Fragments

4.6

            4.6

            I pick through my dinner, moving the food around my plate more than actually putting any of it in my mouth. I should be getting hungry as the pot wears off, but with so many sobering thoughts I'm too distracted to tell if my stomach is rumbling.

            Lane watches me the entire time. I keep my eyes downcast so I don't have to look at her, because I already know she's still staring, not eating her food. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair is like a blinding light in the corner of my eye, and I don't have to see her big, doe-like eyes to know that they're still full of hate.

            I thank whoever is up there in heaven or below in hell looking out for me, because my mother does not offer a toast. Instead after we're done eating I help her clean up the dishes. I pass the table with my hands full when suddenly Lane rises to flash her best smile at my mother.

            "Let me help you with that," she says, all butter and eyes, grabbing the plates from my mother's hands. "I'm sure Piper and I can handle the dishes on our own. Right, Piper?"

            I don't say anything and brush past them into the kitchen, cringing at the noise of Lane coming in behind me. I've never been so on edge before in my life. These last few months I've been coasting through life, living numbly, and suddenly Lane walks back in and I feel like she's trying to get me to have a break down in front of my family.

            Setting the plates down in the sink, I go to get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water. I need a moment to myself, even if I'm not really alone at all. When I turn around, clutching the glass, I suck in a quick breath. Lane stands in front of me, holding her own dishes out like she's serving them to me. And she smiles, big and delighted like I'm the Christmas present she wanted the most but inside it is full of hate and disgust and thoughts of how she would like to end me.

            I don't know how we ever became friends.

            Except I do, sort of. We bonded over parties, laughed over drugs, cried over alcohol. It was Lane, the intoxicated life and I, always getting into trouble, never really caring. Until it was Lane, Trevor and I and then it was just Lane and I, separate, not even close together. Lane. And. I.

            "Wouldn't it be more fun if Trevor were here to see your real downfall?"