chapter thirty-three
“The universe never times things well. It’s best to always be prepared, which is why I carry around a go-bag with all my essentials. Like, for example, a parka. Because life’s a bitch and being caught in a storm naked? Well, you might just get struck by lightning. Nobody wants that. It kills sexual performance. Just ask my friend, Jason Caro. That’s spelled J A S O N space C A R O. You’ll find his number in the index at the back of the book.”
~From Max Emory’s Guide to Dating and Other Important Life Lessons
Maddy
My sister officially had the worst timing in the world. She’d shown up, high and drunk off her ass, at my old apartment, screaming my name. Bless my roommates for not calling the cops. They’d let her in and had tried to sober her up. Then they called and told me all about the track marks on her arms.
I took off work, told my parents, and drove into the city, hoping to talk some sense into her one last time. My gut churned at the thought of something happening to Sara. Why did it always feel like the last time whenever I saw her?
It had taken a while to find street parking, so it was getting late. I took the elevator, anxiety filling my veins, making my blood feel cold inside my body. I knocked on the door.
Venus, a gorgeous Asian model who looked too pretty to exist in real life, who also had a heart of gold, answered. Her bow-shaped lips pressed into a thin line as she put her hands on the hips of her low-slung jeans and black belly shirt. The sound of her bangles moving set me on edge even more.
“She’s in your old room,” she said in a quiet voice. “We tried to get her to sleep it off, but she’s a wreck. I don’t even want to know what that girl has in her body. She needs a shower, and we left some clean clothes in there for her.” Her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Maddy, she’s not your problem.”
“She’s family,” I admitted softly. “She’ll always be my problem.”
I measured the steps to my old bedroom.
Twelve.
I knocked on the door lightly then opened it when I didn’t hear an answer.
She was lying face-down on the bare mattress.
I kicked the mattress, as angry tears ran down my cheeks. When she didn’t stir, I kicked it again and again.
Finally, she moved to a sitting position and groggily looked up. “Sis?”
“We’re going home.”
She snorted. “I’m not going anywhere, just partied too hard. I’ve got a few jobs lined up and—”
“Bullshit!” I screamed, so angry at her, angry at myself, angry at the world, angry that I wasn’t home with Jason. Angry that I hadn’t given him my number so he wouldn’t think I was cutting and running again. “You’ll get a job, get your first paycheck, and either inject or snort it — whatever you can find first. You have two choices.”
Sara looked away, her eyes distant.
“We either drive home right now, or I drive you to the police station on charges of possession.”
She scoffed. “I don’t have any drugs on me.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll give you a drug test, look at your criminal record, and throw you into jail for a few days while you sober up enough to want to scratch the paint from the walls.” I shrugged. “If you go home, we can take you to the rehab center there. It’s not as intense as some of the ones in the city.”
“I’ll think about it.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose. Her blond hair was stringy, her face like a skeleton. I used to want to be her, as a young girl had always looked up to her. All it had taken was one good-looking actor to look her way and offer her party drugs, and she was hooked.
Took them through college to stay alert.
Then took them to find peace and rest.
She fell before she’d even known she’d taken a step.
“You have three seconds.” I crossed my arms. “One, two—”
“Why are you such a bitch?” she yelled.
“Because I have to be,” I whispered. “Because I need you. Because Annabelle needs you.”