“Where’sTrent?” I opened the truck’s door and got in. I tried to put the key in theignition, missed. Tried again, another miss. My fucking hands. They wereshaking and useless, and I gritted my teeth as I smacked my palm against thesteering wheel. “Fuck!”
“What?”
“Nothing,”I growled, angry with myself as I finally got the key in and turned. “Where thehell is Trent, Brooke?”
“He’s,uh … he’s right here.”
“Puthim on.”
Therewas a shuffling on the other end as I pulled out of the parking lot and ontothe road, heading toward UConn.
“Dev.”Trent’s tone was short. Concerned. “She’s really flipping out in there. Yourgirlfriend’s insane.”
Theteasing had been going on for two years and normally I took it in stride, butnow wasn’t the fucking time. “Shut the fuck up asshole. Why aren’t either ofyou trying to see what’s wrong?”
“Brooketried man,” he hissed. “The fucking door is locked. She already told you that.”
“Andyou’re built like a fucking house! Break the goddamn door down.”
Trentgroaned, and I’d bet money that he rolled his eyes too. “I’m not breaking downthe fucking door because your girlfriend decided to have a mental breakdown.”
“Gofuck yourself, Trenton.”
Hewas silent. His full name had that effect on him. “Okay. I’m sorry. Do youseriously want me to break the door down?”
“Idon’t know what I want you to do,” I answered honestly, roughly scrubbing ahand over my chin. “I don’t want her hurting herself,” I admitted, not knowingthat sheactually would. Not trusting that shewouldn’t.
Trentwas quiet again. There was movement, and I listened as I hurried down the road.I was speeding, just a little above the limit. I wanted to get there, and Iwanted to get therefast, but I didn’t want to get pulled over. Thatwould waste precious time and hold me up.
“Icould try and pick the lock, okay?” He was whispering.
“Y-yeah,do that,” I said, nodding to myself and releasing an exhale that left mebreathless and open to the ache of my concern. Why did I have to live ahalfhouraway?
Aseries of clicks, jiggles and curse words paraded through the phone until Trentfinally said, “I got it,” and I heard the door open quietly. No words werespoken, and the door closed. “Fuck, man … Shit …”
“What?”I asked urgently.
“Devin,man … does she dodrugs?”
?
Brookeopened the door for me when I got there. Her and Trent were in the living room,surrounded by boxes to be moved after graduation.
Iwalked past them, not saying a word. They looked terrified—ofher orforher, I didn’t care to ask. I didn’t bother to knock as I normally would’ve, andI opened the door unceremoniously, closing it behind me before I could take inthe sight of her bedroom.
WhenI turned around, my eyes opened to the boxes, all opened and tipped over.Picture frames were shattered on the floor, clothes strewn about. It was asthough an animal had rampaged through the place, but all there was, was Kylie.She was sitting in the middle of a shattered vase, the shards strewn about likeconfetti. The dry, dead daisies scattered around like straw. Her legs were wetfrom the dirty water in the vase. Her hands were clutched over her face andblood dripped from between two of her fingers. She was crying audibly, takingin deep, gasping sobs.
Myfirst instinct was to walk forward, to pick her up and get her out of there.But then, my eyes landed on the bed, and I saw them: the little plastic bags ofa white powdered substance. They littered the blanket, there were tons of themand I didn’t need to have any experience with cocaine to know that’s what itwas.
“Kylie,”I said, my voice sharp and strained under the weight of my shock,disappointment and fear. “Kylie, what the fuck is this?”
“D-Devin,”she sobbed, and my heart threatened to give out at the sound of herwater-logged voice. “Just … just please … please go … p-please …”
Igasped at that. She had never asked me to leave before.
Butthere was no way in hell I was leaving.
“Kylie… how much did you do?” I asked, as if I knew anything about cocaine. “We can,um … I’ll get you help, okay? I can take you to the hospital, I’ll call yourparents, I’ll—”
