Chapter 31
ELLA
Three nights. Three nights I’ve slept with Ry.
Actually slept.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s been orgasms. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasms. But no sex.
Ry was right. I’m still not ready. Hell, I still haven’t even seen his cock yet.
Something I plan to remedy real soon.
The warm Spring Break weather has held steady, and the forecast says it will keep for the rest of the week. That means we should be able to keep sleeping at the homestead. He told me that we’ll sleep at the garage or drive back to my house if the temperature dips down too cold. I wasn’t sure how I would like sleeping on a blow-up mattress in a tent in the woods. But it’s nice. Especially since Ry made me pack the goose down comforter from my bed and the lavender sheet spray.
The one thing I miss is my shower. We shower at the body shop. Although, Ry is a neat freak and keeps everything spotless, it’s small. And there’s no ledge for me to hike my leg on when shaving. Yesterday, I cut the back of my knee with my razor when I slipped, and he had to play doctor with salve and a Band-Aid.
Plus, I always pop a breaker with my blow dryer. But Ry knows better than to ask me to go without my fixed hair and makeup. It’s hard to stop that routine. When you’re always told that you have to look perfect, that you have to look completely polished and presentable, it’s a hard habit to break. Mom wouldn’t even let Carrie and me run to the grocery store for a loaf of bread without full makeup.
Ry says he doesn’t mind me taking forty-five minutes in the morning to shower and get ready, because at night I take it all off for him. He says it’s like a butterfly breaking free of her cocoon.
Walking back through the garage from the kitchenette, I holler to the boys. “I’m gonna go get us some fresh snacks. There’s not much in the cupboard. I’ll be back soon.”
Ry is hidden underneath the hood of a vehicle, but that statement quickly garners his attention. “Go to the dollar store.”
I pretend to busy myself, grabbing my wristlet. “The gas station is just right here.”
He pulls the white towel from his back pocket, wiping the grease from his hands. His warning is low and deathly serious. “Lulu.”
I flicker my eyes over to the customer waiting in the corner of the garage, playing a game on his phone. Whatever Ry is fixing isn’t going to take long, so the guy opted to just wait. I use the spectator to my advantage. Speed walking into the sunshine, I wave over my shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
He definitely doesn’t like that.
The gas station is crowded today, but it is the lunch hour, so some people are probably just buying fried chicken.
Some people are also probably buying other things.
The doorbell chimes when I walk in, and Trash’s eyes instantly meet mine. He smirks, flashing me a glimpse of his cigarette-stained teeth. He’s seen me over at the garage numerous times since our last run-in, but he has kept his distance. He may be more afraid of Ry than he is of that Trey guy. Although, I doubt it. I grab a small basket by the door and wander the aisles, grabbing some chips that Harlan likes, some protein bars that Ry likes, and some sour candy that I like. I stock up on some bottled water and sodas, pausing when I get to the specialty drink area.
Slayton’s Southern Blackberry Tea stares at me. Mocking me. Mocking my sister.
I’m not sure exactly when I decide to buy drugs. I would like to say it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the fact remains, I’ve been thinking about it since Ry gave me the ‘cheat sheet’ for my birthday. Opening the cooler, I grab the bottle, holding it tightly in my hand. I have to wait on two people to check out in front of me. Trash starts laughing when it’s my turn at the counter. I’m not exactly sure what the hell he finds so funny.
I guess it’s me.
“You slumming it again, princess?”
“You’re sorely mistaken if you think keeping company with your brother is in any shape, form, or fashion ‘slumming it’.” The words taste like bitterweed coming out of my mouth.
“Egh, at least it’s kept him out of my hair for a while. He’s always been a buzzkill.” He shrugs. “I keep him around for the ladies. When he turns them down, they seek comfort in the arms of the next best thing.”
It’s pretty obvious he thinks he’s the next best thing.
The woman standing in line behind me snorts. Just like me, she probably considers a bridge troll a better hook-up than Trash.
He finishes ringing everything in my basket and leans over the counter, nodding at the drink in my hand. “That too?”
I lift the tea bottle in the air. “I’ll be checking out with this one separately.” That comment piques his interest.
I pay for the groceries with my credit card. Shoving the plastic bags to the side of the counter, I set the drink in between us. Condensation rolls onto the Formica. I reach into my wallet and grab the money I carefully folded.
I guess it’s hard to propose my actions are spur of the moment, when I folded my money weeks ago in case the situation ever presented itself.
Sliding it across to Trash, I choke on my words. My throat makes a weird gargling sound like I’m trying not to swallow mouthwash. “I’ll take that in a paper bag, please.”
Did I really just say please? At least I’m polite when I buy drugs.
Trash studies the $20 bill folded in front of him. Before he grabs it, I lay three pennies across the top. Eyes shining, he grabs my drink and money, walking quickly to the backroom. “Let me just grab one from the back.” He’s so excited, he’s practically skipping.
Douche.
He returns just a few seconds later with only the $20 cover bill in his hand. The rest of the money that was folded inside is gone. He quickly makes change and hands the bag to me. “Enjoy. I think you’re gonna love it. I’m sure I’ll see you back real soon.”
Gathering the bags in my hand, I make my way to the door, side-sweeping my view from one end of the store to the other. What if the lady behind me is an undercover cop? What if those cameras are a live feed to Trey and he sees that I just bought drugs? What if Trash planted a bomb in my paper bag instead of drugs?
