TWENTY-THREE

This was me.

Grinning and lost and warm all over. Molly coursing through my veins, throwing vibrant colors and bright lights in front of my eyes. I held Joy’s hand as she pulled me through the warehouse full of partygoers, her braided space buns leading the way. People bumped into me, jostled me around, tried to grind their hips into mine, and I didn’t mind. It felt good to be close to others. It felt good to have fun.

That’s what Joy did. She made life fun.

I hadn’t tried molly before. Joy had, because Joy was willing to try anything at least a couple times. And anything’s available when you have your mom’s money and a generous plug.

Earlier that night, she let me borrow some rave-appropriate clothes, and we jumped in her Audi. Joy popped open the center console, grabbed a baggy, pulled out a little colored pill. She dropped it in my palm.

“I don’t want to be high by myself, though,” I said.

She quickly rummaged through the console for her little makeup bag. Her caseless new phone vibrated where she’d dropped it in one of the cupholders. “I already took mine. Like a few minutes ago.”

“And you’re gonna drive?”

“Guess I gotta drive fast,” Joy said while fixing her smudged lipstick in her visor mirror. Then she gave me that face, that “you’re embarrassing me” face. And maybe I was. But I did my best to keep up with Joy. I could hold my liquor, I loved to flirt with strangers, and if the right music played, I’d dance for hours. But sometimes, it took effort to stay in that headspace. Being chill and carefree came easily to Joy. Everything did.

Joy sighed. Put up the visor. “Rina, just take it. Last hurrah before senior year. It’ll be fun.”

Fun? I wasn’t sure. But she would know.

So I downed the pill.

And thirty minutes later, there I was, strolling through a neon-lit warehouse as if I were floating. Because that’s what being in Joy’s world was like. Floating. Coasting. A free pass to whatever we wanted, whenever. She made us unstoppable.

And everything Joy had, I got to enjoy. Sips of her drinks, designer clothes she didn’t want, jewelry she claimed went better with my warm undertone. After her eighteenth birthday, she pretended to lose her license so I could have it and keep visiting eighteen-and-up events with her. When Joy got a new phone, she passed her old one to me, and it was nicer than anything I’d ever had. She even let me keep the number, stay on the family plan. Because we were close. Like family.

Being around her made me exciting, alive. And I was thankful for that. And envious.

It’s hard to be around someone who will always be better than you.

“Oh my god,” Joy shrieked. She pointed across the warehouse, past two girls making out in the middle of the room. “That’s Mason, right?”

I squinted. “And Noah.”

“Shit. Let’s go.” She tugged my hand and dragged me left. Nothing wrong with Mason and Noah. But we hadn’t spoken in months. Noah and I sort of fell out, and it made sense, because he didn’t genuinely know me, and I didn’t know him. We flirted, made out some. And then I stopped replying to texts. Or maybe he stopped answering mine. Detaching was easy.

For Joy? Less easy. She cycled through guys weekly because she could. And she always fell hard—mostly for lanky boys who played video games all night. But she fell out of love just as hard. Mason was just one name on a long list.

As we scurried, someone cut between Joy and me. Her hand split from mine. The crowd practically ripped us apart.

“Joy!” She couldn’t hear me. Not over the din of the DJ, the screaming and shout-singing of the party.

My high broke. My bra top cut into my ribs, scratched my skin with its beads. The sensation of my hair brushing the back of my neck made me want to scream. My hand was empty and clammy and shaking.

I needed to find Joy.

I wandered the warehouse, aimless. Nothing but spilled drinks, colossal speakers, girls crying. Nothing made sense. I didn’t recognize anyone. Violet lights and trance music surrounded me, caged me, broke me to pieces until I started to forget who I was and why I was there. What if I never found Joy?

Someone shoved me. I fell forward.

Landed in some random guy’s arms.

I scrambled upright, tried to apologize. When I looked up, though, he seemed just as thrown off as me.

“You’re okay. That dude was a prick.” He had kind eyes, or it seemed that way in the dark. “Are you okay?”

No. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… sorry about the…”

“It’s fine,” he said. “All fine.” He placed a hand to his chest. Some yellow-and-green abstract design swooped and whirled across his black tee. His shirt pulled across his chest muscles a little, like he worked out a ton. “I’m Sean, by the way.”

“Carina.”

“Unique.” He glanced at the DJ booth. “You into this sound?”

“House is more my thing. Or trap.”

“Same, same. You got good taste.” He smiled, and I smiled back, because how could I not? It felt like he saw me. Even without Joy nearby to shine her light on me and make me worth seeing, he saw me. And he liked me. Or at least he genuinely liked what I liked. That’d be a first. I felt close. Connected.

Time slowed. Time stopped.

Was that because of the molly? Or him?

“Rina, oh my god, you’re okay!”

Joy’s voice pealed through the air. She pushed her way through the wall of bodies, pulled me into a hug. Sweat covered me, and I didn’t know if it was hers or mine. “Couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Then she noticed Sean, hands shoved into his jogger pockets. She pulled up her bandeau, straightened her back. “Who are you?”

“Sean.” He checked out her outfit, lingered at her chest. I saw it. He liked her. “Just… bumped into your friend.” His gaze darted between us. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Joy grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “No, stay. We don’t bite.”

Lust at first sight. She saw him, she wanted him, she’d have him. Even though, just a moment ago, he was his own person. And for a second, maybe he was even mine.

“Joy,” I whispered, “I think he wants to go.”

“Sean, let me buy you a drink,” Joy offered. “For keeping my bestie safe from these fucking psychos.”

Sean looked at me. I looked back.

And then I turned away.

“Sure, I’ll take one.”

Joy batted her impossibly long lashes. She got dibs, because she always did. She won, because she always did. And I backed off because I always should. Because I saw what he wanted. What all the guys wanted: Joy. She was inevitable.

But as she walked him to the bar, and I trailed behind, I knew it was also inevitable that they wouldn’t be anything serious. Sean just had the honor of being Joy’s latest conquest.

And he was. Until he wasn’t.

Maybe it was because Sean wasn’t Joy’s usual type since he liked fresh air and sports. Maybe he wowed her with his brains, because she figured a jock like him would be pulling the same mediocre test scores that the two of us were. Or maybe she thought his dick game was crazy, I didn’t know.

But it was different with them. Joy was even willing to call Sean her boyfriend. That title hadn’t been used in a year and a half. Yet she dusted it off for him.

So Sean joined our little twosome, came to the parties, hit up the concerts. Joy hung off him all the time, spammed cutesy pics of them on her socials. His contact in her phone read My Maaan <3. I thought someone had taken over her body because she’d never behaved this way before.

But I shouldn’t have worried. Because Joy was still Joy. Loud as fuck. Wild. Impulsive.

Sean and Joy were like a song constantly changing tempo. They’d break things off, and she’d cry about it on video for hours. Then they’d get back together and our weekly hangout would be canceled so she could spend the night with him instead.

The back-and-forth exhausted me. And so did Joy, honestly. I loved her, but she couldn’t love back. She had too much privilege to know how to see real value in anyone or anything. She wouldn’t keep something for the long haul when she could always afford to get something—or someone—else.

Those two didn’t have anything beyond physical chemistry. He couldn’t always keep up with her. Sometimes, if she didn’t like Sean’s tone, or she wanted to make him jealous, she’d bail or quit responding to his messages. That usually meant Sean was left alone with me. While texting or at house parties. Just us dealing with Joy and connecting over music. Just me and those kind eyes. Seeing me.

Eventually, something started to grow. Inside of me. Something that had been building since the night we met at the warehouse.

I didn’t know what it was. Or what to call it.

But it was hungry.

Hungry for something of its own.

Something to claim.

The idea of spending the night with Sean—without Joy—sent shivers down my spine. Made the creature within perk up her ears.

I drove to the venue and cursed my clammy palms the entire ride. Sean waited in the parking lot, surprised when I showed up alone.

“Where’s Joy?” he asked.

