“Haaaaapppy biiiiiiirthdayyyy to yoooooouuuu… Happy biiirthdaaaay to Hayyyyyydennn.”
God, this is fucking cringe.
I’m a good sport, though, a big-ass goofy grin spread across my face to please my best friend. She’s been planning this for a while, I can tell. Everyone has a stupid fucking birthday hat on their heads and she’s coming toward me with my favorite dessert – cheesecake. There are also dozens of liquor bottles lining the kitchen counter, and she filled my tin with fresh weed.
Logan puts the cheesecake down on the kitchen island I’m seated at, a bright smile lighting up her face. Her black hair is a mess on top of her head, her face is makeup free, and her feet are bare, making it feel like she’s the woman of the house, like this is her kitchen to take care of us in.
My two other best friends, Levi and Carson, are behind her, singing along and laughing, letting her have this. We don’t usually do the whole birthday cake thing, but everything changed when Logan joined the group. She has mom energy, and we’re the lucky boys she gets to take care of, I guess.
Levi and I didn’t realize that when Carson fell in love, we would get a new mommy, but it works. She’s almost as crazy as I am, and she’s given me another best friend I didn’t know I needed. There’s just something different about being close with a woman who I don’t want to fuck – a platonic weirdness I’ve never experienced before, but it’s nice having someone to talk to outside of Carson and Levi. Some things are better absorbed by Logan.
Logan snaps her fingers, getting my attention. “Make a wish!”
I chuckle, leaning forward to blow out the candles stuck on top of the cheesecake.
She even had ‘Happy Birthday Hayden’ written on top of the cake with some sort of red glaze, and the care behind the gesture makes me smile.
However, I can’t think of a single thing to wish for as I lean a little closer to the flames.
I wish I was high already. I wish I could stop feeling altogether. I wish I could take an easy breath.
I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose, and settle on something I really do want.
I wish we could be like this forever – a family.
They all cheer, which is equally as cringy as the singing, and Logan claps her hands and jumps up and down. Carson puts his hands on her shoulders to try to calm her, and Levi shouts obscenities into my ear.
I laugh, my shoulders shaking. As I sit up straight, Logan circles the island and throws her arms around my neck to hug me. She whispers in my ear, “What’d you wish for?”
I snort, shaking my head. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
She pulls away and narrows her eyes at me playfully.
“I hope he wished that we would never have to hear you two fucking again.” Levi laughs, his grin wide like a shithead as he points between Carson and Logan. “I mean, that’s what I would wish for.”
Carson rolls his eyes in the way that exudes superiority, and Logan blows a raspberry between her lips before giving Levi a dirty look. “Says the dude who fucked me first.”
Levi and I boom with laughter, but Carson’s face curls in disgust before he wraps a hand around her neck. She waves him off carelessly, used to his possessiveness by now. “Chill out, Caveman.”
Levi points a finger at Logan. “If you ever need me to rock your world again, you know where I’m at, mami.”
Carson steps toward him, and he raises his hands in surrender while he laughs. Logan slaps him on the back, and then grabs him by the hips. “Deep breaths.”
It’s so easy between them. Logan is the chaos to Carson’s calm; she tests him and pushes his buttons like no one ever has before, and they never stamp out the individual fires inside of themselves. They work together. Maybe they weren’t made for each other, but they mold to each other so flawlessly that it’s hard to even notice.
Last year, when Carson started dating his stepsister, I was dead set on not letting her in. Even as she started to creep inside of the small circle we’d formed between the three of us, I didn’t let her close. Girls come and go, so I wasn’t going to risk learning to rely on someone, just for them to leave. The only two people on this earth I’d ever trusted were Carson and Levi, and that’s the way I liked it.
But Logan and Carson are never-ending, not if I have any say in it. She’s become our sister – in a weird and fucked up way that no one would ever understand. But she’s fucking family.
So, the circle of three became four, and that’s the way it’ll stay.
Logan just… fits.
She’s so similar to all three of us – in all different ways. She’s mean and quick to snap like me, goofy and fun like Levi, and tender and caring like Carson. She’s the perfect mix of all three of us, and it’s made us all form different bonds with her. That’s how I know her and Carson are going to last, because she’s everything we didn’t know we were missing. She’s the piece he needed.
Logan is carefree, brave, and insane in the best ways. She’s a fighter, a player, an animal who takes what she wants.
