Drop (17 page)

OHMYGOD. That’s it. Isaac
likes
me.

Regaining my composure, I say, “I only have eyes for the one brother,” but my mind is whirring with thoughts, with chemicals, with a whole mess of crap that’s fighting for my attention. Got to focus on Finn.

“And which brother would that be?” He smirks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I mirror his silly smile, and although I don’t feel as confident or clear-headed now the initial buzz is gone, I still have the conviction I need at this moment. I don’t wait for him to answer. I just kiss him. Certain and easy, a natural kiss I’m in control of from start to finish.

“Mmm, some more sweet, for my sweet? A little pick-me-up?” Finn says.

“Yeah. I think so. I think it’s wearing off. I didn’t really feel like it was anything but now it’s worn off…”

“It’s a funny one, coke. Like not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone,” Finn says, referring to that old Joni Mitchell song. “But I’ve got another treat for you, tiger.”

“Yeah?” I look at his perfectly formed neck and high cheekbones, smooth and rough all at once. Stubble dots his clear skin. Whenever I look at him I feel like I’m falling into this great black hole, like I could fall continuously, just thinking about him. I can’t explain it. I could drink him in for ever and still be thirsty.

I blink. I open my eyes wide. “We can do that. I’d like to. Feeding time for the tiger.”

“Raaa!” He bites my ear and my breath catches. Rushes shoot through my body and I wonder how I will feel after more if I feel like this now. It will be amazing. It has to be.

The artificial light bounces off my skin. In the mirror I look dull, like I’m seeing myself through blue-tinted sunglasses. Wiping a black tear of kohl liner from the corner of my eye, I start to feel ugly, but shake it off. Got to be hot. Got to be in control, ready for anything, that’s how Finn wants me. And I want that too. I want what he wants. A cubicle door smashes against its wooden frame and Finn glides through it, nonchalant and King of Everything. He kisses my hand and pulls the door back.

“Madam.” He bows and waves me into the cubicle. There’s something ironic about it. I feel like royalty. We’re doing this special secret thing, but in a two-by-four-foot box with sticky floors and a strange acidic smell, urine probably. Our royal box.

We do another line of coke. Finn says it will help me “get in the spirit”. I don’t say no because it didn’t seem to do much the first time anyway. Can’t have too much of nothing, right? Finn reaches into his pocket for a greyish package, which turns out to be about ten pills wrapped in clingfilm. I notice the pills have indented heart shapes. That’s got to be a good sign. My heart pounds. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Am I really going through with it?

Finn has waved a wand over me and I’m under his spell. I’ll do anything.

“Drop now?”

“Yeah.” I nod approvingly. “Is it like being drunk?” I ask, and immediately feel like a dunce. Finn doesn’t notice.

“No, not really. Sort of. It’s wanting to talk and dance and appreciating everything that’s around you…”

“Sounds like some hippy dippy shit to me.”

“Just wait, Carla. You wanna be happy? I can make you happy. This will make you H. A. P. P. Y!” He places the pill on my tongue and offers me his beer. I take a gulp and swallow it. Just like that.

Finn necks his pill, too. His hair falls away from his face, then flutters back over his eyes. They glint under the harsh light. He shakes his fringe to one side, leans in and kisses me. I taste the saltiness of sweat.

“I’m going to make you love me, tiger. You’ll love me in half an hour!”

I’m not scared. I want to love him. I think… Maybe I already do. I can feel it growing inside me. A force of nature gaining speed and strength. A hurricane about to rip through me, and him. I don’t need a heart pill to tell me that.

He gives me a long hug before we head back to the party, happy, joking, awake, together, on fire…

Half an hour later, the pill floats inside me like a lifeboat adrift, firing distress signals. Beacons of nausea, flares of discomfort in my stomach, alarm bells in my head. But Finn says it’s OK.

“It’s only natural, tiger. Give it ten minutes. You’ll be right as rain, I’m telling you.” His words fade in and out, like I’m underwater and he’s shouting from the edge of the pool.

