Chapter Twenty-Five
“Not too bad, O’Malley,” Jadis said. They put two fingers to Erik’s chin and pushed, examining the side of his face. “That sucks”—they paused to gesture to his split brow—“but the rest of you seems fine.”
Erik leaned back in his chair. Gem was closed, and the Friday night staff were busy in the back room, mopping up blood and maybe a couple of teeth. Erik licked around his mouth to make sure his were all there, a habit he could never seem to shake.
Jadis pulled their feet onto the chair. Bones carved lines along their face, and rose-petal shadows created pits beneath their eyes. They cocked their head, brows tense. “What?”
“You just remind me of someone,” Erik said. You remind me of myself. “Someone I knew a while ago.”
Jadis hummed. Their hair was arranged messily, spiked this way and that, and a thick black choker ringed their neck. “Everything okay with lover boy? You never told me what happened after the Warehouse.”
Desiree plopped into the chair next to Erik and kicked her feet onto the table. Beer stains littered her white shirt. “You got”—she gestured at Erik’s cheek—“blood on your face, honey.”
Erik’s smile was all sarcasm and bared teeth.
“Don’t let him change the subject,” Jadis said. “So, River…” They nodded to Erik again. “How goes it in lovebird-land with him?”
If there was something on the table to throw, Erik would’ve chucked it at Jadis. “We’re good. No, we’re not ever having a threesome with you, yes, the sex is great, and no, he’s not interested in a massage.”
Jadis suppressed a laugh. “Shut up. You’re no fun. Did you duke it out with him after the fight?”
Erik considered his words. “We didn’t speak for a week.”
Desiree swatted him playfully in the chest. His sweatshirt stuck to the sweat on his collarbones. She glared at him, black beanie slouched on the back of her head. “But?”
“But we talked, and we’re good now. I just… I didn’t want him to see me fight. That’s all.”
“Because you care about him,” Desiree said.
“Because he loves him,” Jadis corrected.
“I’m…” Erik groaned and sank deeper into his chair. “It’s been two fucking months, Jadis. There’s no way—no way—it’s impossible. One, because I’m demiromantic, which you know already, and two, because…”
Erik was usually a good liar. But tonight, he couldn’t fool them, and he most certainly couldn’t fool himself.
“You’re an idiot,” Desiree said. She had her chin propped in her palm, side-eyeing him.
“Wow, thanks, you’re the fuckin’ best, Des. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Erik snorted at her and turned his gaze back to Jadis. “And you”—he flicked his hand up and down—“need to eat, or go back to rehab, or something.”
“Don’t deflect,” Jadis snapped.
“You know you’re allowed to explore the gigantic spectrum of your identity, right?” Desiree asked. She prodded his side, and he flinched. “Just because it might’ve taken a certain level of knowing to fall for someone else, that doesn’t mean you’ll follow the same pattern for the rest of the people you date. There’s no blueprint for this shit.”
Erik knew that. He’d thought about it constantly, and sometimes, on some days, he knew he used his own romantic orientation as a shield. It was easy. It worked. But this time, Erik couldn’t get around his feelings and how absolute they were. “He has a drawer,” Erik muttered. His gaze swept to Desiree. “Like, not a drawer drawer, but some of his shit is at my apartment now.”
Jadis’s laughter almost threw them out of the chair.
Desiree, who took this new development far more seriously, arched a dark brow. “Toothbrush?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Yes, he brought a toothbrush.”
Desiree’s eyes widened along with her grin. “You’re in deep, Erik. You might wanna slow down.”
“Shut up, I know.” Erik threw his hands over his face and heaved a sigh.
“The U-Haul lesbian, who moved in with her girlfriend after month four, just told you to slow down.” Jadis could hardly speak through their laughter. “That’s rich. My God, Erik. This guy must be somethin’.”
“Yeah, he is, that’s the goddamn problem.” Erik hung his head back and stared at the ceiling. “He’s…” Literally the best thing I’ve ever had. “I just don’t want to screw this up.” He peeled his sweatshirt off and dropped it on the table. Desperate to change the subject, Erik asked, “I left a shirt behind the bar, right?”
“Yeah,” Desiree said, but her attention was glued to Erik’s bicep. She snatched his wrist before he walked away. “That’s new. Let me see.”
“I got it last week after the mid-month fight.”
“It’s pretty.” Desiree tilted her head to get a look at the rest. “Different for you, though. What made you pick this?”
“I…” Erik heaved a defeated sigh. “River designed it and asked if he could do it.”
Jadis had to catch themself as another wave of laughter wracked them. “Kiss of death! You let him brand you, Erik? Kiss. Of. Death. You know better.”
