visions, random thoughts, colors, and sounds suddenly shrinking and fading away.
"They were wild! And don't get mad, but Damen was in some of them, though it's not like anything happened. It wasn't that kind of dream. It was more like he was saving me, like he was fighting these evil forces to save my life. So bizarre." She laughs. "Oh, speaking of, Drina saw Damen in New York."
I stare at Haven, my body growing cold, despite the alcohol blanketing my insides. But when I take another sip, the chill slips away, taking my pain and anxiety with it.
So I take another. And then another.
Then I squint at her and say, "Why did you just tell me that?" But Haven just shrugs. "Drina just wanted you to know:"
Twenty-Eight
After the festival, we pile into Haven's car, make a quick stop at her house to refill her flask, then head into town where we park on the street, stuff the meter full of quarters, and storm the sidewalks, three across, arms linked, making all the other pedestrians move out of our way, as we sing "(You Never) Call Me When You're Sober," at the top of our lungs and wildly off-key.
Staggering in fits of laughter every time someone snickers and shakes their head at us.
And when we pass one of those New Age bookstores advertising psychic readings, I just roll my eyes and avert my gaze, thrilled that I'm no longer part of that world, now that the alcohol's released me, now that I'm free.
We cross the street to Main Beach, and stumble past Hotel Laguna, until we fall onto the sand, legs overlapping, arms entwined, passing the flask back and forth, and mourning its loss the moment it's empv "Crap!" I mumble tilting my head all the way back and tapping hard on the bottom and sides, straining for every last drop. 'Jeez, take it easy." Miles looks at me. 'Just sit back and enjoy the buzz."
But I don't want to sit back. And I am enjoying the buzz. I just want to make sure it continues.
Now that my psychic bonds have been broken, I want to ensure they stay broken. "Wanna go to my house?" I slur, hoping Sabine's not at home so we can get to the leftover Halloween vodka and keep the buzz rolling.
But Haven shakes her head. "Forget it," she says. "I'm wrecked. I'm thinking of ditching the car and crawling back home."
"Miles?" I gaze at him, my eyes pleading, not wanting the party to end. This is the first time I've felt so light, so free, so unencumbered, so normal, since-well, since Damen went away.
"Can't." He shakes his head. "Family dinner. Seven-thirty sharp. Tie optional. Straightjacket required." He laughs, falling onto the sand, as Haven topples over and joins him.
"Well, what about me? What am I supposed to do?" I cross my arms and glare at my friends, not wanting to be left on my own, watching as they laugh and roll around together, oblivious tome.
The next morning, even though I oversleep, the first thing I think when I open my eyes is: My head's not pounding!
At least not in the usual way.
Then I roll over, reach under my bed, and retrieve the bottle of vodka I stashed there last night, taking!a long deep swig and I closing my eyes as its warm wonderful numbness blankets mytongue and sinks down my throat.