That’s how she ended up fucking Levi first. She wanted to do it, so she did it. She’s similar to me in that way, too.
Even though she had already caught feelings for Carson, she wanted to show him how okay she is without him, I think. She’s independent as fuck, mainly because of the way she grew up. Unlike me and Carson, she didn’t have a bottomless bank account and everything she ever wanted handed to her. She’s worked for what she has, at least until her dad married Carson’s mom. She still doesn’t like spending money, though, and she hates how careless I am with it. Whenever she finds out I’ve spent an insane amount of my father’s money on something, she makes me donate a matching amount to charity.
She’s got a good heart.
‘Alright, I’ll cut the cake,’ Logan announces, bringing me back to the present. She starts picking the candles out one by one and placing them down on the plate, then she turns to look at Carson. “Baby, can you get the whipped cream out of the fridge.”
Levi and I stay seated at the island, watching as the two of them move around my kitchen like one unit, comfortable enough that it feels like we all live together.
Levi grabs my attention by tapping a finger on the marble countertop. “You hear from your dad today?”
I laugh, then look at him like he’s crazy. “You joking?”
He cracks a smile, reaches for a bottle of rum, then cracks the lid off before passing it to me. “Fuck that guy.”
Logan clicks her tongue and we both look up at her. “Cake, then you can drink.”
I release my grip on the bottle, raising my hands in surrender. She smiles at me smugly, then silently starts passing out the plates she’s dished cake onto before taking the seat to my left.
She taps the screen on her phone as I take my first bite, the fluffy cream cheese melting on my tongue.
“People will be here soon,” she muses, taking a bite of her cake.
I swallow my bite. “Are you guys going to wear those stupid fucking hats all night?”
No one answers me, all too consumed by their cake to entertain my negativity. We all finish eating in silence, and Logan is the first to push her chair out and stand up. “Levi, you’re on cleanup. I’m gonna take a shower.”
Carson rubs his hands together as he stands up. “I’ll come with you.”
He grabs her hand to start dragging her through the room, and she calls out to me before she’s out of earshot. “And yes, I’m going to wear this stupid fucking hat all night!”
I laugh, finishing my last bite before I push my chair out to help Levi clean up.
He takes the plate from my hand. “I’ll clean up, you roll a blunt.”
I grin at him. “Good idea, Valentino.”
Slipping my hand into the pocket of my jeans, I pull out the little tin I keep my weed in and set it on the countertop before sitting back down. Popping the lid, I grab an empty blunt wrap and start filling it. I let my mind wander as I complete my task, knowing it well enough that I could do it with my eyes closed, and remember that I have a few more party favors burning a hole in my pocket as well.
I consider bringing up the coke to Levi, but I’m half-afraid he’ll shut me down, and then rat me out to mom and dad when they get back from the shower.
Logan will take the occasional Xanax with me to take the edge off, and Levi can smoke enough weed to sedate a horse, but I don’t think they would be on board with the coke, molly, and Oxys.
Logan is more concerned with my mental health lately than ever, especially after the meltdown I had while we were on vacation in Hawaii a few weeks ago.
Apparently, I got white-girl wasted and cried about my dad. I don’t really remember. They all walk on eggshells around me, like I’m made of glass that will break at any moment.
I decide to wait until after the party to enjoy my drugs all by myself, maybe even sneak out to Amethyst to find someone to gobble my dick afterwards. Being coked out in a house filled with drunk high schoolers doesn’t sound like a good idea when I think about it.
The black beams scattered around the work of art that is my house are vibrating from the new speaker system Carson got me for my birthday, and all the expensive shit lining my walls is likely going to fall off and smash.
I almost hope it does.
I’ve consumed my weight in liquor, and I’m sitting on one of the white leather sectionals in my living room with some girl rolling her hips in my lap. I can’t remember her name – I don’t know if I ever knew it to begin with. She’s starting to irritate me, dancing to whatever music is playing and grinding her hips against my crotch, trying to get a reaction from me. I’m too fucked up to react, and my cock is definitely not getting hard.
I take a drag off the blunt in my right hand, using my left to wave Levi over once I catch his eye from across the room.
He has some brunette following him around – Carrie or Harley or Haley, maybe. She’s been his shadow for a couple of weeks. Only when we’re fucked up, though.
