Sloth

against her face, the rough polyester beneath her. Reed’s hand brushing, just slightly, against hers-she’d never felt so there.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“No. You?”

“No. But-” She searched for the words that described how she did feel, a certainty that she’d never be happy combined with a strange acceptance and even contentment, as if she was floating along and the current was strong but she could trust where it would take her, so she could just close her eyes, sink back, and relax. She felt like she understood everything at once, with a deep clarity- but when she tried to name it, assign words and sentences to the certainty, it flowed away. The closer she drew, the blurrier it got. So she gave up. “But it’s okay,” she concluded simply.

She heard Reed take a sharp, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. It’s okay. Everything is.”

Chapter 10

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Miranda opened her eyes. Her first mistake. The morning light burned.

She twisted her head to the left. Mistake number two. The world spun, her stomach lurched, her muscles screamed. Her cottonmouth filled with the sour taste of bile.

Better not to move.

Go slow, she warned herself. Focused on taking one breath, then another, tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her head. Take stock:

Arms and legs: fully functional. Too heavy to move.

Location: burning white sun, jagged rocks digging into her back. So, outside. Somewhere, for some reason.

Miscellaneous: Shirt on the ground. Bra unhooked. Her left arm squashed between her chest and the ground, her right arm propped up on something. Something that moved.

Uh-oh.

Her breathing was like thunder in her ears. She held it. The roaring stopped. And she heard him.

She twisted her head around. “Oooooooooooh noooooooo.” A weak and scratchy wheeze, but still too loud. She winced. He woke.

“Unnnh?” Adam shook his head and propped himself up, then dropped back down to the ground. “What am I… what are you…?”

There was a party, Miranda remembered. Images floated across her brain.

Beer. Lots of beer.

Kane’s arms holding her up.

More beer.

Kane and… A sharp pain cut through the dull throbbing in her head. Harper.

The trees. Adam. Unbuttoning her shirt. His tongue…

“What did I do?” she whispered. Her throat burned. “Adam,” she croaked. His eyes had slipped shut again. His chest was bare. “Adam!”

“Uh?”

Her arm was still lying on top of him. She jerked it away, heaved herself over onto her back. “Do you remember what… what did we…” No. Not possible. She closed her eyes. No, no, no. Maybe. She had to know.

“Did we…”

“… you know?”

Shut up, he thought. Her voice hurt. Everything hurt. Every noise was another bottle broken over his head. And hangovers turned him into an asshole.

Home. That was what he needed. His bed. His dark room. His Ultimate Hangover Cure (milk, orange juice, honey, bananas). Just what the doctor ordered. But that would mean standing up, and he was too tired to move.

And then there was Miranda. Who wouldn’t shut up.

“Adam, what happened?”

Be nice. “Okay, okay,” he groaned. “Just stop yelling. We kissed, okay?”

“And?”

“And that’s it.” Adam opened his eyes again. Her lower lip wobbled, and her eyes bugged out. He sighed. “And then you, uh, kind of puked. A lot.”

“Oh, god. On you?”

“Well…” He took a big whiff. Almost choked. Yeah, on him. He forced a smile. “No big deal. Really.”

“This is so humiliating,” Miranda moaned, turning away from him and curling up into a tight ball.

“It’s fine.” Comfort her, he told himself. But that would take so much damn effort. He stifled a yawn. “It’s already forgotten.”

“We can’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah.”

“Promise” Miranda insisted.

“Uh-huh. I promise.” He stretched out, feeling like he hadn’t moved in months. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah.”

Minutes passed. No one spoke. No one moved.

“Or we could just rest for a while,” Miranda suggested.

But no one heard. Adam was already asleep.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Beth opened her eyes. Her whole body ached. The thin sleeping bag offered no protection for her from the hard-packed desert gravel. She was tired. Thirsty.

Happy.

My parents are going to kill me.

It didn’t seem to matter.

Maybe the pot permanently warped my brain. Maybe I just don’t care anymore.

It sounded like heaven.

She had awoken in the night, shivering in the dark. Reed had wrapped an arm around her; she’d snuggled up against his chest. Now she could feel him breathe.

She felt like a stranger. And it felt good. As long as she stayed out here, she could be someone else. She could be the kind of girl who didn’t care what happened next.

“Reed?” Her head was nestled into the space beneath his chin. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t see his face.

The calm couldn’t last forever. But maybe when he woke up, he’d pull out his small plastic bag again. He’d roll the ashy, dark green flakes into a neat white tube. She would inhale more of the magic potion.

I shouldn’t…

It was a quiet voice, and easy to ignore. To smother, until it stopped flailing and gave up the fight.

She closed her eyes and shifted against him. It felt good-a warm body beside her, the weight of someone’s arms around her. She’d been so alone.

She knew she deserved to be alone.

But in the sunrise, in the desert air, in Reed’s arms, she could almost allow herself to forget.

“I wish I could tell you the truth,” she whispered as he slept. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

I have to get out of here, Reed thought. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t speak. Don’t move. If she knew he was awake, she’d want to talk. And he wasn’t ready.

So he pretended to be asleep. He pretended to be somewhere else. Not here, lying next to her, with his arms around her, breathing in her hair, wishing he could-