Page 94 of The Last Special Thing

“I’ll be back,” Amelia assured Weston.

His arm dropped, but his face remained hardened.

She followed Art outside the complex. The sky had grown grey, and the exterior apartment lights glowed a yellow hue. Their shadows extended on the sidewalk.

“Why did you call him?” Art asked.

Her mouth fell. “Why did you leave me?”

He tapped his foot, then ran his fingers back and forth across his forehead—a manic look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Madisson was freaking out. I had to get her out of there. Of course, I didn’t know she would be a complete bitch. I figured I would walk her back here and then go and get you.”

She folded her arms. “Don’t call her a bitch. You got drunk, Max got arrested, and you left me on shrooms by myself.”

He paced in front of her. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I get that. Sometimes I do the absolute wrong fucking thing. I didn’t mean to leave you. I didn’t think we would get so drunk. I freaked the fuck out when I saw the cops, and Madisson was tripping. You would never forgive me if something happened to her. You wouldn’t.” He stopped, holding her gaze.

She averted her eyes.

He picked up his stride, quicker like a caged animal. “I’m sorry. I know I’m a piece of shit. I know it. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He stopped in front of her, his voice laced with desperation. “Whatever you want! I won’t ever drink again if that made you happy.”

Her bare feet tingled in the cold. She really needed to get her shoes back from him.

Her voice cut through the night. “For a while today, everything was special. I understood why you wanted me to have this experience. To do it differently from the acid, where we had separate trips. I get that this way, I could’ve explained to you what was happening to me, and you could have understood because you weren’t on drugs yourself. But then you ruined it. You left. You didn’t try to understand me and what I was experiencing.” Her body sagged. “I get you have remorse about the day, but I want to go home.”

“You want Weston to take you home,” he spat the words out as he stopped his pacing.

“You know it’s not like that.” Her chest fell. She may have compared them, but it was never a competition. She had chosen him from the moment she met him, all summer long. She loved him.

“Fucking go then. I’ll see you later.” He flung his arm out, granting her permission to leave.

Everything about the conversation was off. He had never once been intimidated by her relationship with Weston or hostile toward her. He was typically quick to back off when she pushed back. Standing firm, shoving her away from him, wasn’t Art.

She repeated to Art what Weston had asked her hours ago. “What are you on?”

“Are you serious right now?” His words were sharp.

She didn’t know she was serious until his words hit her.

“You’re on something.” She brought her hand to the crease of her eye and rubbed it. When did the saga of bad decisions ever end?

While he tapped his fingers quickly against his pants, his face remained as stone.

“You left me to do coke?” Her mouth parted, desperate for another answer. To be told she had it all wrong.

He didn’t respond immediately. Despite his terrible decisions, he clung to the one good thing he had going for him–he wouldn’t lie to her. As if being honest made him a good guy.

A chorus of crickets chirped as she waited for confirmation.

Instead, he said, “Listen, go be with fucking Weston. You want to be with that guy so much, go.”

The words cut. At the realization that hurting her was his intention, the dagger turned deeper.

“I don’t want to be with Weston. I thought I wanted to be with you.” Her voice strained.

“Oh, and one bad day, and now you don’t want to be with me anymore.” His voice was loud, almost as a joke.