Levi crosses the room and drops down on the couch next to me, not paying any mind to the girl on my lap, and takes the blunt from my fingers when I pass it to him.
Logan and Carson already went upstairs, which is their normal move a couple of hours into a party. So the time for me to kick all these fucking people out of my house is approaching fast. The constant happy birthdays are starting to piss me off, like any of these fucks are here for any other reason besides the booze and free range to act like idiots without parents.
My house has become the party spot this summer. I guess it’s my fault for kicking off the first one, but sometimes it’s fucking annoying. Some weekends, I just want to be alone, go out, and act like a prick instead of entertaining a bunch of teenagers.
I’m not like them. Most of them have never had trauma to taint them. Which is great – for them.
I can act like a fool with the kids from school, but my tastes are different. I’d rather spend an evening alone than playing beer pong with a bunch of jocks and cheerleaders, maybe get lost between some random woman’s thighs, and then never call her again just to be a dick. You won’t find me walking hand in hand with my high school sweetheart; I have no appetite for romance.
Everyone in high school is so coupled-up, when they could be using their time for much more productive things.
I made my way through every girl who was worth my attention pretty quickly at Luxington High, then the guys, and realized I’ll probably never be able to care about any of them. I tried, at least.
Carson says I’m not capable of falling in love, that I’ll never be able to settle down because I can’t put anyone before myself. He’s wrong, though, that isn’t the reason I can’t fall in love. It’s because my soul is fucked up.
Logan disagrees with him, says I’m going to love when I’m ready, like one day I’ll meet someone who changes everything. I think she’s full of shit. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to hand over my heart to anyone. Why would anyone want someone so dark and broken anyways?
I think I’m destined to be alone forever, fucking my way through everyone I meet until I die.
Levi smacks me on the shoulder, making my head fall to the side to look at him. He’s holding the blunt toward me, and I wonder how long I’ve been sitting here, oblivious to the outside world. I laugh as I take it, realizing that the girl that was on my lap is now gone.
“You good?” Levi asks, sitting back and putting his arms behind his head.
I blow smoke out in a big cloud. “Really fucked up.”
My mind is vibrating at the edges, so I drop my eyes closed to get the room to stop shaking. Too much weed mixed with too much alcohol mixed with music that’s too loud. I hold the blunt in Levi’s direction, hoping he grabs it before my arm gives out and I drop it.
My entire body is numb, just the way I like it, but I can feel the weed starting to birth anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Once Levi has grabbed the blunt, I clear my throat and kick my legs out to try to get comfortable. Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes closed and focus on the heaviness of my limbs to remind myself they’re still there, hoping my mind calms down.
The music is starting to trigger me, all the different beats blending together with the people around me talking, turning into a buzzing noise that makes my head spin. I want to reach into my skull and scratch my brain, the intense itch of anxiety becoming uncontrollable. I’m afraid my eyes might roll back, and my throat feels like it’s swelling and getting tighter. I’m dying for some fresh air.
I lean into Levi, looking at him through hooded eyes. “I’m gonna sneak outta here. You good to cover for me if Lo comes down?”
His brows pull down a little like he’s concerned, but he holds his hand out for me to grab anyway. “I got you.”
Gripping his hand for a moment before I stand up, I nod at him in thanks before I stumble for the front door.
I pat my pockets for my keys, phone, and wallet, and push past the group of people in the entry. The fresh air hits me hard when I push the door open, cutting through the fog in my mind. Once I slam the door behind me, cutting off the majority of the noise from the party, I fall against it and take a deep breath in until my lungs feel like they might explode.
The clean oxygen eases my nerves a little, so I take a few more deep breaths in and out before I pull my keys from my pocket.
My legs shake as I head for my Maserati, even though they’re still numb, but I manage to pull the door open and fall into the driver’s seat. Once I feel confident enough that I can tell the difference between the gas and brake pedals, I crank the engine.
I turn off the stereo as soon as my car is humming, needing the silence to keep my mind clear.
Rolling all four windows down, I shake my head to bring myself back to planet earth, then throw my car into drive. My tires screech against the clean concrete of my driveway when I peel out, and once I’m through the gate and onto the street, I slam my foot down on the pedal to speed through my neighborhood.
My chest vibrates with pleasure as my car purrs, and I take the risk of reaching down in my center console for a cigarette and lighter. Once I get it lit, I hang my hand out the window and listen to the air rushing past me with no destination in mind.
