Page 127 of Under the Influence

“I feel better now that you’re here.” She grabs my hand, tugging me into her house, “Do you want something to drink?”

She opens the fridge, scanning its contents. “Well, do you want a bottle of water? My assistant Lindsay must’ve had the kitchen stocked. My dad would’ve at least gotten juice or something.”

“What do you want to eat?” I ask. “It’s your first night home. I’m sure you don’t want bottled water and a Lean Cuisine.”

She laughs, “Don’t be silly. Lindsay would never allow me to eat Lean Cuisine.”

Now, I’m pissed. I don’t like Lindsay at all.

“Slip your shoes on. We’re leaving.”

She smiles, “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in the Taco Bell drive-thru, and I’ve never seen her look so normal.

“This is so good! I can already imagine Lindsay’s face as she scribbles these calories into her notebook.”

She takes a sip of her Baja Blast, returning it to the cupholder between us, but I’m so pissed I don’t even think I can speak. Not without losing it.

Her pain feels like my pain, and I’d take it all if I could.

I feel a little anxious, so I pull out a cigarette, lighting it up. She doesn’t complain, not like I expect. Instead, she reaches for the volume on the stereo, turning it up.

“I love this song,” she grins, singing along with Billie Eilish about Ocean eyes.

Her voice is angelic and haunting.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Everyone can sing,” she dismisses.

“Yeah, well, not everyone can sing like that.”

She waves me off, “Nah, I’m not that good. Besides, I’ve heard you sing.”

I’m desperate to change the subject. I don’t like being the center of any conversation, especially when it’s centered around my vocals. I don’t like to sing in front of a crowd. Play the drums? Sure. Guitar? Hell yes. Sing? Just no.

“We’re playing at Carson’s Halloween party this weekend. Me and some of the guys.”

Her expression falls, “Oh, really? I didn’t realize that was this weekend.”

I don’t like how her light is dimmed at the mention of Carson, “Did something happen? Have you talked to him?”

She throws her taco wrapper into the bag on the floorboard, “Not really. Lindsay is coming up with a way to spin the breakup. It’s going to be hard without people choosing sides.”

I feel myself getting defensive, “Have you talked to him or not?”

“We’ve messaged back and forth a little since I got home a few hours ago. Why?”

I reel myself back in, remembering she isn’t exactly mine, “I just think it’s shitty he apparently loved you, and then when you needed him, he wasn’t there.”

She shrugs, “Don’t overthink it. Carson and I were broken up before I left. I didn’t ask him to write to me. I didn’t even give him the address.”

I’m the only person she wanted to write to her?

“Oh.”