I feel strange and hot and sick. The lights seem to flash more slowly, their colours bleeding together in an intense haze. I have a sip of beer.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, ohmygod what the fuck is happeningwhatthefuckishappeninginging…

“All right, tiger, you look a bit peaky, let’s go for a smoke and a sit down. You’ll be fine in a minute.” Finn grabs my wrist and we weave through the crowd like a motorbike in traffic. I feel like everyone is watching me. Can they see something is wrong? Can they?
I
s anything wrong? I flick through emotions like I’m sampling food at a buffet. I’m scared. What’s happening? But I’m safe, Finn will look after me. Rationalize, Carla. People are looking, but then again, are they? I’m awake, and starting to feel … something … something else … something better … but holy fuck am I scared…

“Sit down,” Finn instructs, moving an empty bottle from a wooden seat. I lower myself clumsily and lean against the trellis-covered wall separating us from the street. The barrier between me and running home. Oh God, I want to go home.

“Can you take me home, Finn? I don’t like this.”

“Trust me. Just wait.”

“I feel weird.”

“Good weird?”

“I dunno. Just weird.”

“Just your adrenalin pumping. You’ll adjust.” He strokes my cheek sympathetically. “My first time I felt scared, too. But then you feel great. Let’s find you a distraction.”

He passes me the cigarette he’s been rolling. I hold it between my teeth while I feel for the lighter that’s still in my pocket. Before I can pull it out of my jeans, Finn’s hand clamps down on my thigh.

I spot Greg and point him out to Finn.

“Hey, mate, you got fire?” Finn turns to Greg, who removes his thick-rimmed sunglasses and hooks them onto the neck of his navy and white striped T-shirt.

“Sure,” he says, smiling, and pulls a lighter from his black skinny jeans. He smiles and crouches beside me to light my rollie. I immediately feel more at ease. Greg has a friendly face: strangely round cheeks for someone so slim, thin cherry lips and wide, dark eyes. His blond hair tumbles forwards like the crest of a glittering sun-soaked wave.

“You having a good night?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, real good. You?”

Greg nods. “Been out here most of the time though!”

“I know,” Finn says. “You get caught in the net. Always the way. Too many good-looking, fun specimens of person out here! Where’s the birthday girl?”

“Dancing. That girl loves to dance.”

Greg brushes the gold wave back from his face, then lets it crash forwards.

Everywhere I look people are laughing, joking, having the Best Time of Their Lives, and you know what? I’m starting to feel pretty damn good, too. I interlock my fingers and click them back. I feel…

Suddenly I begin to talk. With a deft flick of the tongue, I’m verbal. Verbal and animated.

“You, er, mean to come out dressed as a sailor or was it an accident?” I verbanimate. Greg and Finn have twin expressions of mock-shock. Their mouths hang open. But Greg doesn’t seem at all bothered by the not-so-veiled insult. It’s just banter.

“I like this T-shirt!” Greg pinches the fabric and pulls it out from his chest; he ducks his chin, eyeing the stripes. “It’s an ace shirt!”

“It is. It’s, er, shipshape.”

“You’re on fire, tiger!” Finn says, and then leaning close, in a low voice, “I can see you’re feeling better. I told you so.” I can do nothing but smile.

“All right, let’s leave Sinbad alone. He lent us his lighter after all,” I say, winking. “I guess you’ve got to get back to the ship and mop some decks, reel some nets in—”

“Batten down some hatches,” Greg interjects with a cheeky smirk.

“I reckon we’ve dropped anchor out here long enough. You coming in for a dance?”

“Nah, mate. Catch you later. I’m liking it with the good-looking, fun specimens. I feel at home!” Greg says, slipping his sunglasses back over those wide, dark eyes.

A film of sweat glistens on Finn’s brow. I ask him if he wants some water. We get a bottle between us. Leaning against the wall of the dance room, I drink in the people filing past. They seem straight from the pages of
Vice
. I recognize some from school but most are new to me. Maybe they’re from Georgia’s model agency. Wannabe Lesley Arfins mixing with lager lads. You can be anything here. You are free. Free.

“What’s free?” Finn says.
Shit, I said that out loud!

