Page 39 of Her Sloth

Only that right now, right here, between them, nothing feels as bad as it felt before.

“You climb?” Nikki asks, beaming at me.

“I do whatever is risky enough to die from it.”

“She’s awesome. We gotta keep her,” Nikki says to Cass, who shakes her head in disbelief. Seeing them, hearing them, causes a grin to tug at the corners of my mouth, while deep inside I am as envious as someone can get. I am envious because I am so disconnected from myself right now, even here, that I feel detached even with all the cars around.

“I’m getting a beer,” I say shortly and walk away from them. Walking away from what I can’t have and never will.

I grab a beer from the iced buckets and walk over the low wall where Cass found me last time.

I sit there in silence.

Longing for the time in the garage.

Longing for feeling something other than this dread.

Longing for being saved from this shitty world.

But no one’s gonna save you, says a voice in me.

Not true, says another. Cass saved you.

Out of selfish reason.

A full discussion is erupting in my mind like a storm while my body is as still as it can get. Frozen to the spot. Staring into nothingness.

“How bad is it?” asks Cass, sitting next to me.

I look at her. Suck in my lips. I don’t want to cry again. But somehow her closeness drives me into tears every time.

She sits so close this time. So close her heavy and present perfume washes over me.

“It was a ten,” I say and look away, taking a sip of the beer.

“And now?” she asks, putting her hand on my thigh.

“Six.”

A moment’s pause.

“You need to get outta there,” she says.

“I can’t just walk away.”

“You can.”

“And where would I go?” I round on her, anger flashing. “I have a flock of Paparazzi following me every step I walk. And there is no place in this world where I can go to outrun the guilt I carry.”

“I know,” she says, and then she brushes back a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I stare into her eyes.

She trails down my neck with the back of her hand, and suddenly, goosebumps spread over my arms as she follows down over my arm to my hand.

“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head slightly as she softly grasps my hand.

“I know,” she says, and yet, she doesn’t remove her hand. I stare at her knobbly fingers and feel the rough skin of them as she brushes with her tips over the back of my hand.