CHAPTER 59
When I woke up, or rather ‘came to,’ my first thought was of happy endings. I had to conjure the thought quickly before anything else could get in, before the pressing, nagging dread could break through my denial and reveal itself.
I focused intently as I mixed the heroin in my spoon. I thought of Cinderella and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and all those other bitches who were rescued by their prince and got their happy endings. I was determined to get mine.
I shot up quickly, my eyes rolling back into my head with a pure spasm of pleasure. I let out a shaky breath and slowly pulled the needle from my arm. That was the thing about heroin, the thing I loved. Instant gratification. One second, you’re losing it, and the next, you’re better than you’ve ever been in your whole life. Like each syringe contained it’s very own special, happy ending.
A weak smile lifted my lips. And she lived happily ever after…
When the intensity faded, when I was able to think more coherently, I realized I was missing one vital part of my happy ending. The prince. He had yet to come back. But he was going to come back for me, of that I was certain. And when he did, I was going to be pretty for him. I was going to look like a princess. Shakily, I got to my feet, buoyed by the idea. It would give me something to do while I waited; it would help me pass the time until Grey came back. I wanted to look good for him. I wanted him to see that I was healthy again—pretty—so he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
It was quiet as I stepped a hesitant foot out of my bedroom. It didn’t sound like anyone was home. Relieved, I tiptoed down the hallway and into the bathroom. I hadn’t really done my makeup in so long, I wondered if I’d still be able to do it. But it was like riding a bike, right? Bike…mmm. It’d been so long since Grey and I rode his bi ke. As soon as it was warm enough, I’d make him take me. Maybe he could teach me how to drive it…
Was I being crazy? I stared into the mirror a moment—at my wide, bloodshot eyes, the purple shadows beneath them, the messy, stringy hair about my face. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about the funny old lady from Ace Ventura , the one who’s like, “when Ray gets back and starts kicking again,” totally delusional. And then the husband says, “See, the engine’s running, but nobody’s behind the wheel.”
That was such a funny movie. Grey and I would have to watch it when he got back. “Nobody’s behind the wheel.” I shook my head in amusement and grabbed my makeup kit from the counter. What a funny thing to say.
I pulled my hair up, piling it on top of my head. It felt like straw in my fingers, the dark strands dry and lifeless. Then I started on my eyes, drawing dark, thick black lines around them. I layered copious amounts of grey eye shadow overtop the liner and then coated my eyelashes with mascara. After this came blush, and I swept the dark peach powder over my cheekbones with a flourish. Remembering how pretty Courtney looked with her deep red lips, I pulled out a lipstick in a similar colour, lining the rim of my lips and painting my mouth until it shone like blood.
I stood back and looked at my reflection. I looked like a clown. I stared at myself a moment, taking in the garish, disturbing image reflected back in the mirror. The sight made me laugh, I didn’t know what else to do. I pointed at myself and cackled, and in a brief, fleeting second of clarity, realized I was acting like a lunatic.
“Mackenzie? What are you doing?”
Alex’s sudden appearance made me jump. I held a hand to my chest and willed my heart to slow down.
“Oh, Alex. You scared me.” I laughed.
He cleared his throat, his light eyes wide, and damp. He looked sad.
“You okay, Mac?”
“Yeah.” I nodded casually. “You?”
“No. No, I’m not okay.” Alex’s voice was hoarse. “What are you doing?”
“Making myself pretty.” I shrugged, fluffing my hair in the mirror. “For when Grey comes back. I want to look good for him.”
Alex’s chin quivered, only slightly. He took a breath before he spoke, and when he did, his words were a whisper. “But Mackenzie, Grey’s not coming back. ”
I shook my head, adamantly refusing the possibility. “He is coming back, Alex.” I insisted. I didn’t feel like explaining the whole situation to him, how my parents were trying to keep us apart. He’d probably think I was crazy. I’d show him, we both would.
Nothing could keep us apart. Nothing.
Alex swallowed heavily, his eyes falling to the floor, like he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.
It hit me sometime in the night. I rolled over in bed and reached out for Grey—a familiar motion, something I’d done a million times before. This time, he wasn’t there.
He’s not there . I bolted upright in bed. Finally, the thoughts emerged; the horrendous, gut-wrenching truth I’d been so fervently denying.
He’s not there! He’s not there because he’s dead! He’s gone! Grey’s gone!
No. No. It couldn’t be true. Desperately, I clung to my delusion like a branch hanging over a waterfall, the one lifeline that could keep me from the horrible, drowning pain threatening to engulf me. Grey was coming for me. He was. He had to be…
But the truth would not be quieted, not now that it was out. It hit me like a kick in the guts, doubling me over, making me clutch my chest in pain as a long, shuddering, soundless sob tore through my body.
Grey was gone. He was gone.
I’d never known the echoing emptiness of total loss before. It tore through me in a heart-sickening wave. I fell from the bed and hit the floor, crawling, trying to catch my breath. Grey was all around me, but he was gone. Our room seemed too still without him there, like it was holding its breath—expectant—waiting for Grey to come sauntering through the door with his gorgeous face smirking, his blue eyes gleaming.
His amps were lined up against the wall, the pages of his lyrics piled on the desk, his scent clinging to his pillow, his guitar in its stand beside the bed. His clothes hung neatly on their hangers, clinging to the closet rod as if in fear of my chaotic, haphazard piles of laundry.
I took all this in, my eyes wild, my mind reeling. How could everybody say death was natural? How was it natural for someone to be here one moment and gone the next?
Forever?
It had only been a matter of hours—maybe a day since I’d last seen Grey, touched him, kissed him. Knowing I’d never be able to do so again, that he’d never smirk at me again, that he’d never whisper in my ear or sing to me with his beautiful voice, ever again…it was too much to bear .
Sobs ravaged through me, quiet sobs that shook my entire body, coming from somewhere deep inside, rattling my core. I grabbed the closest thing I could find, some remnant of Grey, anything he had once touched with his warm, strong hands. I cuddled myself around his amplifier.
This was all that I had left, his things. Never him. Ever again.
I couldn’t take it. My mind was too fragile, too weak to cope with the depth of such sorrow. I felt it tearing my soul apart, threatening to break me. It was unbearable, it was excruciating. There was only one thing that would help me escape, one thing that would enable me to survive such anguish. With tears flooding my eyes, gasping, I reached for my supplies.
Things were much better after. I found I could breathe again when I wasn’t being crushed with the weight of total despair. I curled up in a ball on the bed, wrapped my arms around my legs, and buried my face into Grey’s pillow. It smelled like him, like the delicious, masculine scent of his cologne.
I lay emotionless, slack with relief, blinking slowly, staring at nothing.