In Riptides

19 | in neon lights

L I A

I don't think about who I was before New Year's Eve anymore. Someone who planned things, who put everyone else first and stayed up late drowning in worries. Who believed in rules, in safety. In having a future. That girl is slipping further and further away, and I'm not reaching for her.

As soon as I ditched school the first time, I truly got a taste of what it felt like to let go. And it tasted too good to stop there. It happened gradual and fast at the same time, one thing leading to the next. Of course I hesitated when Haley pressed a pill into my palm for the first time. But then I swallowed, and when it started spreading, it was like I could breathe again.

It was so subtle, but immediate too. This gentle loosening of my mind and muscles. The edges of pain, thoughts, fears; they all started to blur, that gnawing persistence rolling away like fog. It moved through me like syrup under my skin, and I felt as if I was sinking into a hot bath, relieved to have my thoughts sinking with me. They didn't have time to settle. It was just white noise wrapped in silk.

I don't hesitate now. I let the burn of liquor sear my throat without chasing it with water. I sneak back into my room in the early hours of the morning, my skin buzzing with alcohol, music, and decisions I'll barely remember after I've crashed.

It's easier this way. Numbing out the bad, only letting in the good. Isn't that better than feeling nothing at all?

〰️〰️〰️

Haley's house is too big. The ceilings stretch too high, the floors are too shiny, the walls are too bare. It looks like something out of a magazine. A house built to be admired, not lived in. I was actually shocked the first time I saw it. I had pictured her in some rundown part of town because at school, anyone with money usually makes sure you know it. But she doesn't carry herself like someone with money does. Labels, status, I don't think anything has mattered less to her.

She told me her parents are never around, that she's practically had the place to herself since she was sixteen. Her mom is some high-profile fashion photographer, her dad a film producer. They're always traveling, always working. They send her money, check in with the school, and make sure the housekeeper and gardeners keep the place looking perfect. She can go to bed in a total dump, and the next day someone else will just clean it all up for her as if they've flicked a magic wand. As far as I can tell, that's the extent of their parenting.

It's clear the arrangement works for Haley. Of course it would, she has more freedom than I ever imagined. Can't say that arrangement doesn't work for me too.

"Almost forgot," Haley says as she drops next to me on the couch. She digs into her pocket and pulls out a plastic card, flipping it over. "Happy birthday, angel-face."

I frown. "What? It's not my..."

My voice trails off when I see my face, but not my name. A different birth year. One that makes me exactly twenty-one.

"The place we're going to tonight is kind of anal about carding," she says, handing it to me. "So this is just in case they give you a hard time. But they probably won't since they love letting the hotties in."

I chuckle, turning the fake ID between my fingers, studying this alternate version of myself all neatly packaged and laminated. "How'd you even get this picture?"

"Might've swiped your real ID." She smirks, standing up and striding over to Landon sitting in an armchair. "He did the rest."

Landon. The tattooed guy she was making out with at SoundWave. Turns out he wasn't just some festival fling, he's her boyfriend. Older, in college. He's good-looking in a rockstar sort of way. Totally the type I used to steer clear of. Pierced eyebrow, always a little high, always a little too friendly because he's high. He's got this slow, lazy way of talking like he's perpetually half a second behind everyone else. They're crazy about each other, and sometimes their PDA is a bit much, but I don't mind. This house is big enough for them to disappear into for privacy.