I lift up the small brown bag. It just looks like someone’s lunch bag. I put it to my ear. I don’t hear anything suspicious.
The door chimes again, when I butt it with my hip to walk out. Trash’s voice follows me outside. “Hey, Ella. I was right about your legs.”
I don’t even turn around to look at him. I run-walk back over to the garage, my heart slapping against my ribcage in adrenaline. The knowledge I did something wrong is floating in my head like seaweed in the ocean, clogging my thoughts.
Ry’s finished the customer’s car, and he’s already slid underneath another one. His boots slap against the floor as he rolls his body and the creeper into a better position. Harlan is chatting with the guy at the register in the far corner.
“I’m back. I’ll put everything away.” I rush into the small kitchen, quickly tossing the groceries into the cabinets and fridge. Quietly racing into Ry’s small bedroom, I lock the door. Leaning against it, I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Sitting on his bed, I lay the paper bag in front of me. Grabbing his pillow, I clutch it against my chest.
Was Carrie this nervous the first time she bought drugs?
When ‘normal’ people have a major surgery, they take pain pills. When those pain pills run out, they stop taking them. What makes a person cross over the invisible threshold? What makes them think they need more pain pills? What breaks the border between ‘normal medical patient’ and ‘drug user’? And what made Carrie the latter versus the former? Was she always meant to be an addict? Is it in her body’s chemistry?
What about me? If I took one pill, could I stop? Or would I be an addict too?
Flopping the pillow on my lap, I reach into the bag. My fingers grab the drink first. I lay it on Ry’s quilt. At first, I don’t feel the small plastic bag and I think Trash has played a horrible trick on me.
And then I feel it.
I lay it on the bed next to the tea bottle.
I can’t touch it. It burns my fingertips like a hot iron.
I stare at the small pills—white, pink, and blue. Ry called it the Holy Trinity, before. Oxy, Soma, and Xanax. Nothing seems holy about it. In fact, I feel like I’m staring at the Devil himself. I sniffle, trying to keep the tears in my eyes. It’s a completely moot point, my eyes are apparently operating under direct order from my stupid, stupid brain.
I cry and I cry and I cry, silently praying that Ry and Harlan don’t hear me. I don’t see any tissues, so I reach in the top drawer of the small nightstand next to me. Grabbing a pair of Ry’s clean boxer briefs, I wipe my runny nose and try to dry my falling tears.
And then Ry walks in.
I guess the door doesn’t actually lock.
And I’m too sad to even be shocked.
He stares at me, his eyes roaming back and forth between me and the pill baggie. I’m surprised I can even hear his whisper. It’s quiet. Like a feather blowing on the wind. “What the fuck is going on?” When I don’t answer, his voice grows louder. “You bought pills?”
I nod, rubbing the crotch of his underwear across my face.
He takes a step toward me, clenching and unclenching his fist in anger. His jaw tightens. “Why? Why would you buy pills, Lulu? Please tell me you weren’t thinking about taking them.”
What. The. Hell.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “You’re being obtuse. Of course, I wouldn’t take these pills. These pills took my sister away from me. These pills ruined your chance at a childhood. They’re vile and repulsive.”
In less than a second, he’s on the bed, pulling me onto his lap, cradling me. I don’t even mind that he smells like sweat and oil and Harlan’s tobacco. “Then why? Why buy them? Why have them here?”
I shrug. “Lots of reasons. I wanted to see how easy it was. I wanted to know what Carrie felt like the first time she came here and bought these dumb things. I wanted to look at them. To try and figure out what makes Carrie so different from me.” I raise my head and look into his haunted pale green eyes. “Am I really different from her, Ry? If I took those pills right now, would I become an addict like Carrie? Why does it happen for some people and not others? Why couldn’t she avoid it? Why couldn’t she resist it?”
He strokes my hair, trying to place my body into a patterned rhythm, allowing the repetitive motion to calm me. Eventually my tears subside, leaving my eyelids swollen and raw.
His voice soothes my rattled nerves. “I don’t know the answers. If you and I took those drugs right now, we might both be fine. Or I may become an addict and not you. Or vice-versa. I have no idea. All I know is that you and I are strong enough not to tempt those fates.”
Tugging my chin, he places his lips on mine. Not kissing me, but just connecting. I love it when he does this. When he acts like he can’t function in the world unless he tethers himself to me.
His breath smells like toothpaste.
I can’t believe I just cried in front of him. And I’m not even embarrassed.
Running his hand down my back and over the roundness of my ass, he eventually pulls away and smiles. “Have you been blowing your nose in my underwear?”
I look down at the crumpled boxer briefs in my hand. “Yes. Yes, I have.”
His laugh is contagious, making me giggle. He tugs me from the bed. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re gonna flush those pills down the toilet and get you something to drink. Your body is burning up; you need to cool down. And we’re definitely gonna throw my underwear in the washing machine.”
Once he gets me settled at the small kitchen table, he hands me a bottle of water and a package of crackers. “Eat. Drink.” He leans forward, kissing me on the crown of my head.
He turns away, but not before I see the kind smile on his face disappear. His jaw twitches, and he twists his neck to both sides, stretching it. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he turns the corner, leaving the room.
Worry escalates in my heart. “Where are you going?”
“I’m gonna kill my piece of shit brother for selling drugs to my girl.”