“Youhave lipstick on your shirt.”
Withthat, she walked away and I was left clearing my throat and feeling like I wasthirteen again. Caught in the middle of a make out session I never should havebeen in, with an old friend's seventeen-year-old sister. That had been just asembarrassing, and just as wrong, as this. I had known then, just as I had knownnow, that it was a bad idea. But I had done it anyway. For the thrill of it, Iguess. But, back then, I’d had the excuse of foolish immaturity to defend mydecision. What the hell could I say for myself now, other than I simply wantedto do something stupid with my girlfriend? And at what cost?
Willanever did finish her thought and we never did have cake. Andy and I quicklysaid goodbye to her parents and called an Uber, despite her father's insistencethat he drive us to the train. I don't think Andy wanted to be in a car alonewith him, and if I'm being honest, neither did I. But I felt the rift growingbetween her and her family, that I knew she'd always been close to, and Iwondered how truthful her sister had been. Was I really the cause for thenewfound distance between them? Or had it been a long time coming and ourrelationship was simply the final straw to break the camel's back?
Iwas teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown the whole ride into Penn, whileAndy sat beside me in uncomfortable silence. I wished she'd talk to me. I wishedshe'd save me from the bullshit in my head. But she didn't. She just kept hereyes down and her lip pinned between her teeth, and I guessed maybe I deservedthat.
Mybrother and sister had both grown up in the same household as me. We'd had thesame childhood, the same parents, the same misfortune. Yet, we all had coped inour own way; Jenna had busied herself with boys and an active social life,while Zach and I discovered drugs and alcohol. We'd done it together, as ourown little dysfunctional team, and later, we'd gone to rehab. Much like ourdescent into addiction, we had also begun the journey to recovery by eachother's side, and our dysfunctional team became a support system. But then,Zach met Greyson. He had fallen in love and moved away, no longer needing thesupport I could offer.
He'dgotten out. He'd broken free. And not once had he looked back to see if I wasstill shackled or if there was any part of me still holding on.
But,I guess that's the way things go, isn't it? You win some, you lose some, andZach had won. I guess that left me in the position to lose. And that's exactlywhat I was: a loser. Pops saw it. Andy's family saw it. And there was a part ofme that wished she'd see it, too—hell, maybe she already did, and that was the reasonfor the silent treatment the whole way back to the apartment.
Thesecond we walked through the door, her entire body went rigid and she headedstraight to bed, with the excuse that she was tired. I didn't doubt she was,but there was something else. Something that stopped her from kissing megoodnight. Something that kept her eyes on the floor and not on me. That typeof emotional and physical rejection hurt me in a way it shouldn't have, and thesecond she closed the door to the bedroom, I headed straight to the bathroom.
AsI reached up to the top of the medicine cabinet, my hand landing immediately onthe prize, I looked into the eyes of my reflection and whispered, “Fuckin'loser.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
ANDREA
When Iwas twenty-three, my parents and I went out to the movies, leaving Willa athome with her then-boyfriend, Eric. We were gone four hours and when wereturned home, my dad walked in on Willa having sex—in my parents' bedroom.
Ilaid in bed at Vinnie's apartment, festering in that memory and the things thathad happened at the anniversary party. I wanted to call my sister up and demandshe apologize to us for her judgments and accusations. I wanted to remind herof the way her first born had been conceived and ask her how she would've feltif Mer and I had assaulted her with insults and names. But I knew I wouldn't dothose things, because I also knew that two wrongs never made a right.
Whathad I been thinking? I never should've let Vinnie put his hand up my dress. Inever should have let things go as far as they had. But I had been tipsy, afterdrinking a couple glasses of red wine, and the anger I felt toward my familyhad coupled with the thrill of being caught by them. And yes, it had beenexciting in the moment, and yes, it had been good, but at what cost? Would mysisters ever be able to look at us again? Would they ever be able to respecthim as the man I chose to be with?
Amidthe torture of my self-loathing, there was the perpetual hum of the spiritworld, something I had successfully escaped in this apartment for two weeks,until now. Vincent was here, Vincent was watching. He wanted something andneeded to pass along a message, but I wouldn't let myself listen. I couldn't. Ihad issues of my own to handle right now, and maybe that was wrong and selfishof me, but after so many years of making time for the ghosts, I felt I deservedthis.
Ifonly he would go away.
Iopened my eyes to find him standing at the side of the bed, looming over me. Irolled over to face the other wall, and he followed, moving to the other side.I hated the way he stared at me, unblinking. I hated the way he kept his mouthin a taut line. Other spirits sometimes tried to talk. They tried to hold ontothe part of them that was still human. But not Vincent, and it creeped me out.
“Please,”I groaned, rolling my face into the pillow. “Please, go away.”
But,just as I suspected, he remained where he stood and continued to syphon thestatic into my brain, begging me to listen.
Finally,I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to watch TV, listen to music, fuckVinnie—something to distract me from the ever-persistent buzzing in my head. Irolled out of bed quickly, still in the dress I had spent way too much money onto sleep in and moved hurriedly for the door. Vincent didn't follow the way Ithought he would but instead watched me leave with those unblinking eyes.
“Please,please, please, go away,” I muttered with my back to him. “I'm sorry. I'm sosorry. Just ... please, leave me alone.”
Iopened the door, praying he wouldn't follow and praying he'd be gone by thetime I came back. I moved quickly down the hallway and turned the corner intothe living room, to find Vinnie sitting on the couch and leaning over thecoffee table.
“Hey,what are you—” I didn't have the question out of my mouth before realizing veryquickly what exactly he was doing. “Oh, my God.”
Hesputtered as he sat up, rubbing frantically beneath his nose as he coughed.“A-Andy,” he stammered, simultaneously trying to look at me while alsoscrambling to wipe away the evidence of his actions. Like I hadn't already justseen him snort a line.
Ibacked into the kitchen, seeing him then as a doped-up monster and not theboyfriend I loved. “Don't. Just ... just don't.”
Hestood up and held his palms out. I could see, even from where I stood, that hispupils were already dilated, creating two black holes where his beautiful,brown eyes once were.
“Andy.It's not what it—”
“Oh,give me a fucking break, Vinnie. It'sexactlywhat it looks like. Don'ttreat me like I'm an idiot!”
“Iknow,” he said, nodding rapidly and taking a step forward. I took a step back.“I know. But, but listen to me, okay? Listen. I only did it one other time,okay? Just one other time, the other night when you weren't here. That's it.And now, obviously. But that'sit.”
Hewas already riding the buzz. Erratic movements of his eyes and hands showcasedthe energy from his high and it felt so wrong, all of it. How could he stilllook and sound like the man I loved and wanted to be with, when there was nowsomething inside him, making him act like a complete stranger? And I realizedin that moment, why some people stay with their addicted spouses.