“Vomiting. Like, a lot. But she’ll be fine. And she told us to have fun. So…” I gestured to the building. “Wanna head in?”

He could have said no. Could have decided against seeing the show without his girlfriend.

He didn’t.

The venue was “intimate,” aka small as hell. Exposed brick, neon signs, and the mix of sweat and full-bodied cologne. The stage was the focal point, and everyone crowded before it, shoulder to shoulder, swaying, rolling.

Standing room only.

Half an hour later, the band took the stage. The throng of attendees cheered and surged closer. I’m short; even with my head tilted back, I could hardly see a thing. I got bumped around, debris in a sea of people.

Sean grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. Whipped me in front of him, coiled his arms around my waist to keep me from the squeeze of the audience. And I couldn’t help it: I gasped. He’d never touched me like that before. I leaned into him, pretended I was just vibing with the band’s energy. The lead singer’s voice shot through my chest, took me to some other world made of guitar strums and Sean’s tight hold on me.

The being inside me licked her teeth.

Even without the drugs, without the colored lights, I wanted Sean. I liked him. And that was wrong, because he was Joy’s. But a feeling never hurt anyone, right? A thought isn’t a crime.

The music ramped up. We fell into the swell of it. The fire of it. Sean bent his head down, whispered in my ear. “You loving this?”

The music or his touch?

“You got tense. Relax,” he said. “Joy isn’t here.”

I licked my lips. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was saying. He was happy Joy wasn’t there, groaning and bitching and either starting an argument or getting smashed.

And I knew what he wanted.

Me.

When Joy wasn’t around, when it was just us and the music, he wanted me.

Yes.

I don’t trust him.

No.

He wouldn’t cheat.

Shit.

I couldn’t cross that line. Joy asked me to keep an eye on Sean because she trusted me. She needed me.

Sean ran a hand up the side of my torso. Goose bumps popped up all over my body.

Okay. What about what I needed?

What about the fact that Joy and Sean were oil and water, totally incompatible, breaking up every five business days? She’d realize that eventually, wouldn’t she?

What about how Joy and I shared everything? Homework answers, phones, pills… is a boy all that different?

And what about that hungry, desperate beast within me? Prowling with her claws out. Waiting to feed.

I twisted, faced him. He didn’t get a chance to speak. I just kissed him. And all the clichés—fireworks, the earth moving, heart skipping a beat—came crashing in. The second our lips met, I knew I had lied to myself. If Joy discovered this, she would be livid.

In the crowd, people whistled and howled. Some cursed. They came to enjoy the show, the band. I did not care. And by the way Sean was feeling me up, neither did he.

The creature was satisfied. Finally.

And so it began.

It was technically the truth.

And I got far living in technicalities. Because how else did I convince myself that I wasn’t hurting anyone? Didn’t matter what I thought inside that venue. When Sean pressed his body against mine, when I kissed him, I knew. Joy would kill me if she found out.

So I shut up. We went to class, we partied, she cried about her relationship issues, I comforted her. Same as always.

But now, I had Sean. And that made everything okay.

For months.

I’d sneak to see Sean. I’d soothe Joy when she worried he was being sus. I kept the peace, and I was proud of that. Proud to be her closest friend and proud to be with him, even secretly.

One day, in the spring, Joy and I lay in her backyard by the pool. My phone pinged.

“Did you figure out your plans yet?” Joy asked.

“For?”

“Summer, bitch.”

“No. As in, no plans. Just going to rot until classes start in August.” Mom and I agreed on two years at community college. She and Dad would figure out how to pay. I would figure out what to do with my life. Wasn’t looking forward to it, but school mattered to Mom. It was the least I could do to make her a little happier.

“God, you’re boring. For now.” Joy turned to me, conspiratorial. “I will give you plans.”

“Sounds questionable.”

“Only a little. Okay, picture this: we kick off the summer with my grad party. My parents caved. They’re getting me that BMW.” She beamed like she personally financed the car. “And you have to take pictures for me. Nobody else will do it right.”

