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Aiden could hardly think straight. He should have settled for an oxy, but he'd wanted to save those for later. Instead, he'd smoked pot. And then somebody'd offered him another pill—something he'd never tried before. He couldn't remember who gave it to him, couldn't remember the name of it, and had no idea what it was. All he knew was, he was wasted.
He liked it. Liked it a lot, but he had to do something. Something was wrong.
He had to think.
He forced his gaze up from the chair. Saw the TV on. Call of Duty. Two guys were seated on the couch with headsets, talking and playing the video game. One was the guy he'd met at the Nuthouse—Bill. Or maybe Bob. He thought the other was the owner of this house. He could hardly remember now.
The place was a dump and stank like stale smoke and cold pizza. Oh, right. There was a pizza box on the floor. Aiden had bought it when the munchies hit. A few pieces, one with a bite taken out of it, were left lying there, but Aiden couldn't imagine eating now. His stomach was twisted in a knot. Like something was wrong. But he couldn't remember what.
Curled up on the chair across from him, a girl was sound asleep, her arm hanging off the edge. He didn't think he'd ever caught her name. She wasn't cute or anything. Her hair was stringy and gross, and her face had some sort of rash on it. He thought she went with the guy who lived there.
Seeing her reminded him of something. Someone asleep.
Crap. That was it. Aiden had left his father sound asleep at the house. He'd planned to go straight home. Then planned to get high and go straight home. Then there'd been the pill, the pizza, the sofa.
He had to get back before Dad woke up.
He sat up, stretched. Checked his pockets. The other pills he'd bought were still there. They should be enough to get him through the week. He stood, and the room spun. He waited for the feeling to pass, figured he'd be better when he hit the fresh air. "I'm outta here."
The Nuthouse guy—Bill/Bob—barely glanced away from the screen. "You need anything else, you know where to find me. I can hook you up."
Aiden would need to make what he'd already bought last the week. He'd found an ATM and taken out what little cash was in his account. After the pizza, there was none left.
The air outside was warm and thick with humidity—not the refreshing blast he'd hoped for. He unlocked Dad's Camry and slipped inside, blinking to wake himself up. He was usually fine after an oxy, but whatever he'd taken was making him so tired. He had to get back to the cabin and crash before Dad woke up and saw how wasted he was.
He backed out of the drive, then slammed on the brakes when he saw a car in the rearview mirror. It was parked on the street across from the driveway. Thank God he hadn't hit it. No way to explain away a dent.
He turned carefully onto the little suburban street. Was this the right way? He couldn't remember, and he didn't want to power on Dad's phone just yet. If Dad was awake, and if he was trying to find him, then turning on the map program might enable his locator. Last thing he wanted to do was have the cops show up here, raid Bill/Bob's stash. He'd just drive, put some distance between himself and the house. Maybe he could find his way back to the cabin without the map.
He looked for anything that seemed familiar. Nothing did, but he kept on. Random lefts and rights until finally he reached the road they'd come in on—he hoped. No traffic, hardly wide enough for two cars. This little hick town didn't even know how to do roads right. Still, it was kind of cool with the lake and all the trees, and apparently they weren't very far from the ocean. Like twenty minutes, Bill/Bob said. They'd talked about going to the beach. Aiden had been all for it, but then they turned on Call of Duty, and that was that. Boring.
Boring, but still better than sober.
The car drifted off the pavement into the dirt on the right, and Aiden jerked the wheel to the left, then had to fight to straighten the car. Where were the curbs? And the sidewalks. Sheesh. A guy could kill himself out here.
He cranked up the music and the A/C. Had to stay awake until he got back to the cabin. This wasn't like driving wasted back on Long Island. He knew every road and alley in Hempstead. This was all different. And dark. Where were the streetlights, anyway? How did people drive like this?
A car came toward him, and Aiden concentrated on staying in his lane and driving straight. He focused on the road, kept his hands at ten and two like Dad had taught him. The car passed. Was that a cop? He thought he'd seen lights on the top, but he was scared to even check the rearview to find out. Dad would kill him if he got arrested.
He drove another ten minutes before he pulled over. He was never going to find his way back without the map. He powered up the phone, saw missed calls and messages from his own phone.
Crap. Dad was looking for him.
Hands shaking, he navigated to the map program. At least he'd had the brains to drop a pin at the cabin so he could find his way back. Following Siri's directions, Aiden swung the car around and headed in the opposite direction. He wasn't going to call his father back. He'd just get to the cabin and act like everything was fine. He just had to do it fast.
Thirty seconds later, a car came toward him again. He clenched his hands on the wheel, stayed in his lane, and watched as the car passed. Definitely a cop.
In the rearview, he saw brake lights. That cop was going to swing around and stop him.
If he got pulled over, he'd fail a sobriety test for sure. Aiden floored it. No way was he getting arrested tonight. No freakin' way.