Itried to ignore her as best as I could, pulling clothes out of the closet todecide what to keep and what to get rid of. I kept my eyes down and my mindbusy as best as I could, but she was always there. Always pouting and alwaysstaring. Driving the guilt home, like a stake through my heart.
“Jamie,stop.”
Shedropped facedown onto the bed, shielding her head with her arms. But I didn'tneed to see her face to know she was crying and hurt.
“Knockit off,” I growled from between gritted teeth. “Stop it.”
Ihated myself as I scolded and tried to get rid of her, my constant friend. Butthis was all a part of life, wasn't it? You move on, and your friends do, too.Sometimes you catch up at the local Starbucks, chatting while your kids argueover cookies, and then, you don't see each other again for anotheryear—sometimes never. But you still have something in common with thosefriends: you all embrace and respect the changes in your lives.
NotJamie, though.
Itook a deep, controlled breath to collect my resolve, and said, “You need toleave me alone now.”
Jamielifted her head, revealing the heartbreak in her eyes.
Ishook my head, fighting off the annoying prick of emotion. “I don't know whatto do for you anymore, Jamie. I can't help you. Just ... just leave.”
Butno matter what I said or did, Jamie was here for a reason, and because I couldnever figure out what that reason was, she was stuck. She was here forever itseemed. But even so, I didn't have to deal with it. I had options now. And in arush of determination, I dropped down at my desk and fished the snow-filledbaggie from my pocket.
Jamiepeered over my shoulder, innocent curiosity on her face, as I dug through mydesk drawer to find an old compact disc and Blockbuster Video membership card.I couldn't stand to look at her, as I poured the coke from the bag and cut acouple of lines. She didn't know what I was doing, there was no way she could,but I did. I knew I was wiping the slate clean and making her disappear, and myheart snapped with every tap and push of the plastic card.
“I'msorry, Jamie,” I said, as I took my position. “I really fucking am. I just ...I just can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.”
Itwent so fast, it always did. But, as much as I liked Vincent, he was never mybest friend. I hadn't grown up with him. We hadn't binged movies and dancedaround to music together. So, each time I took a hit in the apartment, I nevercried when I opened my eyes to find him gone. I didn't ache at the sight of himno longer being there.
ButI did now.
“I'msorry, Jamie,” I repeated to the empty room. “I'm so, so, so sorry.”
“Hey,Andrea?”
Itwas Dad, right outside my door. He was there, so close, and how much had heheard? Could he hear the cocaine? Could he hear it, so loud and electric,plucking at my veins and drumming against my heart?
“Yeah?”I called out, breathless as I frantically set to cleaning up.
“CanI come in?”
Myhand bumped the open bag of cocaine and some of the remaining powder spilled ina white cascade over the black walnut desktop. With my heart racing wildly, Iscrambled, brushing the powder into my palm, as I shouted, “Yeah, just giveme—”
Thedoor creaked open and in an agonizing panic, I rubbed a dab of the remainingcoke against my gums, not wanting to waste it all, as I reluctantly brushed therest against my jeans.
Dadstood in the doorway, surveying the room, and I watched him, trying hard toremain calm while my nerves grabbed a hold of the high and began to run, run,run away.
Hiseyes landed on me and an apologetic smile spread across his face. “Sorry,” hesaid. “It's just kinda weird, you know? We've lived here since you were alittle girl and this has always been your room. But now, I guess,” his smileshifted, now sad and sentimental, “I guess it's not.”
“I-It'snot a big deal, Daddy,” I stammered, as my racing anxiety heightened.
“Well,I dunno. It sort of is,” he said with a melancholic shrug. “I guess I justthought there'd be more warning, you know? Like, it wouldn't be so ... sudden.”
Awave of nausea nearly knocked me over, and I gripped the back of the chair.“Did you ... Did you want something?”
“Oh,”he snapped his fingers, as though remembering what it was he was there for.“Right. Your mother wanted me to ask if you were staying for dinner.”
“Ican't,” I hurried, reminding myself that I needed to breathe to stay alive andthat if I held my breath, I would die.
WasI dying?
Oh,God, I didn't want to die.
