“Man, you’re a lightweight,” Harry says, nudging my knee with his, and I realize I’ve been staring at the cleaning supplies like they’re an ocean. I just laugh, and the laugh comes out strange. Everything is a bit strange, but also a bit good for the first time in weeks. We’re both giggling like idiots now, slumped against the wall. Everything outside this closet feels like a distant planet and I feel that I’m safe in orbit with him. It’s a very good change from how I was feeling just before coming here.
Harry keeps running his fingers through his hair, which is always straight and perfect, except now it’s starting to flop loose. He pulls at the collar of his shirt, and looks at me sideways but he smiles. He doesn’t say anything but he’s enjoying that a lot. I am too. I wish Ethan was here, and then I remember that’s the worst idea I ever had. Ihatethat fucker, I couldn’t forget that.
But the only truth is that I actually love him.
No. I’ll end up with a terribly bad trip if I go down this route.
We smoke a lot, the whole joint, and it isn’t small. I finally say to him, "Man, I need to sleep a bit."
I’m feeling much better now. I’m on cloud nine, riding the highest wave. He laughs.
"Sweet dreams," he says, and I lie down on the floor, closing my eyes, not caring about anything. When you’re high, you forget your problems, forget you’re basically in jail, forget you should be careful, forget vomiting and Ethan. I’m just riding the best wave of my life, and nothing can touch that. The room grows warm and then prickly-cold, like my skin can’t decide what it wants. My limbs go liquid; my mouth tastes weird. I hear my mom’s laugh, echoing from a thousand years ago, andthis breaks my heart a little. I can’t think about it, can’t think about it, can’t think about it, if I think about it, I’ll have a bad trip, and I can’t. So, I think about Ethan from before our fight. I don’t think about how mad I am and how he’ll kill me if he finds out, I just think about how warm inside he makes me, despite how much I want to deny this. I close my eyes and drift, telling myself I’ll only nap for a second, that I’ll hear Harry if he needs me, that nothing bad can get in through this door.
Except for the chaos that breaks my blissful sleep like a cold splash of water.
"Here you are," I hear someone shouting, and suddenly I’m yanked upright, pulled from my sleep quite literally. I barely have time to think, my eyes snapping open, reality crashing down. I see Griff's face next to a guard, who’s holding me, and with Harry nowhere in sight, I nearly have a heart attack. I look around, snapping back to reality, remembering what is going on. I don’t know if Harry has been caught, too, or if he’s bailed and left me there.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Griff barks as he practically drags me down the stairs.
"I... I am just…" I try to tell him to chill, that I can walk, but everything is happening so fast, I don’t manage to get the words out. The guard is half-carrying me, stumbling towards wherever they decide to take me, which turns out to be Griff’s office. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve been stoned just some time before. The high has faded enough for me to appear sober, but I’m not sure about the smell. It must have been some hours because the light outside has shifted, and the buzz died.
To my relief, he doesn’t mention anything about weed.
He just keeps yelling, “Why were you in a restricted area and, on top of that, sleeping there? Do you know what time it is? Do you know what happens to those who miss roll call andQuiet Time? You nearly gave us a heart attack, thinking you had somehow escaped. Thankfully, Harry reported that he saw you sneak into the admin building. Otherwise, we would’ve sent a patrol after you, and that wouldn’t have been fun for you at all. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Damn, Harry. Well, I guess he did me a favor, otherwise they’d have sent the patrol. But, even so, damn, Harry.
“Sorry,” I say, which apparently isn’t the smartest thing to say because the frown he shoots me gets even more intense.
“Sorry? Are you kidding me? Why would you do this?”
“I... I just wanted a place to sleep in peace, where no one could see me. I needed to get away. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry,” I repeat. I can’t even muster up the proper worry, mainly because he hasn’t brought up the weed. So, maybe he really doesn’t know about it. Because if he did, I’d be heading straight to solitary or something, or even real jail. Just the fact that he doesn’t mention the weed already has me more relieved than I can express. “Sorry, sir. I just wasn’t thinking,” I try again.
“Not good enough. You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?”
I'd almost forgotten that around here, they'll punish Ethan, too, because of me. And then, to make things worse, Griff says: “I’ll call your leader.”
I should want that. I should. I should hate him. But I don’t. I don’t want this going to his record. I don’t want to ruin things for him, no matter how much I hate that fucking bastard, whom I actually love.
“No, sir, please, it’s not his fault,” I blurt out. “He didn’t know I was going to do this. Please, don’t punish him. Please, please, please,” I beg, not caring at all for any remaining pride I might have.
Griff stares at me with those icy eyes for a long while. “I know you’re mad at him about the food thing. He probably couldn’t have stopped you even if he knew, so I’ll give him some grace.”
“Thanks, sir, it won't happen again, I swear,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me.
“Let’s get this over with, because my shift ends in half an hour, and I don’t want to spend my Saturday here with you.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, unsure of what torture is coming next.
Chapter 24. Liam
The act of holding two hardcover dictionaries at shoulder height for fifteen minutes is, I learn, a slow death. Fifteen doesn't sound too bad, but it is. It isbad.The first two minutes, I feel itburn, arms stuck out like airplane wings. By minute six, my triceps twitch like they’re on fire, and my fingers begin to shake. By minute eight, I imagine my arms are filling with cement and, I let them drop just an inch, but Griff’s watching.
“Horizontal.”
He said if I drop them, we'll start over, but I can't, I can’t start over. I’m already on the verge of tears.
I want to curse him, but my teeth are clenched together. I want to throw the dictionaries at the wall and bolt. Maybe I could run away if I tried very hard. But I can’t even adjust my weight without him scolding me for “fidgeting.” I count the seconds. I count heartbeats. I count the freckles on the back of my hand, which is now red and shaking so badly the letters on the spines vibrate. “American Heritage” and “Webster’s Unabridged” start to look all mingled up together and bad.