“And then my gap year is booked… and guess where I’m going first?”

“Florida?”

“More south.”

“Mexico?”

“More ocean.”

“What does ‘more ocean’ even mean?”

“Oh my god, Jamaica. I’m going to be in Jamaica this summer.”

I put the phone down. “Seriously? How?”

“Got this au pair job. It’s like nannying? And it’s also, like, barely a job because I’m just going to play with kids and stuff my face.” I didn’t think she’d like the caretaking part, but hey, Joy was always going to do as she pleased. “I figured since you’ve always wanted to visit, see where your mom is from… could spend a week together after the gig, before you’re wasting away in gen ed.”

That was the kindest thing Joy ever did for me. Genuinely.

“Thanks, girl. You paying for the flights?”

She laughed. “Duh. Like I’d let you fly economy. Don’t be fucking gross.”

Sean’s texts sat on my screen. I read them over and over.

Perfect.

And then that night came.

It was Joy’s graduation party, and all I could think about was Sean.

Joy was in her element. Her parents parked her new car in front of the house, even slapped a big red bow on top. The house lights reflected in the BMW’s glossy paint. So did Joy’s bleached white smile as she posed for pictures. All her friends and acquaintances—and even some enemies—were there. And I did exactly what she wanted. I snapped at least fifty photos, all from her good side, all a bit less polished and cutesy than everyone else’s. We even took a few together.

I showed Joy the pics, plus the video I recorded in case she found a cool still in there. She grinned, and her eyes told me that she was a little here, a little not, under the influence of something to make this party more interesting. A girl from our anatomy class pulled on her hand to chat with other guests. “Knew I could count on you, Rina,” Joy whispered as she got dragged away. She blew me a kiss.

Joy could count on me.

But the rest of the night was mine.

I found Sean. He stood beside Joy as she chattered with her friends, basically a prop with a heartbeat. He threw the house a glimpse.

We going?

I nodded.

He whispered something in Joy’s ear, headed toward the front. I made my way too, through the side door on the deck, so nobody would see us following each other.

I moved through the deserted hallways, passed the Onward and Upward! cake on the kitchen island, tried to look casual in case I ran into anybody who should have been outside. But my heart raced. I hadn’t seen Sean privately in weeks. All the end-of-year crap, the exams, his sports travel. The beast needed to feed.

I waited at the top of the stairs. On the deck, and by the driveway, and on the front porch, there was so much noise. All for Joy.

“Hey.”

Sean slid his hands under my shirt right away. Heat everywhere.

All for me.

“Guest room,” I murmured as he kissed me. We hurried down the hall.

Finally alone.

We fell onto the queen-size bed, undressed, and let the night cover us instead. Sean slid his knee between my legs; I wound my fingers in his hair. He trailed kisses down my neck, stole my breath and my mind, reminded me that there were no words to describe that moment, to describe what we were. We weren’t fuck buddies or friends with benefits. He wasn’t my boyfriend, and I never met his parents. But we were special. We were inevitable.

The bedroom door swung open.

Slammed against a wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Joy’s screech echoed across the room.

I covered my bare chest with the top sheet. Joy stalked in, stood motionless at the foot of the bed. Bystanders hung out in the hallway. The girl from anatomy watched, studied even.

“You two?”

“Babe—” Sean started.

Joy jabbed her car keys in his direction. “Do not speak. Don’t say a single goddamn thing.” She glared at me. “For how long?”

I didn’t answer.

“How long?” she asked through clenched teeth. “Tell me.”

I couldn’t.

Joy’s face fell. Like she knew that it didn’t matter how long I’d been with Sean. I shouldn’t have been with him at all, and that was the problem. Her keys jingled as her body shook.

It was like I’d finally woken up. Which wasn’t true. I knew what I was doing, day after day, month after month. I knew she’d be mad. I knew, and I wanted Sean, so I did what I wanted. Just like Joy always did.

