Life of the Party (Wayward #1)

CHAPTER 60

At some point, Charlie came. I honestly had no idea how much time had lapsed since Grey’s death. It could have been hours, it could have been days, but it felt like eternity. I hadn’t moved much, maintaining a near zombie-like existence on our bed, clutching Grey’s pillow to my breast. As soon as I came down enough for the thoughts to permeate the velvet veil of self-medicated fog, I’d shoot up again. This was how Charlie found me, in a state somewhere between living and dying. Numb.

It was dim in the room, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like, especially now with the bright, clown-like makeup smeared all over my face; the black trails of mascara that surely stained my cheeks. Charlie didn’t say anything about it. She just climbed into the bed behind and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry…” she crooned, like I was a little child, smoothing my hair back from my brow. I couldn’t respond; I didn’t have anything to say. I just blinked and continued existing.

Charlie was still there when I woke up again. She was sitting at the end of the bed, my feet tucked in her lap. Zack was with her, sitting in the chair beside, his head bowed in his hands. They were talking in low, hushed voices. I didn’t want to disturb them, but I needed to shoot up again. I propped myself up on an elbow and went about my business. The talking stopped, and I could feel them both staring at me.

“Mac?” Charlie had tears in her throat, I could hear them. “You okay?”

I gave her a sidelong glance and shook my head once, curtly. No.

“Do you want to talk?” She encouraged.

I shook my head again. No .

“I’m sorry, Mackenzie.” Now it was Zack’s turn. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I could’ve…If I only would have checked on him, once…”

I shrugged. Tears pricked my eyes, but I choked them back. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to dwell. I shook my head, fighting for control, just long enough to feel the needle slice into my skin. I pushed down the plunger and collapsed back onto the bed, relieved.

More time passed in much the same way. Sometimes I slept, sometimes I dreamt, sometimes I just lay there, staring at nothing. The light streaming through the window would fade and I’d know another day had passed. This was my life now, the only way I could possibly live without Grey.

It was bleak, it was grim. But it was better than the alternative.

There was talk of a wake, but I refused to go. I didn’t want to see Grey that way—pudgy from the embalming fluid, swollen in death. I didn’t want to remember him as anything but totally alive. He was beautiful in life. He was so beautiful to me…

Why! Through the haze, I suddenly pounded the pillow with my fist, overcome with emotion. Why! Why did he have to die? He was always so careful. How could he have overdosed?

Tears pushed through. I let them come, now, when I was all alone, when no one else could see. Grey, please…please don’t be dead. Please, come back to me…

I love you…

More time passed. More time of lying like a dead thing across the bed, oblivious to anyone and everything except the needle, curled up in a ball and clutching Grey’s pillow. People would come and check on me, try to talk to me; try to shake some life back into me…to no avail. I waited as they spoke their words of comfort, blinking at them until they were done their spiel, ignoring the concern in their eyes, the hopeful tenor ringing in their voices, the encouragement. I wanted them to give up, just like I had. Because there was no point anymore. Not without him.

Charlie forced me out of bed one morning, waiting until after I’d shot up so I was in no state to fight her. She dragged me to the bathroom and into an awaiting bath, the water hot and deep, sudsy with bubbles. I let her wash my hair. Neither of us spoke, not once the entire time. Even afterwards, first when she was doing my makeup, then later when she straightened my long, dark curls with her hot iron, we did so in silence. I sat willingly enough under her capable hands. I was too out of it, too numb to really pay much attention, too anesthetized to care about what she was doing .

Until it was time to get dressed. Charlie pulled out an old familiar dress from the closet and laid it on the bed for me to wear. I stared at it a moment, lifting my weary eyes to her beautiful face, barely curious enough to ask.

“Where are we going, Charlie?” My voice was dull, lifeless.

She answered softly. “To the funeral.”

“The funeral?” I whispered.

“Yeah.” She nodded. She tried to help me out of my housecoat so I could get changed, but I shook my head and pushed her weakly away.

“You want to do this on your own?” Charlie wondered.

I nodded. The drugs were waning; the thoughts were starting to emerge. I needed to shoot up again and I just wanted a moment alone, away from all the watchfulness, away from all the concern.

“Okay.” Charlie gave me a squeeze and then left me to change, shutting the door on her way out. I sighed, lifting a hand to finger the soft black fabric of my graduation dress, the dress I’d worn on one of the happiest days of my life. It was impossible not to remember then, impossible to fight the sudden memories that flooded my mind. They were bright—Technicolor, compared to all my dull, drear thoughts of late.