I could go to the beach, let the ocean talk to me like it does for Carson, but I don’t want my friends to be able to find me if they come looking. There are a few places I could go to unwind. I could hop on the highway and head into Raleigh to find an unfamiliar club to keep my mind busy, but with the way my head is spinning, and my eyes are starting to slip closed, I don’t think I would make it that long behind the wheel of my car.
After ten minutes, I realize I’m nearing downtown, subconsciously directing myself toward my sanctuary of Amethyst.
I don’t typically come here two nights in a row, but fuck it.
When I manage to get my car into a parking space on the side of Main Street, I shut off the engine. Resting my head on the steering wheel for a moment, I let myself breathe to clear the fog inside my mind. I’m so fucked up that having my eyes closed for that long makes me feel sick.
Reaching into my pocket, I slide my phone out and turn it off, not wanting any connection to the outside world right now. There’s a boulder in my stomach, pushing down on my organs and suffocating me. I want to reach down my throat and rip it out, unburden myself from the weight of it, let myself breathe freely.
My hands shake as I pull a cigarette from the pack and light it, and I hold the first hit in my lungs until it burns. When I slide my pack of cigarettes into my pocket, it crushes the drugs I still have in there. My lips tingle unwillingly, almost like they’re trying to smile at the reminder of the cocaine I can do tonight.
I make the decision to head for the storage room as soon as I get inside – shut myself away in my oasis and snort so much coke that my face goes numb and I don’t remember my own name.
It’s been almost two weeks since I consumed anything harder than a few Xanax. Logan and Carson have been watching me with careful eyes, worried I’ll snap and fly off the handle again. It’s wasted effort, though. The meltdown I had on vacation was minor, and it was a one-night occurrence. I wish they understood that. I wish they understood me. I’m not a fucking baby bird, fragile and unable to control my own emotions.
I let a brief run-in with my dad in New York, when I was visiting my cousin, trigger me, and I needed to drink it out of my system when I got to Hawaii, where my friends were waiting for me. Why would I continue to let it haunt me?
Not worth the fucking time spent.
I push the door open, hanging my legs out of the side of my car while I enjoy every last millimeter of my cigarette. Once I’m burning filter, I toss it onto the road and stand up, slamming the car door behind me. Even though the air is thick and humid in the summer, there’s still a breeze passing through the street that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I shudder and goosebumps spread over my skin, so I shake out my limbs to get them to function properly as I head across the street toward Amethyst.
I attempt to look a little more sober than I feel, worried that over-intoxication will prevent me from getting in, and I know it’s worked when the beefy dude tips his head and opens the velvet ropes for me.
The music is pounding so hard that I can feel it shaking my bones, and my stomach curls at the headache that ripples through my skull as the purple and white lights blur my vision. A wave of nausea passes over me as I maneuver through the crowd of people, trying not to stumble or fall over.
There’s a bartender at the bar I don’t recognize, with dark hair and dark makeup, and I do my best to give her a once-over when I reach the bar, but the motion ends up making another wave of nausea pass through me.
I’m too fucked up to be here. I’m going to throw up. I can’t feel my face. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel right now.
The look on her face when she approaches me tells me that I probably look sick, and I think she asks me what I want to drink, but the blood is fucking rushing through my ears so fast and painfully that I can’t hear anything she says.
“Water,” I croak, my eyes fluttering as I swallow over the dryness of my throat.
Her brows pull down as she looks me over, but after a breath, she reaches under the bar for a glass and fills it with water before she places it on the bar in front of me.
I down the entire thing in one go. The cold liquid makes my tongue feel numb, and my stomach clenches like it’s going to reject hydration altogether. I swallow heavily, clearing my throat as I place the empty glass back on the bar. “Another.”
She fills the glass again and passes it back. “You okay, man?”
I slide my hand into my pocket for my wallet and rip a bill out, hoping it’s a large one, and throw it on the bar before I grab the glass and turn around.
I need to sit the fuck down.
I head for the couches across the room, my legs wobbling the entire way through the club, and I manage to spill half the glass of water before I even have eyes on my destination.
There are people everywhere, leaving only a few spots open in the seating area against the wall, but I find a spot and let my knees hit the plush surface before I place the glass of water on the table and fall face first onto the couch.
