Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Oh.”
An older woman.

“I thought if you wanted to come it might shut her up, ya know?
If she saw me with someone else.”

Oh my God breathe.
“You mean I’d pretend to be
your girlfriend?”

Something flashed in his eyes. “Yeah. Pretend. Sorry, I wasn’t
saying-”

“No. It’s cool. I get it,” I said, wondering how far I’d have to
go to convince her. “Sorry I can’t help you out.”

“It’s a dumb idea anyway,” he said. “I just, I don’t know. Girls
can be so crazy.”

“You don’t have anyone else who could stand in for me?” I asked,
digging shamelessly.

He shrugged. “Not that she hasn’t met. But it doesn’t really
matter. Mostly I just thought you might like the concert.”

I was so high I thought I’d never come down. “Well thanks for
the invite anyway.”

“Sure.”

I hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he ever invited me
anywhere. I bet I’d like being his fake girlfriend.

It would be like one of those cheesy teen movies where we
started out just pretending, just to put on a show and fool everyone. And then
one thing would lead to another and pretty soon we wouldn’t be able to tell our
fake feelings from our real feelings. And then we’d finally realize it was true
love just before the credits started to roll.

Then the screen would go black because it wouldn’t be
appropriate for the audience to see what happened next. Sigh.

There were so many questions I was dying to ask. Like how long
had he dated her, what did she look like, why did they break up, and how often
did he still see her?

But each question would just make me look crazier than the last.
And I really wanted ‘crazy bitches’ to be our common enemy. I didn’t want there
to be any question about how sane and chill
I
was. So I kept my mouth
shut.

But I couldn’t help but wonder what his ex knew about him that I
didn’t and what it was exactly that made her want him back so bad.

I thought a lot about my final moments.

I wondered where I would be when I took my last breath. I hoped
I would be doing something exciting. Like hacking my way through the jungle
with a machete. Or tubing down the Napo River. Or bargaining at the Otavalo
market.

I wondered whether the light would just go dim or if I’d be
aware of what was happening. After all, since I wasn’t planning on dying in a
hospital, I might not be too incapacitated by morphine to have a moment of
clarity.

Something like Nirvana.

What a crazy stroke of luck that would be. Especially since I’ve
never meditated a day in my life.

Then again, I’d settle for a few flashbacks. And just in case I
had the peace of mind to choose which memories I revisited, I had some picked
out already.

Flashback #1

I would want to remember the first time I ate mushrooms when I
was seventeen. I went to the beach with my best girlfriends and we put the mushrooms
into tiny Oreo sandwiches to disguise the taste. Then we spent the next six
hours laughing until our stomach muscles hurt. At one point, my friend Bridget
swelled up like a giant blueberry. Just like Violet Beauregard in Charlie and
the Chocolate Factory. It was madness. Without question, that was one of the
most joyful days I ever had. It was a privilege to share that beautiful day
with those beautiful girls. 

Flashback #2

Before my sister and I were old enough to ride bikes in our
local Fourth of July parade, my Dad used to pull us in a little red wagon. He
would decorate the wagon with blue and red streamers and my Mom would dress us
in red, white, and blue. And we'd each get a little American flag which we
would wave at the people watching the parade until our chubby little arms were
sore. Sometimes people on the floats would throw candy to us and we would eat
it as soon as it landed in the wagon. It was a simpler time. Back when Carol
and I were best friends. Which lasted about as long as it took for us to
outgrow that wagon.

Flashback #3

Shortly after I met Scott, we went on a vacation together to the
Grecian Islands. One morning, I was lying naked in bed and felt the sun on my
face. When I cracked my eyes open, I saw him standing between the open double
doors that led out to our balcony.

With his olive skin, his dark hair, and his perfect butt, he
looked like he'd just arrived from Mount Venus. As I admired the view, I made a
little waking up sound- sort of an internal sigh- and he turned around and
smiled at me and said…

“Dawn!”

“Sorry.” I blinked away the slideshow I’d been imagining and
cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”

“Were you even listening?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”

Courtney had that glorious buoyancy that most young people have.
I think it comes from believing you're the center of the world and that your
happiness is a serious topic of interest to everyone.

Or maybe it just seemed that way since she was paying me to
listen to her talk about herself.

Regardless, it made sense for her to be my last appointment
because it was also hers, and I liked closure when I could get it. After all,
if I’d learned anything in my time as a counselor, it’s that real closure is
far too rare. Like an rare bird that forever eludes most people.

And since I was about to go off seeking adventure and anonymity,
I liked the idea that I wouldn’t have loose ends. At least with one person.

“So how do you know?”

Shit. I guess I wasn’t listening. I made a thinking face to buy
myself some time and berated myself for daydreaming on other people’s dollar.
It was just as well I was retiring because I’d become too distracted to be as
professional as the job required.

“I mean, surely you’ve been in love before?”

Love? Love! Of course. “Sure.”

“So how did you know?”

“Well, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but there are a
lot of different kinds of love.”

Courtney rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Maybe you could start by telling me why you think this might be
the real thing?”

“Well, I cooked for him the other night,” she said, “and I’ve
never even wanted to cook for a guy before. Like I touched raw chicken for this
guy, ya know?”

“That’s a pretty big step.”

“I thought so.”

“What else?”