But the beast had left. Escaped into the midnight hour, into the woods.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me…”

I figured she’d be angry, but I didn’t expect she’d be hurt. She’d cried about her grandma dying, the falling-outs with Sean, and that was it. I couldn’t imagine a world where I could wound her. Yet I had.

My face flooded with warmth. “Joy, listen to me.”

“You don’t make demands, bitch.” The crowd behind her oohed in unison like this was some soapy TV show. But this was my life, my real life. “This is what I get for being friends with you, right? You think you can have whatever you want. My clothes, my weed, and—what?—you wanna share dick too?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like. Because it looks like you’re just a greedy, shady slut who spent the last four years wanting what I have.” She snickered. There was no humor in it. “But why wouldn’t you? Can’t buy your own shit. Can’t pull your own guys. Who would you be if you couldn’t bum off me?”

“Joy,” Sean said, standing from the bed and scrambling to pull on his jeans. “You need to calm down.”

If looks could kill. Joy’s was equal parts pained and confused. “Why? Why would you do this? And with her?”

Sean’s face softened. Gentle. Remorseful. “I’m sorry. Carina and I had some drinks she made; she talked me into coming up here.” He covered his face like he couldn’t bear to be seen in his regret. “I wasn’t thinking straight, and maybe that’s what she wanted. I don’t know. It was all a blur, honestly.”

I hadn’t touched anything but water tonight. I didn’t give him shit.

But he lied. He lied so easily. So quickly.

“Don’t act like I tricked you, Sean.” Defending myself was pointless, though. Joy was hysterical. Curses and callouts filled the air. The crowd became a jury, and the verdict was that I was a manipulative ho.

Everyone pounced on me so fast.

Tears rolled down Joy’s face. Her emotions were too close to the surface, intensified by whatever pill she’d swallowed. “You want the BMW too?” She flung the keys at me, and they landed by my thigh. “If I give you the stupid car, will that finally be enough?”

Where were the words to tell her I wasn’t using her? That I didn’t care about the money, or the designer clothes? I liked being around her. I liked how I felt with her. Even when she was being toxic as hell, I liked her so much that I tried to become her, have what she had.

But I didn’t have those words.

I had shame. Humiliation. Anger at what she accused me of, because I was guilty of so much, but not that. Not befriending her for cash. So I hopped out of the bed, still holding the sheet to my chest, trying to cover my half naked body. Someone in the hallway whistled.

“I don’t want your ugly-ass car.” I hurled the key ring back at her. “Take it. Spin that shit around the block and get the fuck out of my face.”

She snatched the keys off the floor, glowered at me. Then she stormed out. Sean followed, still buttoning his jeans.

Hoped she’d crash. Hoped they both would.

After that, my memory gets foggy.

Me getting dressed, dodging all those nosy bitches on the way out, walking ten minutes from Joy’s place and then grabbing a rideshare to silently take me home.

I was calm by the time I got to my room. If I could take back the petty stuff I said, I would. So I called Joy. Once, twice, three times. All my attempts went to voicemail.

I texted her before I tried to sleep.

She never did.

Early in the morning, Mom crept into my room, the sun pouring grayish light through the window. She sat on the edge of my bed, sat for a long time as if she didn’t want to wake me. But I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t.

She rubbed my shoulder. “Baby girl… something happened.”

For once, Joy listened to me.

I told her to take the car. She took the car.

She wrapped it around a pole. She died instantly.

Joy was dead.

The room spun and I couldn’t move.

Mom held me and I couldn’t move.

I called Mom a liar and beat her with my fists and sobbed in her arms until I couldn’t move.

That morning brought clarity.

The creature within was a monster. And it being inside me was a sickness. I was sick. I had to be, to do what I did to Joy, to hurt her how I did. To kill her in so many ways, in such little time. I’d never see my best friend again. That was the tragedy I created for myself.

And then came the flood.

The texts, DMs, tweets. Anonymous phone calls. All of it vile.

@UWUPRINCESS07: RIP Joy Milan Carter, our joyful girl. You never deserved this. We will get justice for you. Any way we can, we will.

