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‘I don’t have a box,’ River says.
‘Yes, you do,’ Laney insists. ‘Everyone does. Now stop being a pussy and go get it.’
‘He’s sick, Laney. If he doesn’t want to do this, he can be in charge of the fire extinguisher,’ I say, setting that in front of him.
River leans into me, the fresh, clean scent of his cologne I love clouding my brain power. ‘In another life, I bet Laney spent her time in a state institution,’ he jokes in a whisper. ‘I have a box. It’s in my room, on top of the closet, in a black box with a big white X painted on top.’
I grin as he rolls his eyes playfully. He does have one.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I say, hurrying to his bedroom.
It takes me a minute to find something to stand on to reach the top of his closet, but when I do, there’s a small black square box, a white X painted on the top, just like he said. I wonder what he’s got in here? I shake it, but it feels empty.
‘Thank you,’ he says as I hand it to him and sit beside him again. I accidentally sit a little closer than intended, and our hips touch, but neither of us moves.
‘Are you ready to smoke your true desires out of the universe?’
‘Yeah, I’m not at all terrified,’ River says flatly. ‘How’s this going down?’
‘We burn shit; how many rules did you think there were?’ Laney snaps, sprinkling different spices into the metal bin.
He glances at me with a smile. ‘You two are total opposites. Word of warning, we’ve got about ten minutes to get this done before the sprinklers go off. Keep it short. Burn our shit. Break or make the curses and get our closure. Then we’re done. Oh, and keep your voices down. My head is pounding.’
Laney starts us off. ‘Goodbye, Lawrence,’ she says while lighting a photo of them at the Rose Festival last year. That was actually a fun day. I went with them, and he won us both stuffed starfish at the bottle ball toss. Spike nearly immediately mutilated mine, but I’m a little surprised that the starfish isn’t what Laney is burning. Maybe she already did?
‘I’ll never again date a man with a God complex,’ she says, passing me the lighter.
Ugh. I reach into my box, grabbing anything. ‘The Valentine my high school boyfriend, Ezra, dumped me with. “Please be…”’ I read his words scribbled across a homemade pink heart with lace edging before opening it to read the rest. ‘“Someone else’s girlfriend.”’ I sigh. ‘God, I’m good at picking boys.’
‘What?’ River snatches the valentine from me, looking it over. ‘That guy’s a tool. Be gone, Ezra,’ he says, tossing the card into the fire.
He fishes around the box in his hands, careful not to move too much, even though I suspect the meds are finally starting to work as he’s got a bit more color in him than he did before. Finally, he pulls out a pair of bright pink thong underwear.
Laney laughs.
‘Those don’t really match your collection,’ I joke. Yes, I’m still thinking about his underwear drawer.
‘They’re not mine.’ They dangle from the tip of his index finger over the fire. ‘Crazy in the head does not equal crazy in the bed. Lesson learned.’
‘Ew. You kept her panties?’ Laney asks, a mix of disgust and fascination all over her face as they burst into flames.
‘Not kept, left. As in, she left them. I was young and thought it would be funny to keep them, but I now realize that despite never wanting to grow up, I have, and it’s time to dispose of both of them and the memory. The girl gave me a scar.’ He points at the back of one arm where a tiny half-moon scar exists, only visible if you’re looking for it.
Note to self: ask to hear the story of crazy in the head girl.
‘A sex injury,’ Laney laughs. ‘Be careful with this one,’ she warns me.
If anything with every story he tells each are enticing me into his bed a little more.
We continue cycling through the three of us, and after a couple of turns each, we’re laughing so much at each other’s terrible relationships that I snort laugh, earning a side-eye from River. I’m overly tired, and it’s showing.
‘Pretend I didn’t just do that. Who’s next?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got one thing left,’ Laney says, pulling out a small vial of liquid.
River scrunches his face. ‘Please don’t tell us what this one is.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘It’s the cologne of a guy I once had a fling with. It turned out he was married. I hope the next time he wears this; it’ll burn his skin.’ She pops the top and pours the tablespoon of liquid into the fire. It roars, forcing all of us to lean back, hoping no eyebrows were just lost.
