Page 158 of The Initial Insult

All I can think about is how I felt last night—beautiful. Inside and out.

“Oxy,” Patrick had explained over the phone. “You like?”

I do like. And if Patrick is the package it comes with, that’s okay, too. He hadn’t seemed surprised at all when I texted him, even if he was a little taken aback that I insisted we meet today. He’d come over and felt me up within the first ten minutes of us lying on the couch, supposedly watching Netflix. I let him, then asked if he had another pill.

“Not on me,” he’d said, pulling at the crotch of his jeans. “But I can get more.”

“Yes,” I’d said, pressing against him. “You can.”

Because I wouldn’t care if this guy was ugly as sin or skinny as Ribbit Usher or mean as that guy from Prospero who glued Ribbit’s lips shut. That pill made me not think about things, and not thinking about things has been the goal for a very long time.

So we ended up here, after straightening our clothes. Patrick says the park is one of the places where things go down, but that he has to wait. Apparently, his dealer sets up shop on one of the lesser-used trails, one that’s a loop, that way the people coming in don’t see the people going out. They also send out texts to whoever is buying today, letting them know when it’s their turn, further lessening the chances of users knowing who else is using.

“Smart dealer,” I say. I’m not exactly proud to be here, myself.

“So . . .” Patrick reaches out, his hand encircling my knee. It’s a nice hand, masculine, a scar across the back. But it’s not as big as Hugh’s, and he doesn’t have as light of a touch.

“You and Broward?” Patrick asks.

“Huh?” I look up, blushing, aware that I’d gone into a reverie about one boy while another one had his hand on my leg.

“You and Huge,” Patrick repeats. “That a thing? You came out of the bathroom with his jersey on, so I figured, you know . . .”

I think of Hugh, how kind he is, how nobody knows that—and how I doubt he’d be willing to buy Oxy for me. “Not a thing,” I say.

“Cool. I wouldn’t want to cross him.” Patrick’s hand tightens on my knee, and his phone goes off. “We’re up.”

I follow him to the trailhead, swatting at mosquitoes. He takes my hand as we walk and reaches back to steady me when we cross a stream, my sandals slipping off a wet rock. “Those aren’t quite trail shoes,” he tells me, and I swat at another mosquito.

“You didn’t exactly tell me we would be hiking,” I shoot back, and his eyebrows come together. Patrick doesn’t like girls who talk back. I make a note, filing it away. He’s still got ahold of my hand when we come around the corner, and there’s Tress Montor. I drop it, backing away like we’ve crossed paths with a bear.

Funny thing, I reflexively put him in between me and her.

“Tress, what’s up? You got my girl covered?” Patrick says, and I close my eyes. Despite all of Brynn’s warnings, I did end up acting like a fucking idiot. Maybe not last night, but definitely today. Tress isn’t a wild animal about to kill me on the trail, and she’s not here by accident, either. Tress is Patrick’s dealer.

“Your girl, huh?” she asks, eyes on me. I try to shake my head, try to show her I’d never be with a guy like that. Try to be the Felicity I used to be.

Instead, I just stand there.

Tress has no use for me; her attention is entirely on Patrick as she produces a baggie of weed, and he opens his wallet for cash. My head is spinning as I watch Tress count it off—twice—before trading him.

This is how Tress makes money.

I didn’t know.

I mean, I’d overheard plenty, Mom and Dad wondering aloud how Cecil kept the lights on and the water running up at the zoo, because everyone around here who wants to see it has already gone, and nobody outside of Amontillado comes here. My parents had their own ideas about the Montor income and hadn’t had too much compunction about telling me it’s an open secret that Cecil grows weed out there. But they never said he was using Tress to sell, and I truly am a huge fucking idiot because it never occurred to me that she was.

Because that kind of thing would never happen in my world.

I step forward. “Tress, I . . .”

Her eyes come to mine, green and hard. Unblinking. “What do you need?”

I need to tell her to stop this. I need to tell her to come with me. I need to tell her to ditch the drugs and I’ll ditch Patrick and we’ll walk out of the woods together, and everything will be the same again.

But it won’t. I may be an idiot, but I’m not completely stupid. It can’t be the same again. Her parents are still gone, and I still don’t know what happened, and I can’t do anything to help her except . . .

I’m digging in my jeans, pulling out a wad of cash that Mom handed me when I went out the door with Patrick.