Into the Tomorrows (Bleeding Hearts Book 1) (3 page)

“Boo!” Ellie shouted from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. She plopped between Colin and the guy with the Rockies cap and leaned into Colin. “You’re so great,” she said, her eyes closed and her lips turned up in a euphoric smile. Colin passed her the joint and she sucked on it before handing it back. “You gotta take care of my girl, Colin.”

He looked at me, eyebrows drawn in concern, silently asking if something was going on. When I shook my head he said, “I’m trying.”

“I know, I know,” Ellie said encouragingly. They both looked at me. “But she needs you, make sure you’re paying attention to her.”

Colin looked confused, tilting his head as he looked at me. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ellie interrupted.

“Just watch out for her—she deserves to be happy.”

“I will,” Colin promised her as she rubbed his head and then jumped up from her seat, grabbing my hand and pulling me away.

“Let’s go back and dance!”

I looked to Colin again, but his focus was on the ceiling as he took a long pull on the joint. I let Ellie pull me back into the throng of people and quickly lost myself to the beat.

T
o my surprise
, Colin joined us several songs in, bouncing and dancing and having an impromptu karaoke contest with Ellie. She was so animated, her face all scrunched up in agony as she sang along to a ballad about bleeding love. She clutched a hand to her chest, thrust her other arm in the air as if she was singing to heaven. It was so very theatrical, so Ellie, that I had a pinch in my heart I felt whenever I realized how lucky I was to be her friend.

When the next song came on, Colin took turns spinning Ellie and me in circles. I was living in the moment with my best friend and my boyfriend, so happy with life at that moment, that it took me several seconds to register what happened mid-spin.

Ellie was on the ground, her hands clenched into the carpet, knuckles white. “Are you okay?” I yelled over the music as I crouched beside her.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Colin squatted down beside us. “What’s wrong?”

“Ellie’s sick.”

“Probably all the spinning,” Colin said. “Let’s get her to a bathroom.”

She grasped our hands as we pulled her to standing and led her to the powder room just off the kitchen. She immediately fell to her knees in front of the toilet and emptied her stomach.

“Shit,” Colin said, stepping out of the powder room and into the hall. “There’s not really room for all of us in there.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “I got this.”

After pressing a kiss to my cheek, he gave me a
good luck
look and disappeared back into the party.

I slid down beside Ellie and rubbed her back as she kept puking, over and over. Her whole body convulsed with each heave and I was helpless to do anything for her. When it finally stopped, she leaned her head on the seat and wrapped her arms around the basin.

“Can I get you anything?”

It was a while before she spoke, but when she did her voice sounded so incredibly weak. “I need Tylenol. My head’s killing me. More water too.”

I strode into the kitchen and filled up a new cup with water. After returning and placing it beside her, I went on the hunt for Tylenol. The cabinets in the kitchen proved to be barren, such was the house of a couple college kids. I searched the bathrooms downstairs and upstairs, before deciding to find Colin and ask him.

The house seemed even more packed than it had been when we’d arrived, which made looking for Colin all the more difficult. I pushed and shoved to get around people, jumping up to see over their heads.

I yelled his name several times before I came upon the guy who had asked me earlier what kind of drugs I wanted. His greasy bun reflected the light above his head. “Have you seen Colin?” I asked above the music.

He pursed his lips and shook his head, his face blank. “Who’s that?”

“Ugh,” I growled. “You’re no help.” As I turned to walk away, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Whatcha need? I bet I have it.”

I didn’t miss his flirtatious undertones, but ignored them as I replied, “Tylenol. You have that?”

Again, he pursed his lips and shook his head. Every movement seemed to be in slow-motion, as if he couldn’t be bothered to hurry up for anyone. “Nah, but I got percs.”

“I don’t need pain killers, I need Tylenol,” I said impatiently. “Ellie is sick and has a headache.”

His eyes changed then, squinting just a little as if he seemed to know the cause of her headache.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart skidding to a stop in my chest. Something wasn’t right.

“She was fine a few hours ago when she took it.” His words were lazy, drawled.

“Took what?” I demanded.

“E. She asked for it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he expected me to fight him. “No refunds.”

“Shut up!” His insinuation that my concern was getting her money back tested the limits of my patience. “I don’t care about that, she’s sick. She took it a few hours ago?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He dropped the joint he was holding into his cup. “She was fine. Guess she’s not now. It happens.” He shrugged. “Don’t have any Tylenol though, sorry.” Except he didn’t sound sorry.

I pushed past him and resumed my search for Colin. I tried calling him from my cell, but it rang and rang before going to voicemail.

I returned to the bathroom, and Ellie looked even worse. Her face was devoid of color and her eyes were bloodshot and droopy. “I can’t find Colin, I’m sorry. And I can’t find Tylenol.”

She closed her eyes, and her head tilted like she was asleep. “’S okay,” she slurred. “I wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.” Her words ran together, making it sound like she was speaking in a weird accent.

“What can I do?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then violently vomited again. It looked like she was just puking water at this point. I wet a washcloth and wiped her face with it. She leaned her head against the rim as her body contracted again.

“Let me look for him again,” I said, entirely helpless as to how to help her. The moan she made after puking made me quicken my pace from the bathroom.

“Colin!” I yelled. I asked a number of people if they’d seen him, but no one had. I walked out front, ran up and down the street, before moving inside the house again.

My desperation to find him was a tangible thing, a drumbeat in my blood. As I was passing through the dining room again, I spotted several figures out on the deck and in the yard.