I hear someone say something, but the music is too loud, and I’m trying too hard to focus on getting my body upright on the couch so I don’t look like a wasted piece of shit and get kicked out. My brain is on fire. I want to scoop it out and put it on ice, give my skull some relief from the ache rumbling through it. The incessant buzzing and grinding inside my head is making me feel fucking insane, and my chest heaves once I’ve finally sat myself normally on the couch.
I lie my head back, letting my eyes roll closed.
Why the fuck am I here?
I crack my eyes open and reach for my glass of water, realizing my nausea has passed from the first glass I downed, so hopefully the second will put me in a place I want to be.
My vision blurs, dancing around the edges like everything is moving in slow motion and fast forward all at once, so I blink a dozen or so times to get it to clear. I fill my lungs with oxygen, squeezing my hand around the glass of water while I hold in the air. When my head starts spinning, I blow it out slowly. My headache is starting to calm, and the anxiety in my gut has turned from a tsunami into a light thunderstorm, so I take a drink from the glass.
When I don’t immediately throw up the mouthful of water, I take that as a good sign and down the rest.
Too much too fucking fast, Hayden.
Too much weed, too much alcohol, not enough water and food.
I realize then that the only thing I’ve ingested today is the little slice of cheesecake Logan gave me, and my stomach clenches tight around it like it’s reminding me that I’m a fucking idiot.
I don’t know how long I sit here with the empty glass turning warm in my hand, just watching the club around me. It could be minutes, it could be hours, but by the time I snap back into reality, my weed high is gone, leaving me drunk as fuck and horny.
I test my legs, stretching them out to make sure they haven’t fallen asleep or grown numb, and when my foot hits the underside of the table and pain radiates to my ankle, I smile.
Felt that.
Standing up, I put the empty glass on the table and start walking.
I can’t drink anymore tonight, or else I’ll be puking until the sun rises, and I didn’t bring any weed with me. I hate feeling drunk when I have nothing else in my system, so I head for the storage closet to do some cocaine. That should put me right in the sweet spot I want to be.
There’s a little voice in the back of my head as I slip through the crowd, yelling at me, you’ve had enough, dumb fuck. Go home, get some sleep, fucking eat something. But I shove it away, wanting to feel something different.
The heaviness in my gut has returned, telling me I’m a worthless waste of space, and I need to silence it.
The feelings inside my limbs are unwanted and rejected, and I need to fix them. I need to numb them, burn them, or turn them into pleasure.
Flipping the lights on inside the storage room, I close the door behind me. The little table I’ve claimed as my own sits right where I left it in the corner of the small room, vacant and dusty. I drop down on my knees in front of it, digging around in my pockets and depositing everything onto the tabletop. I open my wallet, sliding out a fifty and rolling it up tight before I put it down.
I pick up the baggie of coke and open it, then I pour half of its contents onto the surface of the table before I toss it aside. Grabbing my wallet again, I slide out my American Express Black Card and start scraping the powder into neat, beautiful lines.
My body shudders with excitement as I finish shaping three lines and toss my Amex to the side. There’s nothing like coke. Nothing beats it. There’s no high I would prefer, except maybe an Oxy high. But it’s two sides of the spectrum for me. Oxy turns me into a fucking zombie, whereas coke is like turning up the lights and pouring gasoline into my veins.
I could have gone for an Oxy high right now, but I can’t drive home if I do that. I’ll end up slumped over my steering wheel and in a ditch. No, on coke, I can still drive.
You would trust the energizer bunny to drive you home, right?
Everything is colorful and brand new on coke. Everything is fucking good.
This is where I go when nothing else works, when liquor turns sour, and Xanax starts to feel normal. I don’t know what happened inside my head tonight, but I need this. I need the escape. I need the laughter and the fucking pleasure it gives my insides.
Picking up the rolled-up fifty, I make sure it’s tight enough, and once I’m satisfied, I slide it into my right nostril and press my finger to the left.
When I snort the first line, my nose and throat tingle, making my eyes water. I ignore the feeling, moving to the second line and sniffing it through the slight burn. I groan with that one, the sensation making a tear roll down my cheek. My lungs ache, but my face warms with satisfaction. But the tingle in my nose reminds me that I can still feel, so I move to the third line, and that’s when the door behind me pushes open, letting in the noise from the club.