“It’s only the kiss of death if we get matching tattoos,” Erik hissed. Heat rushed into his cheeks. “And he didn’t brand me. He just…” Put a piece of himself on me. “Fuck you, seriously.” He tore his eyes from Jadis and looked at the dragon, spun in an assortment of watercolors, green and blue and violet, broken apart by thin, black lines. It was gorgeous. Surreal. Erik never thought he’d wear a piece like this. “It’s not the kiss of death,” he reiterated, “and it’s not a brand. Leave it alone.”
Jadis held up their hands in surrender.
Desiree shot Jadis a stern look and balanced on the back two legs of her chair. Erik rummaged through the cabinets behind the bar for his shirt, needing a barrier between his tattoo and their prying eyes. They watched him, Desiree both tender and worried, Jadis wearing a smug smile.
Erik didn’t know when March had appeared, but it was the first Friday of the new month, and he couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing. Desiree was right. Jadis was right. They both saw through him, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And then there was River who had seen the Erik O’Malley who had the potential to forgive himself, a person Erik never thought could exist.
“Hey, boo,” Desiree said. Her chair clacked to all fours. “Who’s Beverly?”
The blood drained from Erik’s face. He paced toward the table and leaned over Desiree’s shoulder. She turned her phone and scrolled through Facebook. His profile was open. A picture was stamped on his timeline, Beverly and Erik seated on the hood of a car with their middle fingers showcased for the camera. Above it, the text read: Coming for you, O’Malley. I hit Seattle this week. Not leaving ’til I see you. Comments from other high school friends appeared below it.
You found him?!
O’Malley’s in the great white north?
Whoa! Bring him back with you!
His jaw tightened, and his stomach flipped. He’d spent so much time staying hidden that he never considered what might happen if someone found him.
Especially Beverly, who would try to align his broken pieces, who would include Lee’s name in every other sentence and reminisce about a past Erik couldn’t fathom remembering.
“Erik,” Jadis said, uncharacteristically stern. “You okay?”
“She’s a friend from high school.” Erik stared at Desiree’s phone until the screen went black.
“You? Friends?” Jadis teased.
Erik shook his head. “Yeah, I was the worst of them.”
Jadis opened their mouth, either to apologize or to keep pestering him, when the cleaning crew waved and then shut the back door, signaling they were finished.
Desiree nodded. She stood and tossed Erik his sweatshirt while Jadis zipped their long black coat to the collar.
Erik couldn’t think or breathe. His heart beat a mile a minute, thoughts racing in every direction. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to check his Facebook, or delete his Facebook, or change his number, or face his fucking past.
Desiree fumbled with her keys at the front door.
Jadis grabbed his wrist. “You’re freaking out.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. I can see your heartbeat through your shirt.”
He chewed on his lip. “Yeah, okay, I’m freaking out. It’s fine.”
A cellophane baggy hit his palm, and Erik flinched.
“Thank me later,” Jadis said.
“I don’t—”
“C’mon, let me lock up.” Desiree ushered them out the door.
Jadis raised their brows at Erik and nodded. “See you later,” they said, shoulders sharp and hands stuffed in their pockets as they disappeared around the corner.
Once Jadis was gone, Desiree sighed and locked the door. She glanced at Erik, a soft smile curving her full mouth, and shook her head. “I always knew you were running, but you’ve never told me what you were running from. Is it that girl?”
“Yes and no,” Erik said. He slid the baggy into his pocket, concealing it with his hand. “It’s complicated.”
“As is life.” Bronzer lit Desiree’s dark cheeks, but it didn’t mask how tired she was. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pinched his chin gently and strode off toward the parking garage across the street.
Erik watched her go, fiddling with the bag in his pocket. Beverly’s message left him restless. Horribly, violently restless. He leaned against Gem’s front door and took out his phone. Clicked Beverly’s profile. Opened messenger.
He typed out: I can’t see you, I’m sorry. He deleted it. This isn’t a good time. Deleted it. Please, I can’t talk about him. Deleted it.
Erik clicked on another name.
Erik shoved his phone in his pocket, walked into the shadows that clung to the back of the building, and took out the baggy. He gathered shards of orange powder in the hollow of his thumb and snorted it, immediately welcomed by a warm, dizzying rush. It chased his anxiety away, turned his bones soft and his fears into mist.
Everything disappeared. He stared at the sky, littered with stars, their glow diluted by too many city lights.
His phone buzzed.
Erik closed his eyes. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Guilt nagged the better part of him, the part that was tired of running. Austin was right around the corner. Another city. Another beginning. Another life. He looked at the half-full baggy and tossed it into the dumpster across from him.
He wasn’t any better than what he’d been—a kid dead-set on escaping.
Sometimes he thought the drugs were his only way to remember Lee. Sometimes he thought the drugs were a suit of armor. Sometimes he thought the drugs were just another excuse to keep hating himself.
Really, the drugs were just drugs.