Page 78 of Light in the Dark
God, I'm maudlin.
Thinking about high school sucks. Because it always and inevitably leads to thoughts of Amy.
Fuck.
No, no, no.
I’ve done so good tonight. Haven't thought about EmberorAmy even once.
But now I'm remembering the good old days, when it was Riley and whoever he was banging at the time, Cole and Lacey, me and Amy, and Nyx usually by himself. We'd take Cole's beat-up old GMC Savannah to Secret Beach, light a bonfire, and get wasted on beer purchased with Riley's fake ID from the corner store in the next town north. We'd all go skinny dipping, skin flashing in the moonlight, laughing as the firelight flickered on the night-still waters of Lake Michigan.
Amy, an all-state swimmer, would be way ahead of everyone, and I'd be gamely trying to reach her. She'd let me, eventually, and we'd tread water and whisper to each other. Swim back to where we can touch bottom and make out. Find a spot on the beach away from the others and have sex.
Find our way back to the fire and keep drinking.
God, those were fun days.
"'Member the bonfires at Secret Beach, Cole?" I ask.
He groans. "Ah fuck, Fee. Don't talk about that shit." He covers his face. "I can still see Lacey stripping out of her shorts. That was the hottest thing I could imagine, back then. The hottest girl in Three Rivers shimmying her fine ass outta them tight little shorts, peeling off that shirt and lookin' at me like I'm dessert. Fuck." He rubs his face. "Goddammit, Fee. I hate you for bringing that up."
"I know. I hate myself."
"Still the hottest thing I can imagine," he mutters.
"Think we'll ever get over 'em?" I ask.
"Fuck if I know," he growls.
"This is you, Felix," I hear Brian say. "C'mon, I'll walk you in."
I paw at the door, forgetting I'm in the back of a police car. The door opens and I tumble out into Bryan's hands. He hauls me upright, sets me on my feet, and walks me with his hands on my shoulders to my front door. I wobble, topple forward against the storm door, and fumble my keys out of my pocket. Drop them. Brian retrieves them and unlocks my door.
I hold on to the door for balance and salute Brian. "I'm good. Thanks, buddy ol' pal."
Brian pats me on the shoulder. "Drink water. Take Tylenol. Sleep on your side."
"Not m'first rodeo," I mutter. "But I appreciate the advice."
When he's gone, I stagger into my kitchen and pour myself a big glass of water from the tap and spend a long time drinking. Throw back a few Tylenol and then take a few more and a full glass of water to my bedside table.
Even hammered, I can't sleep in clothes, so I struggle out of them. Collapse on my left side in my bed with the bathroom trashcan on the floor beside me, just in case.
The last thing I remember is my phone dinging with a text message, but I'm too close to passing out to read it.
I'm pretty sure it's from Ember.
Then, nothing.
* * *
I wakeup dying of thirst. Groan as I try to sit up—my head is pounding and my mouth is a desert. I'm disoriented, still drunk.
"Here, let me help you," a soft, familiar female voice says.
Soft hands touch mine, help me put the glass to my lips, tip it. Fingers put a pill in my mouth and help me chase it down.
The world is spinning.
