Between Demi, Tracy, Wyatt, Speed, and Gia, I got all the drugs I could ever want. I quickly became self-medicated on a mixture of pharmaceuticals and vodka.

Spring break started on April seventh, and at two-forty-five, me and Demi strode out of school together. We began to walk to Demi’s house, the new spring sun beaming down on us.

“Van’s got a shit ton of hard alcohol for spring break,” she told me. “We’re gonna party hard this spring break, man!”

“Fuck yeah!” I cackled manically, a grin plastered over my ill-tempered face.

Demi unlocked the front door of her house; no one was home. She flicked on the lights as we walked in and I kicked my feet up on the coffee table as I crashed into the couch while she headed for the medicine cabinet, which she raided insanely often.

She flopped onto the couch beside me with a bottle of Ativan and said, “Go put on some tunes,” so I put on some Nirvana on low volume, then dragged myself back to the couch.

We took the Ativan and watched The Lost Boys on VHS, periodically dozing off.

I poked Demi’s arm as vampires exploded via holy water on the TV, trying to wake her up. I poked her arm again, but my muscles were melting over my bones like wet clay and I couldn’t use my hands properly.

“What’s it?” She snapped, eyes still shut with a scowl on her pink lips.

“You know, benzos are way better than pot.”

She yawned and then: “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my head back to vacantly watch the TV, yawning.

After a minute: “Can I use your phone, Demi?”

“Who you gotta call?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Go ahead.” She weakly pointed me in the direction of the phone, her eyelids still closed heavily.

I swayed over to the phone and fumbled as I tried to dial Underground’s number. After a few re-tries and wrong numbers, I got it right and Kat answered.

“Who’s this?”

“Uh…” I thought long and hard for a moment. “I’m Layne.”

“Oh, hey, Layne.”

“Hey, Kat, can I… Can I talk to Wyatt, please?” I giggled for a moment, thinking about how fucking stupid I sounded. “He’s there… Right? Is he? He is…”

“Layne, are you drunk, or something? You sound…” She let her voice trail off.

“Uh… No…” Technically not a lie, since I hadn’t been drinking at all that day. “Can I talk to my boyfriend… Please, Kat, is he there?”

“Yeah, he’s here, but I don’t think-”

“Ya don’t think what? I don’t care, let me… Let me talk to him, Kat…” I groaned in frustration. “I fucking… God, I hate you, let me talk to him.”

“One second, okay? He’s, well, he’s been hanging out with Ray.”

I waited in silence for a couple minutes until Wyatt’s uneven voice mumbled: “Hey… Hi, hi, Layne, hi.”

“Kat didn’t… She didn’t…” My thoughts jumbled for a second as I fell silent, then, I continued: “She didn’t want me to talk to you.”

“Oh,” was all he said.

“Yeah. I’m at Demi’s right now… You should come back, baby, it’s spring break. Spring break, you should come back to fuckin’ Pleasant Grove…”

“I can’t,” he muttered. His voice sounded off. Slowed, almost backwards sounding. I wondered for a moment if I’d taken so much Ativan that my hearing had gotten damaged, which made no sense. Maybe, I thought, it’s my brain.

“Why can’t ya? So, so, you’re such a… Rockstar… That you can’t visit your girlfriend anymore?” I nearly dropped the phone as I spoke, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Nah, no, that ain’t it.”

“Then… Then… Why?”

“‘Cause, uh, I’m hangin’ out with Ray. ‘Cause, uh…”

“‘Cause what?” He’d stopped midsentence, gone totally quiet. “Wyatt? You…”

“Sorry,” he murmured after a long moment of silence. “I’m, uh, well, I’m sorta fucked up right now. Can you call later, please…”

“Okay. I’m high, too.” As soon as I replied, he promptly hung up.

The anxiety didn’t hit me until hours later, once the Ativan had worn off, as I was walking home in the dark, cool springtime. At the same time, nausea hit my stomach, while my brain whirred with fears.

I slipped inside, kicking off my sneakers, limbs shaking violently.

“Oh, hi, Elena.” James was in the kitchen in his pajamas, holding a cup of steaming tea. “Glad to see that you’re right on time…” he added, glancing at the kitchen clock, which read exactly eleven p.m.

“Hi, dad, do you got any of that tea left? I need tea, or something.” Since I couldn’t exactly ask my stepdad for Valium, I had to settle for something like chamomile tea. And I was so nervous and insane that I hadn’t even realized I’d referred to this guy as dad.

James looked startled, and then: “Sure, I can make you some tea. Why? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” I fidgeted madly as I sat down at the kitchen table. “Thanks.”

After making me a cup of tea, James sat down across from me, passing me the boiling hot mug of chamomile tea. I tried to down it but it burned my tongue, so I spat it back out and waited for it to cool, while picking at my cuticles.

“What’s wrong?” James asked again, his forehead tense.

“Nothin’s wrong,” I replied, too fast. “Just want some tea. Just wanna sit and drink some tea with my stepdad.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I gotta make a call.” I jumped out of my seat, headed for the phone, but James grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back down, saying, “Elena.”

“What? Why can’t I make a call?” Suddenly, my heart was going a thousand miles a minute and my lungs begged to hyperventilate. I was freaking out.

“No, I want you to tell me what’s wrong first.”

“Nothin’s fucking wrong!” But I was jittering manically, anxious and paranoid. “I just wanna call my boyfriend, okay? Why do you have such a problem with that?”

And, suddenly, my mom appeared in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes in her pajamas, wearily muttering, “Oh, God, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’!” I practically screamed. “I just wanna make a fuckin’ call!”

“Calm down,” she told me, plopping down into a kitchen chair with exhaustion. “James, what’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Elena and she’s denying it,” he replied candidly.

“No, goddamnit! I just wanted to have some tea with my stepdad and I just wanted to call my boyfriend. Is that such a big fucking deal?”

“Elena, something’s very clearly wrong.” My mom spoke slowly, as if I were stupid. “Can you tell us? Please?”

“I’m just worried about my boyfriend and I wanna talk to him, okay? And I wanted to have some nice tea with my stepfather, actually.” I shot him a glower while I tried to breathe deeply. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“Okay, go call him, then.”

I rushed to the phone, dialling the number, lightning quick from my memory.

After many rings, it went to voicemail. I left a message, saying, “Hey, it’s Layne. Hey, Wyatt, can you please call me? I’m worried about you. Please, call me as soon as you can. Bye…”

I sat down at the kitchen table and downed my cup of tea while my parents sat in silence, staring sullenly in my direction.

“Please, Elena, please, will you just tell us?” My mom’s voice was desperate, pleading. I knew I was driving her crazy, but at that very moment, I didn’t really care, because I was busy driving myself crazy.

“Tell you what?”

“You know what… Just tell us. We won’t get anyone in trouble, we just… Elena, we really, really need to know.”

“Yeah, I’m on drugs.” No expression, no tone of voice. My insides felt totally vacant, hollow. I stood up and began to walk into the bathroom, adding casually. “Goodnight, Mom, goodnight, James.”