Page 32 of Vipers & Roses

Me: Thanks, bro.

Max: Don’t thank me. Apologize to Dad.

My finger hovers over Dad’s number in my contacts, but I don’t dare to message him yet. It’s early, so he’ll probably be out surfing or going for a run. He might be sleeping in unless he had a late night with his family. Either way, it’s too early to contact him, and that’s the excuse I’m using.

Dragging my aching body out of bed from vomiting my guts up, I head into my small bathroom to take a shower and put on some clean clothes. I have the urge to drive down to the Olympic pool and swim a few laps, hoping to bump into Cormac, who has been quiet since Friday evening, but I talk myself out of it.

I have a botany assignment to finish today, due tomorrow, and I haven’t started it. If I do five or six hours of solid and focused work on this assignment, I should complete it by dawn.

After my soothing shower, which worked a treat at calming my pestering and tormenting thoughts, I dress in denim ripped Daisy Dukes that I’d never wear in public because they’re a little too short and a little too ripped, and a yellow tank top with words STACKED across the boobs. Stacked is the exact opposite of what my boobs are, but I bought it for the humor of contradiction.

Glaring at the pic of me surrounded by the four subhumans that held me captive to have their vile fun, I already feel the stigma peeling away. The more I look at it, the more the fear associated with this day dissipates, and I can walk boldly to my first hit and look him square in the eyes before I end his life. They have no idea what’s coming. Even when I kill The Lion, they still won’t think it’s me. I hope.

I find cereal in the cupboard but don’t have the stomach to eat it, so I make a strong coffee and flip open my books to start the assignment. Brushing aside my anxieties of yesterday and discovering the pic in my bag, obviously left by Gavin, I dive into the world of plants and their botanical categories, which is like a spa to my soul.

Every time my eyes drift back to that pic of the blond girl I barely recognize, the girl I used to be, I refocus and remind myself that I must build the life I deserve. It’s up to me. It was always up to me to take control of the wheel of my life to steer back onto the correct path. No one else can do it.

There appear to be two parts to this assignment that I hadn’t noticed before because our botany tutor spoke more about Part One, which is due tomorrow. But the second part of the assignment is to create a herbarium. My nerdy green finger starts twitching in excitement at the thought of gathering various plant samples and pressing them until dry, then creating an album with the correct botanical name and category. Luckily, I have another month to do this, and if I have time today, I’ll go down to the University Gardens and take samples.

Opening my textbooks, I throw myself into my assignment, forgetting about my woes and anxieties, proud that I didn’t succumb to my weaknesses. But I have the urge to hightail it to the grocery store to buy vast amounts of alcohol replacement since I don’t have a fake ID, such as chocolate and crisps, any food that is high-calorie and low-nutrient.

Before I know it, two hours have passed, and my stomach lurches in hunger. I don’t have room for a desk or table, so I study, eat, and watch the old TV in bed.

I return to the cereal box since it’s quick and easy, pour some into a bowl with milk, and return to my bed to continue studying. At the sound of footsteps outside my apartment, I snap my head up to watch movement under the door's crack. They’re familiar steps, and it is confirmed when I hear the door click across the hall that they belong to the neighbors I often hear but have never met. For a moment, I dwell on the elderly couple in the elevator who told me about the attack in the parking garage and how he stalked her for a while first.

Again, my eyes drift to the photograph above my dresser of the four men surrounding me as they’ve gathered around a buck they shot and killed or swordfish they hauled out of the ocean—their prize catch. It occurred to me that there must have been a fifth man taking the picture with his phone, but I don’t remember a fifth face. I can only remember four. The Four.

This bothers me. But when I go back in time to catch a memory of this time, my senses go into a visceral overdrive, and their stench and touch come into my reality, making my skin crawl. It’s as if they’re in the room with me now, and it’s so real. I need fresh air, so I head outside onto the small balcony and light my tiny blunt.

I’m about a third of the way through the assignment, and I must compose myself by brushing toxic and self-defeating thoughts aside and letting the fresh air wash over me. Down below, I can see people coming and going and the bright lights of the liquor store across the road, which I try to ignore.

My phone beeps inside, and I stub what’s left of the blunt. I made an internal note to contact Z for some more and stepped inside to check my phone.

Dad: I missed you leaving yesterday. I hope you’re ok.

I take a deep breath to consider what to say as guilt scours my belly, and I wish I had more green to smoke.

Me: I’m so sorry for leaving like that.

Dad: Did something happen? Your mom said you were happy and then suddenly had to leave.

I hate myself, but I’m going to have to lie to my father rather than tell him about Gavin the fuckwit.

Me: A neighbor sent me an urgent message on my phone. They thought my apartment was being broken into.

My finger hovers over the send button, and as soon as I press it, I regret it and want to drag those words back. He’ll only ask more questions, so I quickly add,

Me: It was a false alarm.

Several minutes go by before he answers: ok. Take care. It was good to see you anyway.

I can tell that he doesn’t believe me, and if he spoke to Max, he’d realize that I didn’t give that excuse to him, which means I’m probably lying. How did I become this way? My parents are the best people in the world, and I treat them like shit.

Tossing my phone aside, I refocus my attention on my assignment, but I’m so restless and unnerved by the guilt shredding my insides that the walls start closing in on me. I must suppress an enormous urge to escape to the lake for some fresh and dip my toes into the water, but it’ll cut too much into my day, pulling my time away from the assignment. Instead, I go back outside onto the tiny balcony and lean over the railing to catch sight of the turquoise lake between two tall buildings.

My eyes trace the landscape of tall buildings against the flawless blue sky without a single cloud in sight and then drop down to the streets several feet below. A silver-haired man, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, catches my eye, and my heart flutters in my chest in apprehension that it might be Detective. Just call me Gabe.

I rush back inside to grab my phone and point the camera at him to enlarge the frame. “Turn around. Turn around.” His back is to me, and I can’t help but hone in on his backside in those pants, and a tingle radiates between my legs. If he’s not Gabe, I just got hot over another man I thought was Gabe.

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