“He asked me to meet his parents.”

“Wow,” I said. “Sounds serious.”

“I know. I’m pretty nervous.” She twirled a lock of hair. “I
really want them to like me.”

“I’m sure they will,” I said. “And the fact that you care what
they think is another good sign that you’re into this guy.”

“Well I know I’m into him, Dawn.” She leaned against the armrest.
“I just want to know what to look for in case- in case it’s more than that…”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“And I’m not naïve, either. Like I know it’s not an exact
science or anything.”

“Right.” My eyes flitted up to the clock.  My counseling career
was over.

She saw me check the time. “Well? True love? How is it
different? How will I know? I’d be really grateful for any parting advice.”

There it was. My last chance to try and help someone. “You’ll
have to trust your gut when the time comes.” I took a deep breath. “But I’ll
give you the best advice I can.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned forward, resting
her elbows on her knees.

“The reason true love is special is because not only does it
fill you up and make you feel good like other love, but it gives you purpose.”

“Purpose?”

“Yes. Purpose.”

She put her chin in her hands, causing her mess of gold bangles to
slide towards her elbows.

“You’ll know you’ve found it because it will feel like it’s too
big to hold inside, and you’ll have to open yourself up to make room for it.”

“Purpose,” she repeated to herself.

“It changes you for the better,” I said, rising to my feet. “I
don’t know how else to describe it.”

She stood up and pulled her shirt down over her hips. “Thanks
Dawn.”

“You’re a smart girl, Courtney. You’ll know when you know,
okay?”

“Okay.” She gave me a hug and the smell of her Clinique Happy
reminded me what it was like to be young and think the big questions had right
answers. “I hope you enjoy your trip or your early retirement or whatever.”

“Thanks,” I said. I watched her walk to the door. “Courtney?”

“Yeah.” She swung her hair over her shoulders as she turned back
to me.

“If he’s not the one, don’t worry about it, and don’t give up.
Love is never wasted. It always comes back to you.”

She smiled, nodded, and closed the door behind her.

After she left, I sank back into my leather chair for the last
time and wondered if any of the love I put out was still making its way back to
me.

Cause if it was, I sure wished it would hurry. 

I never should’ve taken the weed from Kevin.

Initially, I declined the two modest “nugs” he offered me when I
left his house. After all, things were going really well with him. And even
though he’d been a complete gentleman, I didn’t want to feel like I owed him
anything. Like I always felt with Ian. Though God knows why. Cause he was
popular and paid attention to me? How pathetic.

But then Kevin said I’d be doing him a favor because he had to
get some stuff done after I left. He assured me that his “guy” was coming by to
give him some more later anyway so it was really no big deal.

Plus, I thought it might help me relax. And when I was relaxed,
I didn't feel the need to binge and purge. So as far as I was concerned,
getting high was good for me. Medicinal even.

So between not wanting to seem ungrateful and liking the idea of
having my own stash, I agreed. 

Of course, as soon as I pulled into my driveway, the paranoia
kicked in. I’d never come home that high before. I pulled down the mirror over
the wheel. My eyes were totally bloodshot. I reached for my sunglasses to see
if they might do the trick, but it started to sprinkle.

My only hope was that my parents weren’t home, and I crossed my
fingers while the garage door went up. But when I saw my Mom’s car, I started
to hyperventilate.

I dumped my half pack of smokes out on my lap and shoved the
weed into the bottom of the pack. Then I jammed the cigarettes back inside, and
tried to stick the whole pack in my bra. But I was at least two cup sizes too
small to get away with that. It looked ridiculous.

I dumped the cigarettes out again and shoved the small bag of
weed into my bra on its own. My hands were shaking as I stacked the smokes back
in the box. Then I chucked them in my backpack. I figured if my Mom searched
me, I could sacrifice them.

When I walked in the door, I said hi and tried to sound really
chipper. Then I pulled my phone out before I left the laundry room so I would
have an excuse to keep my eyes down.

My Mom was standing at the counter sorting bills and coupons
like she usually did when she wasn’t busy giving me grief.

“Did you put your keys on the key rack?” she asked without
looking up.

“Oh, no. My bad.” I turned around and headed back into the
laundry room.

‘Putting the keys on the key rack’ was her new cause. Ever since
she’d found the empty vodka bottle, she’d made it her business to make it
impossible for us to hide anything in our cars. Of course, everyone knew this
rule was more for me than Chris. The only surprising thing about his car was
how clean he kept it for a teenage boy.

I felt good as I hung my key on the rack knowing full well there
was nothing in my car that she could find. But my stomach dropped to the floor
when I looked up and saw her staring at me from the laundry room doorway. I
hadn’t even heard her follow me. She was like one of those silent ninja cats.

“What?” I asked.

“Look at me.”

I tilted my head up.

“You smell like a reggae concert.”

I didn’t even know she knew what reggae was.

“And your eyes are completely bloodshot.”

“Really? Oh my god,” I said, feigning surprise. “I hope I don’t
have pink eye.” I pretended to move past her like I wanted to look in the
bathroom mirror.

“Stop right there,” she said, placing her hands on the door
frame. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Even though I was pretty stoned, I could tell that these were
hypothetical questions. Which was good because I don’t think she would’ve liked
my answer to either of them.