Page 28 of Apathy
Last time Lauren and I did Oxy together, we took two each, but this time I didn’t have alcohol to amplify the effects.
The bitterness exploded in my mouth as I placed them on my tongue. Taking the glass filled with water, I pressed it to my lips and gulped down, feeling the three pills traveling down my throat to my stomach.
Now I just had to wait.
“Skylar!” The door rattled against my back as Dylan started knocking, sounding angry. “I swear to fucking God, Sky. If you don’t get out of there, I’m gonna break down the door and come get you myself.”
Perfect Dylan. Always the savior, always the favorite one.
Our mother never failed to remind me what a fuckup I was, and how I could never be as perfect as Dylan. But it wasn’t his fault our mother hated her younger child.
“Sky,” he started again when I didn’t answer. His voice was barely a whisper, a plea, begging me. “Please, Little One. I’m getting worried about you.”
I wanted to get up and get out of the bathroom. I couldn’t be here when the drugs started working, but I was too tired. My body felt sore, and I could barely move my legs now that I was sitting.
I tried. God, I tried.
Pushing the glass further away from me, I put the bag with the remaining pills inside my pocket and started pushing myself off the ground. The headache that was threatening to explode in my head finally reared its ugly face, and as my temples throbbed, and my eyes started misting, I knew I was going to be extremely fucked when the drugs started working.
At least I wouldn’t feel any pain. I wouldn’t feel anything.
“Goddammit, Skylar.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. “What are you doing in there?”
I finally managed to push myself up, and as I opened the door, I came face-to-face with him.
“Dying.” I laughed. “I had to use the toilet, Dy.” I pushed past him, keeping the smile on my face.
“You were using the toilet for an hour and a half?” he asked just as I dropped on the bed.
God, my muscles throbbed both from that goddamn hike and from the fall. I couldn’t have Dylan here when the Oxy finally hit. I could already feel it spreading through my body as I started getting drowsier. Just a little bit longer and the memories of her pale face and that fucking stench would finally be gone.
At least for a couple of hours.
“I didn’t know we were now counting how many hours we need to be using toilets for.” I smirked, but he didn’t look amused. If anything, Dylan looked pissed, and I hated it.
His hands went to his hips as he kept staring at me. The usually styled blond hair was now disheveled, the strands falling over his forehead. His icy blue eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He still hadn’t changed from the black pants he wore earlier and the white button-down shirt. The only difference was the rolled-up sleeves resting at his elbows.
I knew he could see right through me, through these fake smiles and the cheery personality, but I was tired of him worrying about me. First with Zane, now with this, it was too much. I wasn’t his responsibility even though he acted more like a parent than our mother did.
Our father, Judah Blackwood, was mostly gone, spending the majority of his time in Seattle. As a senator and a CEO of the company my great-great-grandfather founded, he had to be there. I was just pissed that we had to stay here, while both he and Dylan lived over there. I hated spending time with our mother when they were around, not to mention when they weren’t.
I never really understood what made her resent me, and I didn’t ask. Sometimes lies were better than the truth because we could believe in whatever we wanted. Sometimes pretending that everything was all right was a better way to live than to think about every single wrong thing that was waiting for us.
Dylan took one step forward, then two and then three, until he was standing in front of my bed, hovering over me.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked, feigning innocence he could easily see through. Focusing on him and his eyes, his smell and his clothes helped to remove the images of the gruesome scene I witnessed today. As my body started relaxing, my muscles losing the strain, I felt happier than before.
I knew it was a temporary happiness. A temporary fix to a million problems I had, but it was better than having to live through the nightmare tonight. My room was mostly shrouded in darkness, softly illuminated only by the lone lamp in the corner of my room.
“Dylan?” I asked again, breaking the silence. “Come on.” I straightened up, holding myself up on my hands. “You can’t really—”
But I didn’t manage to finish the sentence, because in the next moment, Dylan was on the bed with me, pulling me onto his lap, and hugging me to his body. His arms wrapped around me, holding tight, and his head disappeared into my hair, hiding him away from me.
“Hey.” I pulled one arm out and started rubbing his back. “What’s wrong with you?”
Instead of an answer, I received an even stronger hug, until one of his hands sneaked into my hair at the nape of my neck, pressing my face into his shoulder.
“Dy,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. It smelled like him, like home.
