Page 46 of Distortion
‘Oh,’ I say quietly and when I force my eyes to Shade, I’m surprised he’s not laughing at me too. But that’s almost worse. For the first time, I’m glad I can’t read expressions unless I’m trying very, very hard because I know that in the absence of mirth, I’d see his pity instead.
He looks away first and gestures to my desk. ‘There’s a bank card there. It’s your allowance. The pin is your birthday.’
He knows my birthday?
‘Thanks,’ I say, wondering if there’s enough on it to buy schoolbooks and maybe a cheap phone.
He shrugs. ‘Don’t lose it. You’re not getting another one.’
‘Why are we going to the house if John isn’t there?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘I thought you might like to look through your mom’s stuff,’ he answers, looking away, ‘but if it’s too soon?—’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I’d like to do that.’
I think about the notes. I can get some more information while I’m there. Maybe I’ll find something in her possessions that will give me some answers, or direction.
I open the door, inviting him to leave so I can get changed. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
He gives me a nod. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’
When I’m alone, I put my head in my hands, allowing myself a moment before I grab the pain killers off the nightstand and drink them down along with the entire glass of water. I pick out a pair of black ripped jeans and a black tank top. I throw a gray sweatshirt with pink flowers on the front over the top and slip on my sneakers. Putting up my hair as I go, I make my way downstairs.
The kitchen is deserted, but as I walk through the house, I notice more than one person passed out on a couch or in a chair and I see some pledges cleaning. One is disinfecting the kitchen and loading the dishwasher and two more are mopping the floor where the beer pong table was. It’s already looking like the party never even happened.
I think about making my morning tea and my stomach immediately revolts.
‘Ready?’
I jump a little at the sudden voice and whirl around to face Shade. ‘Sure.’
He eyes my outfit.
‘What?’ I ask, a little self-consciously.
‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘It’s just ... you dress ... not how I remember.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I was a kid when we knew each other,’ I remind him. ‘Do you dress the same?’
He looks down at his own jeans, tee, and the black blazer he has over it.
I like the way his clothes look, I realize. I like the wayhelooks. I mean I always enjoyed his eyes and his smile even when we were kids, but he’s grown into his face, I suppose.
‘No,’ he says after a moment. ‘But you always used to put on the same thing every day. Your mom couldn’t get you to wear anything else.’
I bristle. ‘I liked that shirt and the leggings were comfy,’ I say, knowing exactly what clothes he’s talking about and remembering that they mysteriously disappeared out of the laundry one day never to be seen again.
At the time, I had no idea why practically all my other clothes felt like sandpaper on my skin or were really uncomfortable in general. I thought everyone felt that way. Now, I know better, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a grown-up, I tell myself, and I don’t care about that stuff anymore...or, maybe after ten years in what passed for clothes at The Heath, I can just wear most things without them making me crazy.
We leave the house and get into Shade’s car that’s parked by the side of the house. As soon as my seatbelt clicks, he’s putting his foot down and we fly down the driveway, skidding out onto the road so fast that I’m thrown into the door.
I narrow my eyes and side-eye him as my stomach lurches. ‘Unless you want to be paying for a deep-clean in your car, I suggest you stop it.’
He pretends to ignore me, but I notice that he slows down and cracks the window for me.
It’s not long before we pull up at the huge house I lived at for just a year, and I take it in in a way I wasn’t able to after the funeral.
Shade gets out of the car and I follow a little belatedly, noticing that I feel a little better after the car ride. I guess the pills have kicked in.