UNKNOWN USER: Emoji: Knife for the backstabber

VOICEMAIL: You are a waste of oxygen. You’re alive and Joy isn’t, and ain’t that the craziest shit. Your mom really should have swallowed you.

@user121593: Rot, bitch.

All this anger and one place to put it: toward me.

Even though he fucked around, Sean got to be the heartbroken boyfriend who was taken advantage of by some evil girl. Meanwhile, I lost days of my life. My birthday came and went without so much as a cupcake. A dead girl became my most frequent contact.

My grief and guilt winnowed my world down to my house.

Then my room.

And then my bed, under the covers, in the dark. My phone—Joy’s old phone—turning over and over in my hands.

Trapped.

One day, that phone rang.

Which wasn’t new. Since everyone figured out that I had Joy’s old phone number, it didn’t take long for it to leak. But this wasn’t some random caller or an old friend of Joy’s ready to curse me out.

The caller ID read Cultural CareScapes. Joy’s au pair agency.

Why would they be calling me?

I answered. I didn’t know why.

“Good morning. This is Hannah from Cultural CareScapes. We’re calling to confirm your upcoming assignment.”

Right. They couldn’t reach Joy on her new line. But they must have still had this number as a secondary contact.

And they must not have known she was dead.

“Could you remind me of the assignment? Please?” My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was raspy. Kind of like Joy’s.

“Yes, miss. We have you placed with the Hall family in Jamaica starting the third week of June. Is that correct?”

“I… think so.”

There was a pause. “You received several emails about this,” Hannah stated. “With contact information, the Halls’ requested length of stay, a request for your payment details…”

“My apologies. I’ve been locked out of that email for a while. It’s been quite the headache.” Lies. Why was I lying? Why was I pretending to be Joy?

Because it was easier than being myself. At least as Joy, there was something to be excited about.

“Would you consent to a brief security check?” I’d made Hannah suspicious. “We just need the four-digit code you set up when you signed with us.”

Four-digit code? That could have been anything. But best guess? “Of course. Should be 8-1-6-1.” Our birthdays. August 1 for her and June 1 for me.

Another pause.

“Thank you, Miss Carter.”

Miss Carter.

Joy had already done a phone interview with the house manager, paid her agency fees, approved the length of her stay with the Halls—almost everything. All that was left was a final confirmation.

So I confirmed.

“Hannah, could you resend everything to a new email address, please?” I asked. “And update my records?”

Within ten minutes of hanging up, I had a password-protected document full of contact info and a slim bio for the family due to, apparently, Mr. Hall’s prestigious position.

There I was again, borrowing Joy’s things. This time, borrowing her life. But I needed it more than she did now that she was gone. I needed a way out. Before my world caved in and crushed me the way I nearly wanted it to. Sean lied, and he was living it up. Why couldn’t I do the same?

My own name didn’t mean anything good anymore. It belonged to the girl who hurt her best friend and got somebody killed. But everybody adored Joy. Even in death, it was as if all her faults faded away, and she became this saint. So maybe she could bless me. With her help, I could start over. Jamaica was the answer.

I held that belief over the next couple weeks. I used my savings to buy a cheap plane ticket. I switched to an inexpensive phone and a fresh number to stop the harassment, packed Joy’s hand-me-down cell and old ID. After a couple YouTube videos, I managed to forge some paperwork on letterhead for the Halls’ records.

I wasn’t proud of any of it. But it was necessary.

The day I left, I sat in the darkness of my room, wearing a ratty white tee and some old off-white sweatpants. I studied the Polaroids pasted to the walls. Half-lit memories in blown-out colors. Clean spaces where Joy’s pictures used to be. But the blank areas haunted me anyway. My guilt haunted me anyway.

One final set of messages to her.

I jumped into a rideshare, one my parents believed would take me to a friend’s house. From there, we’d road-trip in her camper van. The car pulled away from the house, and I waited for a swell of relief. Of peace. Nothing came. All I had was what I always had: Her. Looming.

For better or worse, Joy would never leave me.

I’d borrow life from her, and she’d do the same to me.

Forever.