Page 50 of Promise of Destruction
“The medication.” She nods again, but I can hear the ire dripping from her tone again. “The medication that you flushed down the toilet?”
I didn’t flush anything down the toilet. I simply haven’t been taking it. I’m tired of grief, and tired of swallowing pills that don’t do anything, and tired of being tired, and tired of sleeping when I take the right medicine but waking up just to feel like a zombie for half the day only to lay in bed and not be able to sleep again that night.
“Please stop,” I groan, looking to Khan for backup. He hesitates, torn between keeping the peace and taking a side.
“I can’t stop caring about you, Ren!” Marissa slams the plate down so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break.
I flinch.
Recognition sparks in her eyes when she realizes she got a reaction out of me. “I love you and you just seem determined to let your life fall apart. You quit going to therapy, quit refilling your prescriptions, quit eating. If it was me, what would you do?”
“It’s not you.” I say coolly. I’m glad it isn’t her; I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy, and certainly not my best friend.
“No,” she agrees, “I’ve never been in love so I can’t possibly relate to whatyou’refeeling.”
She’s being sarcastic. Marissa loves as easily as she does everything in life. She’s had her heart broken more times than I can remember and she’s broken even more hearts. I’ve been there every time to pick up the pieces and hold her together.
“You’re angry, right? I see how angry you are, Ren! It’s theonlything I see in you these days! The only sign that you’re still alive is your anger!”
Khan’s discomfort is even more obvious as he opens his mouth, then closes it summarily.
“Who wants pizza?” He suggests, making a show of opening the box and lifting a piece in his hand. It drips cheese down into the box, and he continues his production by taking a big bite and making exaggerated sounds of pleasure.
Marissa and I don’t give him our attention. Khan is used to this. He came into our friendship late, and though we love him indiscriminately, he doesn’t understand the depth of our relationship. He does understand that the best thing for all of us is for him to stay out of the way when Marissa and I go at it.
“Are you angry?” Marissa asks, her voice softer now.
“Yes,” I tell her honestly, crossing my arms. I think of Declan, telling me that he knows I want to watch the world burn. He sensed it after knowing me for two days.
That seems to appease her. She picks her plate up again and takes a step closer.
“So,” she walks past the pizza box and stands in front of me in some sort of challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What?” I sigh my frustration, feeling myself deflate. I’m tired and not in the mood to do this with her tonight.
“What are you going to do about it, Soren? You’re angry, so what are you going to do? You wanna break shit?”
“Rissa,” I threaten, her nickname thin and tired on my tongue. It’s a warning for her to back down.
“I wanna break shit, Ren!” She grins, one eyebrow bobbing quickly over her green eye in a mischievous display of her intentions. I’m just opening my mouth to warn her against it when she lifts the plate over her head and slams it with all her strength toward the ground.
The sound of shattering glass creeps up my spine as chunks of it skitter across the floor, brushing past my bare feet and skidding to a stop all around the kitchen.
Mouth still open, I survey the damage—shards of my plate lay like the fragments of my heart on the ground.
Khan’s mouth is open too, like he’s waiting for permission to say what’s on his tongue, which flicks out over his lips nervously.
Marissa’s lips are twisted in a smirk, as if she did something silly but inconsequential. She doesn’t even seem to realize the depth of her own insanity to think that what she just did was anywhere near rational.
“You weren’t using them anyway.” She laughs.
The sound that comes out of me takes me by surprise. It bubbles out of me on its own, without seeking my permission. It’s just one laugh at first, a sound of disbelief. And then as I survey the pieces of my dinnerware on the ground and flick my eyes up to my best friend’s, I nod.
She’s still wearing her shoes, but I don’t want glass in my feet, so I turn toward the island and brace my hands on it. I pull myself onto it with minimal effort and rise to my full height. I’m just short enough to miss the chandelier, but when I offer Marissa a hand and hoist her up with me, she has to side-step to keep from nailing her head on it. I turn to Khan with a grin.
“More plates please.”
His dark eyes are full of concern as he watches us, trying to gauge whether we’re serious. When neither of us wavers, hesighs. His boots crunch over shards of ceramic as he crosses to the cabinet and withdraws two plates, handing one to each of us.
