Page 22 of Shattered In Darkness

Inside, the house is bright and crowded. Music plays on the speakers, people talk with their mouths full and not listening to each other. Plates of food everywhere.

Nobody else notices; they all laugh and drink and pretend nothing is wrong. Maybe nothing is. Maybe this is normal. Maybe I am.

But Brody’s eyes say differently.

Later, the grownups are hammered again, even Richard, who never lets his guard drop, so sneaking out is easy. We steal leftover chips and a bag of grapes. Sophie grabs a blanket and I take two sodas from the fridge. Brody pockets a pack of matches.

We slip out the back door, no shoes, no coats. The sand is cold on my ankles but I keep moving.Brody just follows me, like he always does.

The air is different at night. The water glows white-blue in the dark, and there’s this strange sense that nothing could ever touch us here. Not Marcus, not the voices in our heads, not the fact that we’re too fucked up to ever be normal. Lucas picks a spot behind an old dune. There’s a log here, half-buried. We drop the blanket and sprawl over it like seals. He pulls out a bag of green stuff and something that looks like paper.

It hits me: weed. The smell is overwhelming.

Sophie giggles. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Lucas winks at her. “Not if we don’t get caught.”

That’s the kind of logic that gets kids killed in movies, but we’re not in a movie. We’re four idiots on a beach and nothing bad ever happens to us. Not yet.

Lucas fiddles with his lighter. It takes three tries, but finally the tip glows. He takes the first hit and looks so stupidly proud he might burst. He holds it out to Brody next who doesn’t hesitate. He breathes in, holds, then hands it to me.

I almost drop it, my fingers tingling already. I puff a little, not much. The smoke is harsh and burns behind my nose, but the taste isn’t bad. I cough once, but play it cool.

Sophie is last. She makes a face but still does it. The circle goes around. More and more. Lucas tells some dumb story about a haunted football field at his old school. He keeps losing the thread, then looping back. Sophie keeps laughing, high and light, head against my shoulder as she constantly tugs at her sleeve cuffs.

Brody barely talks. He sits next to me, closer than usual, thigh pressed to mine. Every time I shift, he shifts too, mirroring me like a weird magnet.

I let it happen. I let it burn.

He finally says, “You’re really quiet, Bambi.”

“Trying not to inhale,” I say, and Brody almost grins.

His arm brushes mine. Goosebumps pop up everywhere.

Lucas and Sophie start arguing about ghosts and whether aliens are real. She teases him about being scared of the dark. He gets all red and sputters, “I’m not scared,” which makes her laugh harder.

I take another puff. This time, it hits me right in the skull. Like a pillow, but heavier. My limbs go floaty and I relax into the log, into the blanket, into Brody at my side.

He’s so close I can hear the grit in his voice as he says, “Bet you couldn’t handle a real haunted house.”

“You don’t think I’m tough?” I lean over so our faces are almost touching.

He shrugs. “You’re cute. But not scary.”

I snort. “I could take you.”

He looks at me, really looks. His eyes are silver in the moon, scary and empty and perfect.

“I doubt that,” he says.

It’s so quiet I forget anyone else is here.

Sophie sings a little jingle under her breath. Lucas throws sand at her; it gets in her hair and she whines, flicking it back at him. They keep escalating, throwing handfuls, rolling around, yelling. Kids.

I’m not a kid. Not when I’m sitting this close to Brody.

He passes the smoke to me. I take a longer drag than before and cough so bad I almost die, and my mouth tastes like ash. He pats my back, not gentle, but not cruel.