I swallowed heavily, shut my eyes, and let them come.

I heard it first. The sound of Grey’s rumbling motorcycle as it tore up the street. I remembered the surprise, and then the overwhelming joy I felt when I ripped open the front door and saw him there along the curb, straddling his bike, waiting for me. I saw him smirk, saw my own reflection in his shiny aviator glasses, saw my smile. I heard the sound of our distant laughter, coming from somewhere removed, somewhere far off. It felt so good to climb onto the seat behind him, the sun warm on my shoulders, my heart nearly bursting with happiness. How free and promising and full of possibility the world had seemed to me then…

And then I was hunched over, reeling, gasping with the force of pent-up sorrow. Grey. I missed him so much. I couldn’t bear it without him; I couldn’t live without him. It hurt. It hurt so badly.

Blindly, I staggered my way over to the nightstand, seeking the refuge of the needle, the comfort of the heroin, the numbness of the drugs. Within moments of the delicious steel piercing its way through my flesh, the memories had faded from my mind, the pain had receded, my breathing had calmed. I was back where I belonged, in a world without feeling, in a place of total indifference; of essential, embracing apathy. In a place where I didn’t care, where I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. Because I wasn’t. And I never would be again.

After a few moments, I put my dress on. Not a thought crossed my mind as I shrugged into the silky black gown and pulled it down around my body. Where before the dress had fit me perfectly, now it was loose and baggy, hanging unflatteringly on my frail frame like a potato sack on a stick. I stared at myself in the mirror. Despite Charlie’s beauty expertise my face was gaunt and tired looking. My eyes had lost their sparkle. I let them roam down—down my body—over the ribs protruding through my chest, along the long lean arms hanging from my sleeves, over the bony wrists and my long, skeletal hands.

I smirked mirthlessly at myself. I felt dead. I looked dead.

Why fight it?

Slowly, I sunk back down onto the bed, tracing a finger down the ragged bloody scabs slashed across my wrist…and realized I wanted to die. There was nothing left for me here. Death would end it all, end all the pain, all the hopelessness. The thought actually gave me hope in a crazy, desperate sort of way. Knowing I had an out, that I wouldn’t be forced to suffer through this agony forever, it relieved me. It almost made the day…bearable. I would go to the funeral. I would endure. And if it got too bad…

I had a plan.

Before Charlie or any of my other guardians could see, I shoved everything I’d need—all my supplies, the balloon full of drugs, the needle, the spoon—roughly into my purse. I held it there on my lap a moment, and for just a brief second, I felt less helpless. This was something I could do, some way to take control again.

His funeral. Grey’s funeral. I was so determined not to remember anything and so strung out it mostly became a blur. A sickening blur interrupted by sudden moments of utter clarity. Like I wasn’t permitted to just sit and observe the whole thing like a cold, detached bystander—like I’d hoped. I was being forced to feel, to live through these horrible, devastating moments of lucidity before the blur would come again, swallowing me up, protecting me from the torment.

My parents were there. They hugged me the moment we pulled up at the church. I was ready to blame them, to call them out for their actions, to see if they were happy now that Grey was dead. But then they hugged me and I didn’t know what to do. I let them wrap their arms around me, let myself feel their warmth, let myself hear how sorry they were, how much they professed to love me. My resolve crumbled. They led us through the foyer and into a back room to hide until the service began.

The church reminded me of Marcy’s wedding. Candles glowed softly and flowers were everywhere, but this time, they weren’t white. They were black—black calla lilies on graceful green stems, placed artfully in cut glass vases. They were perfect. Grey would’ve loved them.

I whispered lowly in Charlie’s ear. “…Who? Who did all this?” I wondered. Grey didn’t have any family. I was his family. And I doubted that Tom and the band…

“Your parents did it.” She answered. “They’ve done everything. They’ve been so great, Mackenzie. They paid for it all.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “But they hate Grey.”

“No.” Charlie shook her head. “They don’t.”

I bit my lip. Tears warmed my eyes. Marcy got a wedding, I got a funeral.

It was fitting, almost.

When the service finally started, Charlie gripped me tightly by the hand and helped me walk down the long aisle, past the countless pairs of sympathetic eyes to a pew at the front of the church. I was amazed by the amount of people present to honour Grey’s memory, people I’d never seen before, people I’d never met. I should have expected it though. Grey had that affect on people—he touched them, he warmed his way into their hearts without them even knowing. He was popular, he was loved.

