Of course, I have no money.
That’s literally zero dollars and zero cents.
Thank God my mom sent me a carton of cigarettes, so at least that’s something, but it doesn’t exactly help with the whole food, shelter, and transportation thing.
It’s a big fucking risk.
But Sue Ellen will help me. I know she will. Besides, I got her into this mess—telling her I loved her—that we were going to be together—that we were built for each other. How much of an asshole would I be if, after having gotten caught, I just pussed out and abandoned her completely?
So, yeah, they’re all just gonna have to back the fuck up, ’cause I’m done with this shit.
I wipe my stupid tears outta my eyes. I stand up. “All right, then,” I say, my voice definitely shaking all over the place. “I’m gonna go pack. And, don’t worry, I’ll be gone within the hour.”
Melonie immediately jumps up in front of me.
“Don’t do it, Nic. It’ll be the worst mistake you’ve ever made in your life. You have to listen to me.”
There’s actually panic and a kind of fear in her voice that just makes me all the more determined.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I tell her—as detached as possible.
I walk toward the door.
I’m really done with all this.
I step around Melonie and just keep walking.
“Do you think you’re in love with her?” she asks the back of my head. “Is that it? ’Cause, oh boy, you’ve got another thing coming. I feel sorry for you, Nic. I really do. But I can’t stop you from self-destructing—and obviously you can’t, either. So, fine, go pack your things. I’ll have your discharge packet ready at the CA’s office when you’re done.”
I walk out into the quickly fading sun, up the trail—hopefully for the last time.
My hands are trembling.
What am I gonna do now?
Ch.12
It’s actually this lawyer kid, Jason, who’s saving my ass—at least for tonight. He’s already on Day Program and has a room at the Residence Inn, so he kinda reluctantly agrees to let me stay with him—though he wants me out by tomorrow. Honestly, I feel like he’s being kinda fucked up about the whole thing. I mean, he totally knew what was up with me and Sue Ellen. We all used to hang out together. I really thought he was my friend—in fact, one of my better friends in this place. We would talk and joke around and confide in each other and play Scrabble. But now, since I got caught, he’s suddenly acting like I’m this dangerous predator. Hell, he was totally into that Jessie girl who’d been a call girl, and he was constantly trying to get together with her. And he would’ve, too, if she hadn’t kept blowing him off. So his puritanical, I’m-Mr.-Poster-Child-of-Recovery thing is pissing me off. Though it’s not like I can do anything about it. I mean, I need his room.
Besides, I was able to talk to Sue Ellen, and she told me real quick that her mom had gotten her a room at that same Residence Inn for a couple nights—just till she could get a flight back to South Carolina. I don’t think either one of us would be comfortable spending the night together. I mean, it’s just too much pressure. But we are anxious to hang out and talk and all, so staying with Jason is perfect.
He drives me to the hotel in his stupid rental car, and I bring my bag up to his room. All I’ve got is one bag, plus an over-the-shoulder backpack thing and that guitar from the Safe Passage Center, which I figure they owe me.
Immediately Jason is sort of pacing back and forth across the tacky, worn-thin, patterned wall-to-wall carpeting—a grayish-black color, probably to help hide all the stains. But actually it’s a totally fine room, with a separate sitting area and a couch and a mini-kitchen with mini-appliances. There’s some abstract, corporate framed art on the walls that look like bad Miró imitations.
“All right, Nic, all right,” says Jason, definitely not sounding like my friend anymore at all. “I’m trying to be cool about this, but I need to know, what’s your plan? I can’t have you staying here after tonight, okay? You need to get your shit together, man.”
I think I maybe roll my eyes a little. “Of course,” I tell him, looking down at the cheap, dark-colored fake tile on the kitchen floor. There’s a swarm of ants moving steadily along the grout beneath the sink—keeping perfect pace with one another—falling in line—instinctively, unthinkingly working, working, working—serving the queen—each individual ant indistinguishable from the rest.
“Well?” Jason demands, pretty goddamn forcibly. “So what is your plan, then?”
My attention stays fixed on the blind obedience of the ant colony.
“Honestly,” I say—distant—escaping the terror and humiliation of being in my body. Watching myself watching the ants from a corner of the textured, off-white ceiling. “Honestly, I don’t totally know. I wanna be with Sue Ellen. If I have to, I’ll go back to South Carolina with her. I mean, I love her, man, I really do. And I’m gonna take care of her. But, look, you know, I really appreciate you letting me stay here tonight. I swear I’ll get out of your way tomorrow. It’s just for a night. You’ve been so good