“I was just thinking how there’s such a diverse group of people here. How you’re free to be who you want to be.” I scan the room. A tall beardy guy slyly smokes behind a ten-foot stack of speakers. A girl with too much hair and bug-eye glasses chats with a dude in Nike hi-tops and Teddy-boy tie. Another guy wears a T-shirt reading,
I FACEBOOKED YOUR MUM
, his hair backcombed to retro perfection. A few randoms work the Day-Glo look.

“I mean, look at her,” I say, pointing discreetly to a girl in floral print with knitting needles around her neck. “She gets the thumbs-up for her twist on granny chic. But the bloke she’s talking to, he’s wearing Adidas trackies circa 1996. You wouldn’t exactly put them together.”

“Beauty of the dark, Carla.”

“I guess. All sorts of crazy things happen in the dark, right?” Words fall out of me and it feels good. Free. This place feels free. I hope the night lasts for ever.

Finn kisses my neck softly. I feel alive. Weightless. But I make him stop.

“Not a pretentious crowd at all…” I don’t even know if that’s sarcasm or not. I get it though: these seeming misfits would never speak ouside the walls of this club. Their paths wouldn’t cross. But here, they are the same, all out for a good time, all collaborating to make it happen. United by a common goal: to get wasted. Am I making sense? I’m thinking too much. I shake my head again. Thoughts fall out.

“Some are, but we’re all friends here!” Finn says, a giant grin spreading across his face. And I know why; I can see it all around, in the faces of the mixed-bag crowd.

A tune builds tempo stealthily, gathering speed, energizing … and then kicks in with a thud, and my guts twist with delight. My heart skips a beat. My head feels suddenly clear. At this moment there is nothing but this room and this feeling. Finn joins the chorus of “ohhhs” praising the DJ, who’s nodding, flicking switches, turning dials, whatever it is they do, working his magic. He looks across his people, and grins. Commander of an army. King. God. He’s sly. He knows what he’s doing. I catch the eye of granny-chic girl, who’s dancing, faux-knitting to the beat. She mouths “Yeah!” to me and I do the same. YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! We’re all the same. This is fucking madness and I love it!

I’ve never danced so much in my life. Not caring how I look, not being able to disguise my joy. I’m in abso-fucking-lute awe of the DJ and think to myself:
Why haven’t I done this
before?
What have I been doing all this time? I was a shy animal cowering in the corner of my cage. Now the door is open. Beyond that door is a world. And I’m dancing in it. Like a prize twat. But a happy, free twat who doesn’t give a shit what you think…

While we’re dancing Finn reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cling-filmed packet.

“Open wide,” he says, putting another pill on my tongue. I swill it down with some water. Anything to keep this feeling alive. Finn swallows one, too. A song I recognize but don’t know the name of comes on. It doesn’t matter; I still know the tune, the words. Lost in Finn, I watch him like no one else exists in the room. He smiles and sweats and moves. He’s done this a hundred times, drugs, clubs, the party thing, but still I feel special to be with him. Maybe for him it feels fresh and new with me? I want to grab him and say, “Hey, you! I want to be with you always!” That’s silly, we hardly know each other. But something about him and this moment makes me think we’ll last for ever.

Whoever said all good things come to an end is an idiot. Sure, things ebb and flow like the tide, but they don’t disappear completely, right? I hope I’m right. Finn makes the hand signal for “Let’s go for a rollie” and we head to the smoking area, now flooded with morning light. It flicks a switch in me. I’m turning off. Shutting down. Game over. Knockout. Exhausted.

“Carla?”

“Hmm?”

“You want the rollie or not?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.” I take the rollie from Finn and have a long, hard drag. I cough, but I’m not embarrassed. I’m tired, but still pretty high. “I can’t believe it’s fucking daylight. What have we been doing all night?”

“Having a blinder, tiger!”

“I think we did all right.” My lips curl upward.

“All right? You fucking loved it.”

“I did.”

A strange look pans across Finn’s face, serious and calculating. Do I look rough? Is my mascara gothed? Do I look like I should be in a body bag after staying up all night? I search his face for clues, then duck my head into my knees, hiding, but he touches my cheek, turns me to face him, kisses me.