He was gone.

Alex, Zack, Tom, and the rest of the band filed into the pew beside us. We were considered Grey’s family. The Minister started speaking, but I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the large, gleaming oak casket that dominated the stage of the church, holding the body of the man I loved. He was in there, he was inside. I raised a shaky hand to my mouth in an attempt to quiet the sudden sob that burst through my lips. He was so near to me, but he was so far away, forever removed.

A large picture sat next to the coffin on an easel; Grey’s gorgeous face in life—his blue eyes shining, a smirk dimpling his stubbled cheek. I stared at his picture as the tears flooded my eyes, as they fell cascading down my cheeks.

No amount of heroin could have prevented this hurt.

I felt it in the deepest pit of my soul, felt the terrible yearning for someone forever lost to me, the desperate longing for something I would never know again .

We drove out to the cemetery. I couldn’t see him, but somewhere, deep inside me, I knew Riley was there. He was keeping his distance, which I could understand, but he wouldn’t have left me to do this alone. I suppose the thought should have comforted me. At the moment, I was beyond comforting.

Before Grey’s coffin was lowered into the ground, I set a rose on the shining lid. I pressed my hand against the silky lacquered wood, tears pouring freely—and in that instant my mind was made up.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it without him. It was too hard. Even with the drugs, it was unbearable. There was no point living. Not without him.

I cried the hardest as we pulled away from the cemetery. It didn’t feel right to just leave him there, alone. Wouldn’t he get cold? What if he was afraid?

I didn’t say goodbye to Grey then. More like…see you soon.

After, we went back to my parents’ house. They were hosting a luncheon, which touched me, deeply—but was something I wanted no part of. The house was packed, but I didn’t want to socialize, I didn’t want to accept condolences. I stole one of my father’s super thick winter coats and escaped outside, leaning against the house and chain-smoking. I could feel the nausea hitting, my stomach churning, the craving pulsing within me. This was the longest I’d gone without heroin in weeks. I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer.

Nor did I want to. I was exhausted, weary, ready for everything to be over. I clutched my purse against my chest and threw my cigarette butt into the snow.

Everything felt strangely clear—sharpened, almost—as I walked back into the house and hung my dad’s coat up in the closet. My steps had purpose for the first time in what felt like eternity. I’d been so lost for so long. It felt good to have direction again.

I slipped through the crowd of mourners in their dark dresses and suits, up the stairs and into the bathroom. I made sure to lock the door this time. I set my supplies out on the counter, slowly and methodically. I wouldn’t let myself think of my family, my parents, my sister, Blake—the sixty-year-old man stuck in the twenty-something body—my friends. I wouldn’t let myself picture Charlie or Alex or Zack, or Toby and Ben. Or Riley. I refused to think of Riley. They’d all just have to understand. It was way too hard.

It was kind of poetic, in a way, going out the same way Grey had. At least it would be peaceful. And quick. I put as much heroin on the spoon as it would hold, diluting it just enough to make it liquid. The mix was dark—darker than normal—much, much stronger than normal. I heated it all, sucking up the lethal combination until the syringe was nearly full.

I kept Grey’s face before my eyes. My hand shook as I gripped the needle. I didn’t want to lose courage, not now, not when I was so close. I’m coming, Grey. I promised. Soon, we’ll be together forever. Nothing will keep us apart.

A smile bent my lips as I pressed the needle against my skin. Like I could already feel the sweet relief of death, like I could taste its promise. The needle slid in easily, found my vein effortlessly, sucked my blood fluidly up into the chamber. I sat down on the toilet seat, ready; gripping the needle, shutting my eyes in sweet anticipation.

I love you Grey…

I pressed the plunger down, slowly, prolonging the moment. Smiling as the drugs took hold of my system. And then they just kept coming, rushing through my bloodstream, taking my breath away with the sheer force—my heart pounding harder and harder as they slammed through my swollen veins. Taking over me. Surrounding me. Drowning me. I didn’t fight them; I let them have their way, giving up, giving in to the sweet surrender of blackness that loomed on the very edge of my being.

I fell over, slowly—it seemed to take forever. Everything was in slow motion. Was this how it felt, Grey? I wondered. Did you feel this way when you died?

I fell, slumped over between the toilet and the wall, and knew no more.