It was always hot. My heart was racing. My nose was itchy, running. It was the coke.
It was all I wanted to do, all the time. I had my little baggies of it, my party favors. I thought about it with the greed of the kid in the candy store. It wasn't good, I knew that. I told myself I didn't have a problem, that I could stop any time. Those were lies, sweet little lies to get me through from one bump to the next.
Ellie brought me coffee, which was sweet. Ellie. She was so sexy in her nightgown and short robe, her pale legs going on forever. Her red hair falling like fire over her shoulder. And I knew the way she was looking at me. I knew she was in love with me. I just didn't know what to do with that.
We were friends, me and Ellie. Of all the people I knew, she knew the most. She knew about my racing thoughts and ideas, my tendency to stay up all night writing songs. My tendency to skip my meds. She knew about my heartbreak over Ashley, the way I stood in the dark and cold outside her house when she drove away to the airport, to England, to that guy Allie with his English accent and his stable moods. She knew it all.
She knew about my dad and the beatings and my mom and how she died and how fucked up all that made me. She knew about how I beat up Joey and how the guilt had twisted inside of me over that. Of all people, Joey had been there for me, and he'd gone above and beyond anything I could ever expect and how do I repay him? With the same violence I'd always known.
She handed me the coffee and this close I could see her freckles that went across the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks. I could see the funny gold color of her eyes, the hook of her nose. I watched her lick her lips, naturally red and full, and I thought for an instant that I could kiss those lips if I wanted to.
What kept me from Ellie? The ghost of Ashley's love? My "commitment" to Manny? The fact that I knew that she knew all my darkest secrets? Maybe all of those things. Maybe none of them.
But I knew her secrets, too. It was what happened when you went to groups together and stayed up late at night drinking coffee or drinking wine, and all the talking turned to her mom and her drinking and her dad and his leaving and her cutting. I'd seen the scars, the scratches deep in both arms, and I could imagine the blood welling up from them, thin lines of crimson that for one second made her feel better.
She knew what Ashley had done to me. I mean, I know I cheated on her in 10th grade but that was so long ago. I was a child then, practically. But she knew how I had put this faith in Ashley, how the wedding proposal was as serious as anything I've ever said and what had happened to it? I guess it was gone, as good as ashes, now. And I knew about Marco, how she had loved him and was as confused as he was when he didn't respond. And she had hid with him in his secret, pretending to be his girlfriend so he would have time to deal with things. And I know that had hurt her, even though her and Marco seemed to be okay now. They lived together. They made scrambled eggs and coffee and served it to each other on Marco's mother's plates. They went and saw foreign films.
She knew about Manny and the abortion, how I had cried that night and felt so helpless. I knew about Sean shutting her out in the wake of Rick's death and how he went back to Wasaga beach, leaving her alone.
I took the coffee cup in both hands and felt its warmth, brought it to my lips and sipped the sugary, creamy coffee. Ellie made it the way she likes it. It was okay.
She was leaving, and I saw her red hair as this stark contrast to the baby blue of her bathrobe, and on the way out she stopped and looked at the baggie of cocaine. I groaned inside, but tried to stay cool and sip my coffee. Now she'd know something else. I couldn't hide anything from Ellie.
"Craig, what is this?" she said, holding the bag of the white powder between two fingers.
"I didn't think it would get this bad so fast," I said, the lie kind of coalescing as I spoke.
"What's bad? What do you mean?" she said, and concern wrinkled her brow, made her narrow her gold eyes, "are you doing coke?"
"Manny is," I said, and I didn't even feel bad.