Page 30 of Gorgeous Misery

Anyway, the first time I heard of the cure I was in the doctor’s office getting a psych eval. But it didn’t become important until I heard Johnny Boston and his girlfriend, Megan, talk about it many years later. She was the one who was making the cure and this was to save kids, not grown-ups.

“Chek,” I said. “What does she mean?”

Chek put up his hand, palm facing me. A gesture he used a lot. It didn’t mean stop, either. It meant… Careful. Be careful, Wendy. Take your time, Wendy. See before you act. And then he said, “It’s not about you. That has nothing to do with you.”

Obviously, things were tense at the time. This was right before we took those Untouchables down for good and Megan, Johnny, Chek and me—we were all part of the plan. So I couldn’t ask any more questions.

And then Chek died and all the answers to all the questions went with him.

Today is my eighteenth birthday and Chek has been dead for three hundred and eighty-two days.

I stop my truck at the end of the lane.

Three hundred and eighty-two days.

How am I still functioning?

How do I get up every day?

How do I bathe, and eat, and exist?

How am I still alive?

I get out of the truck, keys in hand, and walk over to the mailbox.

Don’t do it, Wendy. Get back in the truck, drive away, and never come back.

But I did that already. Twice, actually. The first time was the day after birthday #17 with Nick. I had this urge to hurt someone, and he was the only one there, so I left before I did something stupid. Then I came back for Christmas. Nick wasn’t there that time. He didn’t know about Christmas, so I was alone. I stayed about… four days? When I first arrived, I really thought I would stay forever. This was it. The open road was over now. I was coming home. I would be normal.

It had potential, that day. And it started out OK. But as per usual, nothing in my world lasts very long. So I got in my truck, drove away, and didn’t come back until now.

I’m not driving away today. I’ve been living on the road for eight months and I’m tired of it. When Nick and I did it together, it was always so fun. But alone?

No.

Living on the road alone is just lonely.

Back out on the lane, I slide the key into the mailbox and open the large lid. It creaks on the rusty hinges.

Then I blink a few times. Because it’s not empty. There is a garbage bag filled with cards.

There is no way to stop my smile.

I gather the edges of the trash bag together, haul it out, throw it on the passenger seat, get back in my truck, and start down the lane.

The tires crunch on the driveway and I go slow. Because I want things to be a certain way when I get to the end of the lane and this is it.

The moment of truth.

And when I see the black truck parked in front of the cabin, I make a weird noise. A sob, maybe.

Because he’s here.

He came.

CHAPTER SIX - NICK

BIRTHDAY #18