Page 93 of Dirty Roulette
I played with conversations and the avenues they could lead me in – I spin excuses, but my feelings get eaten by a garbage disposal each time. No matter what, I’ve watched myself destroy the only friendship I trust.
I stare at the water drops running down the tiles coated in a fine film of calcium, and it molds into a movie I’m directing.
Everything spins.
I’m pinned to the hot brick walls during recess again. The sun pointed directly at my eyes like a magnifier to an ant. Other girls laughed as they clambered up the monkey bars, while I drew on the hot concrete with a pebble that acted like chalk.
Teachers yelled at me a lot.
I don’t think any of them really liked me.
My mother dragged me out of every parent-teacher conference by the wrist.
Charlie never cared about me interrupting her mid-sentence or talking nonstop in class. She always carried a second pencil because I misplaced mine and sometimes those spare pencils shared answers and started sleepovers.
I always left my toothbrush in her bathroom. I lost my toys. Sometimes she’d forget to bring them to school, which made a great excuse for another sleepover. I spent all five minutes left of our recesses hopping over the parallel bars with Charlie, and those were the highlights of my days.
Middle school was worse. The teachers were bitchier and fatter, and they had more wrinkles. When one turned to me, it was always a look of disgust. Something was always wrong with me. I was the kid who smelled weird once. Even Charlie stuffed up her nose at me and would spray me down with her fruity body perfume.
Cloud Nine life started to catch up with me. We got in an argument over my messy bedhead that was balled up into a matted ponytail. It was no longer socially acceptable, and it took months for Charlie to convince me I looked pathetic. My baggy grunge shirts and jeans belonged in the garbage too, but it’s all I had.
High school hits, and Charlie starts hanging out with the preppy popular girls. The ones leaning against the lockers and who were always twisting their lollipop sticks, sucking, and slurping on fat red globs of cherry goodness.
They stare at all the hotties, twirling the lollipops between their lips, giggling, and whispering about guys’ reactions. They always wore tight low-rise flare jeans, any type of crop top, sparkly sandals, and painted toenails.
Brittni started coming over to the house like she possessed the Holy Grail. A Barbie with hip-length blonde hair, and piercing green eyes that stepped out of the fancy car daddy bought. Always all over Ryder, hiding in his bedroom with the door locked, and turning Charlie into someone I didn’t recognize.
I wore baggy jeans and tank tops; I painted my toenails white to blend in. I joined the cheerleading team and performed at the pep rallies. I wasted hours dancing, and chanting next to Charlie, only for me to still end up here.
I took it too far this time.
It doesn’t matter.
I can apologize, but I just know that forgiving me is a hard pill to swallow. I let my emotions get the best of me like they always do. I should have accepted Brody’s Xanax offer because maybe, for once, I wouldn’t feel trapped in a body that doesn’t work.
My heart pounds. I feel it in my eardrums.
I blink several times, inhaling a lungful of air like I haven’t taken a breath in hours. My thoughts stop reliving and relishing in my trauma, and I realize I’m still in the tub. Everything spins in circles, and my tongue is stuck on the roof of my mouth. I’m still slightly drunk, and wide awake with a throbbing headache. My body forces me to live with the consequences of all that tequila mixed with bad decisions.
I’m drenched. The fabric of my shirt glues to my skin. I open my mouth, letting the hard water meet my tongue. It tastes good, but it also ignites the aftertaste of bile.
I cup my hands, chugging mouthfuls of water, and then the shower curtain crackles against the metal rod. I scream and curl up in the tub.
“Hey...” Ryder stands above me, wearing nothing but jeans covered in blood. I find myself focusing on the droplets running down his hard abs, accumulating in that deep V-shape all the girls go crazy for. Heshuts off the shower and a water bottle plops into my hands. It’s cool to the touch and condensation runs down its ridges. Without a care, I open the bottle, the cap tumbles between my legs, and I chug hard. The plastic crunches and shrinks from the pressure until I take a deep breath, almost gasping.
“What happened?” Ryder asks, sitting on the edge of the toilet.
“Huh? What do you mean? Where even am I?”
Ryder shakes his head and looks away in disbelief. “You have to be kidding me.” He says. “You’re here every weekend.” Ryder rises off the toilet and leans over the bathroom counter, turning the faucet on high. He dips his hands in the water, washing off some reddish-brown dirt I never noticed. My head spins and I attempt to lift myself out of the tub.
“No, sit,” Ryder demands, and I sit back down in the tub. “You were definitely drugged.”
“Wait... What? What do you mean?” I ask. My eyes search around the bathroom, avoiding Ryder’s painful expression at all costs. My eyes jump from the towel rack to the vanity, casting a warm orange light. Words are stuck in my throat. I stare down at the fluffy bathroom mats and see the dark hairs on Ryder’s big toe.
“What do you remember?” He rasps out.
“Charlie left me the ticket, and I went thinking she wanted to still be friends... and Brody showed up.”
