"How are things with Ethan?" she asks on Thursday of the second week, and I want to laugh.
"There are no things with Ethan," I say. "Things with Ethan have ceased to exist."
She waits. She's good at waiting. Therapists and prison guards have that in common, and she’s sort of both?
"We don't talk," I add, because the silence is worse than admitting it. "Haven't spoken in two weeks. Not a word."
"How does that feel?"
I stare at the ceiling. There's a water stain shaped like Florida. "Like shit. It feels like shit. Is that clinical enough for you?"
She doesn't react to the bite in my tone. "Can you be more specific?"
I can. I don't want to be. But my mouth has always been faster than my judgment.
"It feels like someone cut off my arm and I keep reaching for things with the stump. Like I'll turn around to tell him something funny, and then I remember, and the remembering is worse than the original loss because it happens fifty times a day. Every single time, it's fresh. He'sright there. Three feet away, every night. And I can't…" My voice catches.
I don't say anything anymore. It hurts too much. She says that, in fact, Icanforgive him. But she doesn’t understand.
I want to hurt him back. So, when Harry sees me with Jack in the courtyard, on a Saturday, obviously without Ethan, he sees his chance, and I see mine.
Harry has been trying to turn me into his client since my first day here. He just stops when Ethan’s around because he’s very scared of Ethan, even if he doesn’t admit it. But now, he looks thrilled with the new situation. He pushes up his round glasses that slip down his nose and runs a hand through his slick black hair. "I've got something special, just for you, Liam. I know how sad you’ve been, sitting all by yourself during mealtime."
I look at him, knowing he said that specifically just to burn me, but I ignore it, and he shows me a small packet of weed from his pocket, hidden away. My eyes widen. Jack looks serious now. It’s very rare for us to see Jack being serious. He’s just like me. Ethan often calls us dumb and dumber. Thinking ofEthan makes me remember how angry I am.
"Man, stay out of Harry’s shit," Jack warns me, not even caring that Harry is there. "If Ethan finds out, he’ll kill you."
"Who cares about Ethan?" Harry says. "Liam deserves some fun. You want some, don’t you, Liam?"
He’s right. I really want it. Before this shit hole, I used to smoke every damn day, several times a day. I could use some to de-stress.
Harry taunts, "You're not gonna tattle, are you?"
"Of course not, I’m no fucking snitch," Jack replies, and he’s clearly ticked off. "But still, you know I'm against it. I started with weed, and then I couldn't stop doing acid and cocaine."
"Weed’s nothing," Harry says. "I smoke every weekend, and nothing’s happened so far. No one’s going to find out, you fucking normie."
"Okay, fine, but don’t count me in. I’m not covering for you guys in this," Jack says. Harry rolls his eyes.
"You're such a prude. I don’t even know why I hang out with you. You’re just like that jerk Ethan. Always preaching and stuff."
"Shut up," Jack snaps, getting really annoyed, and I've never seen him like that before. He gets up and storms off, and Harry just shrugs, flashing a grin as he stands up. I get up too, my heart racing a million miles an hour. I really want to smoke. But more than that, I want to make Ethan hurt.
Maybe I am an addict after all.
¦
On Saturdays, we have a bit more freedom, but not enough to roam around as we please. Yet, Harry seems to have it all figured out. He walks up to the guard standing by the entrance of the admin building, fishes something out of his pocket, another little packet, and hands it to the guard. I’m shocked at how easily the guard seems to be bought off, but he is, because he smiles and steps aside to let us through.
Harry and I race through the empty hallways, my heart thumping so hard I think I might be sick. We sprint up the stairs as fast as our legs will carry us. The admin building is always the emptiest, especially on weekends when there is almost no admin staff around. Just us and the guards, and of course, Griff and other bosses, since they never seem to rest. We make it to the top floor, which is basically a hallway lined with closed doors leading to meeting rooms and such, and head straight for one marked “Storage.” It’s good to think of something else besides vomiting and Ethan.
It’s unlocked, and Harry and I slip inside. It’s a small room, stuffed with cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous items, but it’s just the right size for us.
"That was too easy," I say as we sit down and Harry pulls out a lighter. I have no idea how he manages to keep one on him. He takes a pre-rolled joint from the little bag, strikes the lighter, and lights up, inhaling deeply, his eyes closing in bliss.
"Pass it here, my turn," I say. He hands me the joint with a chuckle, amused at how desperate I sound. Just the smell is making my mouth water like it’s some kind of delicious meal, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time, either.
When I finally take a drag, I can hardly believe it. I close my eyes, feeling it hit. I almost want to cough, but that is newbie stuff, lame, so I hold it back as best as I can, feeling my eyes watering. We just sit there grinning at each other like twoidiots. We hit it again, and again. My mind goes quiet after a few hits. No more Ethan! Bliss, absolute, pure bliss.
