Page 83 of The Last Thing You Said

I suck in a breath. Did she just call Lucy Lulu? She couldn’t have, she couldn’t have known that’s what we called her.

“Where’s her boyfriend? Don’t you think he should be the one taking care of her?”

I have never seen Dana so upset, and the fact that she’s upset because of me, because of something I’ve done, isn’t lost on me.

“I don’t know where Simon is,” I tell her. “My guess is that he left after I beat the shit out of him.”

She gasps. “You did that? You beat up Lucy’s boyfriend, and then I find you out here with her? Ben, what is going on with you?”

What is going on with me is something that should have gone on a long time ago.

“Dana, I think we should break up.”

She lets out a long exhale.

I’m expecting her to argue, but she doesn’t say a word. I can hardly stand to look at her as emotions cross her face—sadness, disappointment, and God, what is that? A tiny bit of relief? She takes a deep breath, but long moments pass before she finally speaks.

“Be kind to her, Ben. Take care of her. She deserves that.”

God, she’s being so nice about this, but I’m not surprised. She’s always been the better person.

She turns and walks away.

“I’m sorry,” I call to her, because it seems like the right thing to say, but I’m not. I don’t feel sorry.

What I feel is heavy. A boulder of regret in my chest where my heart should be.

Lucy stirs on my lap, but she doesn’t wake. I slip my fingers into her soft hair, massage her temple.

“Shh,” I whisper. “I’ll take care of you.”

I’ve loved her all along.

44 · Lucy

The day after Guthrie’s party, I can’t move. My body has rejected the horrible things I put inside it, and I deserve every bit of the nausea and achiness and throbbing headache. I don’t remember how I got home, but it must have been Guthrie or Eddie—they were the only sober ones.

I guess Daniel will be disappointed, because I really messed this up.

“Was it worth it?” Dad asks as I walk past him. He’s sitting in the recliner watching the Twins game. “You smell awful. And you don’t look so good, either.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“I hope you’re getting this whole rebellious teenager thing out of your system.”

I would roll my eyes if I thought I could do it without throwing up. I stretch out on the sofa, and when the spinning stops, say, “You were the one who wanted me to make new friends and do stuff.”

“What stuff did you do? Shots of tequila?”

That’s possible. I’m not even sure.

He sighs. “So let me get this straight. You beg Daniel to talk us into letting you go to this party, which he does, and this is how you repay us? By getting wasted?”

I cringe. “I wouldn’t say I begged, exactly.”

“I don’t even think we need to punish you for this,” Dad says and waves his hand in my direction. “I’m pretty sure you’re feeling enough punishment right now.”

He’s got that right.