Page 92 of Wrecked

Adam was holding a white bag in his. He was wearing jeans and a button-down, his copper hair long and styled perfectly. He looked good with a girl by his side. Usually, he was the third wheel.

I introduced myself to Nina and complimented her on her patent leather heels. She told me she liked my top. It was Matthew McConaughey pop art.

We started walking to the Chinese restaurant. We were going to dinner and then a movie. As we walked and talked, Adam handed the white bag to me. I opened it and saw an assortment of my favorite chocolates. I took out a caramel-filled candy that I loved and handed the bag back.

He put his hand up. “They’re for you,” he said. I smiled in surprise, and then he added, “Nina doesn’t eat chocolate.”

I opened the bag and offered him a piece. He took out two pieces.

Brad tried to put his hand in, but I snatched the bag back.

“Adam bought them for me; therefore, he gets one.”

Adam laughed at Brad’s grimace. “Dude, you found the only girl who eats candy for dinner.”

Brad started to laugh. “And a friend who enables her crazy.”

It was a fun and easy time, as high school should be. I had dance class and a regular babysitting job on the weekends. Brad worked at a CVS and worked on his art portfolio when he was off. We went to keg parties and house parties, school dances and clubs. We watched movies in his basement and parked his car in the woods when we said we were at the arcade. He drew pictures on all of my notebooks, and I doodled his name and mine to the point of obsession. It was typical high school love.

I can’t remember exactly when it started to go downhill. It was subtle. Looking back, I wonder how many signs I ignored.

“Babe, I don’t want to be gross, but are you okay in there?” I had gotten to Brad’s house fifteen minutes before. Lying on my stomach, flipping through a magazine, I waited for him to come out.

“My stomach is acting up. I’ll be right out,” he said through the bathroom door.

I went back to reading an article about how to dismember a bomb. Men’s magazines were silly. A faint flicking sound caught my attention.

“Are you using a lighter in there?” I called out.

“Lighting a candle.”

I gagged. “Sorry I asked.”

Closing the magazine, I walked over to his desk. His portfolio was spread out—a masterpiece of hard work and dedication. He was a master at drawing people. His mom’s kind smile lit up one page, and Adam’s pensive look whenever he was trying to figure something out was on another.

Brad would draw random people he saw around town. He didn’t like to draw kids but had a penchant for old people, capturing their spirits with a brush of charcoal. I lifted one in my hands of an elderly woman. She was sitting at the diner with a coffee cup and a smile. She was holding on to a Keno card, the winning numbers on a television screen in front of her.

When the bathroom door opened, Brad stepped out, looking as handsome as ever. He walked over to me and kissed me. I pulled him in, soaking him in. He smelled like leather even though he wasn’t wearing a jacket. It was kind of manly.

“You want to go to my basement?” he asked.

I winked at him. “To watch a movie or get handsy? Because I am totally open to both.”

He kissed me. “Both.”

We walked down to his basement and turned on a movie. Around ten o’clock, I passed out and around two, I woke up in a frenzy.

“My parents are going to kill me,” I said as I popped up and looked at the time.

The television was on, and an infomercial was playing. Brad wasn’t in the room.

The house was dark, closed down for the night. I looked around for him on the first floor, but he wasn’t there. I walked upstairs, careful not to wake his parents.

Brad’s bedroom light was on. I pushed open the door to find him sitting at his desk, his hands covered in black dust. He was drawing.

“You let me sleep past curfew.” I was annoyed.

It wasn’t like he’d passed out, too. It was the middle of the night, and he was sitting there, feverishly working like it was two in the afternoon.