Finally, I thought, as I pulled open the door. I was hit with a wave of very strong pot and I immediately blanched, feeling queasy. “Colin?” I called out.

“Yeah?”

Relief pulsed through me and I stood up on my tiptoes in search of him. He moved through the tall grass, a little uneasy on his feet. When he stumbled, a guy in a Broncos jersey reached down and picked him up, both of them laughing as they clung to each other.

“Ellie’s really sick,” I said on his approach. “She won’t stop puking.”

When Colin reached the stairs to the deck, he held onto the railing. “She’ll be fine. Just needs to get the liquor out of her.”

“She hasn’t had any alcohol for hours. Someone gave her ecstasy and now she can’t even keep water down.”

Colin sighed and closed his eyes.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

He opened his eyes and looked at me through bleary blue-green irises. “I’m high as fuck.”

“Okay, well I’m going to go see if someone knows where the Tylenol is,” I said, annoyed. “Enjoy your high.”

I never spoke to Colin with attitude, because I’d never needed to. He was always thoughtful. And as I stalked back into the house, I had a thought to cut him some slack—he was just a college student, a little high at a party.

But as I turned into the kitchen, taking in the now-empty dining room and the crowd gathering in the doorway to the kitchen, I forgot everything except Ellie. Panic pushed me to move faster into the kitchen, because I knew with a heavy feeling that something was wrong.

The silence among them was deafening. I shoved my way through a group of people and fell to my knees upon seeing Ellie flat on her back on the kitchen floor, her eyes closed and her body unmoving.

I ran my fingers over her throat. “What happened?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of her.

Someone behind me said, “She stumbled into the kitchen and then fell.”

“You’re okay,” I whispered to myself, feeling the low beat of a pulse in her neck. I gripped her chin in my hand and squeezed hard enough to hurt, hoping the pain would rouse her.

But she remained still.

I pressed a hand to my pants, looking for a phone that wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember where I’d set it down. “Someone call 911,” I said, putting a hand over her nose and mouth. I felt the lightest warmth blowing across my fingers and hot relief shot through my chest. “Ellie,” I said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “Wake up.” I shook her harder, but her hair just spread out around her and she remained still.

I brushed the back of my hand down the side of her face, willed her to open her eyes, but she was completely still. I didn’t stop touching her face, touching her hair, talking to her. I was helpless, but desperate for her to wake up. To see her brown eyes assuring me she was okay.

I heard a voice murmuring behind me, speaking an address into the phone. I was wracked with guilt, for bringing Ellie to this party, and not keeping an eye on her or what she was doing.

This was all my fault.

“An ambulance is coming,” someone said.

“Did she say anything?” I asked, touching her temple. Her skin was clammy, peppered with sweat. There was a murmur of conversation around me, but I couldn’t focus on anything but Ellie.

I felt for her pulse again, but it was much fainter. My hands shook as I pulled them away and I pressed my hands to her cheekbones—pressing hard against her, as if my hands could revive her alone. Her lips appeared to be darker, her face colorless.

When I held my hand over her mouth and nose, I felt absolutely nothing. No warm air. Not even the slightest breath. Cold terror flooded my veins. “Ellie,” I said. I pushed a hand to her chest, waiting for it to thump.

I waited for too long.

This was all my fault.

“She’s not breathing!” I shouted. My face suddenly went hot and I pressed her chest, wishing to hell I knew CPR. “She needs CPR, I … I…” my voice fumbled as shock hit me in a solid wave. “She’s not breathing!” I was squeezing her shoulders, shaking her as her head lolled back. “Help!” My voice broke, my breathing ended with a scream, my voice tortured by grief.

Footsteps came running and I was pushed out of the way right before someone began doing chest compressions. I watched his hands as he pumped her, his head down. My eyes crossed and the paint-splattered Rockies emblem on his hat bounced in my line of sight, blurring and focusing, blurring and focusing.

Purple. The hat was purple. Ellie’s favorite color.

I looked back at Ellie, her eyes closed and her skin sallow. “No,” I shook my head. This wasn’t happening. “She was puking. She was sick.” I shook my head again, harder, faster. “She was sick.” I kept repeating it. I couldn’t reconcile this image—Ellie, on the floor, lifeless, her body limp as a doll.

Beside her was her headband, the daisies forgotten in her fall to the floor. As if in a trance, I picked it up and held it in both hands before looping it around my wrist.

My eyes searched her body, while the man pumped her chest and intermittently blew into her mouth. It was if I was having an out of body experience, watching her lie there, unmoving, on the floor. My hope withered right before me, causing all of my limbs to tremble.

This isn’t happening
, I whispered to myself. I closed my eyes, willing the nightmare away.

This isn’t real.

I opened my eyes but Ellie’s were still closed. In the distance, I heard the sirens.

Overwhelmed by helplessness, shock, and grief, I lay on the floor beside her, my face against the cold tile and my hand in hers, squeezing it as he pumped her chest, over and over. “I’m here, Ellie,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I love you.” My eyes slid down her arm, to my hand gripping hers. The daisies wrapped tightly around my wrist, cutting off circulation and turning my hand red—a stark contrast to the white of her skin.

I thought of her smile, her face lit up and flooded in color. And as I took in her skin, its bluish tint replacing the blush I knew she had, I said a hundred prayers, as the reality of what was coming hit me.

Keep her with me.

This will kill me.

I stared at her face as it moved up and down from the chest compressions, tears slipping from my eyes one after the other. I made a hundred promises to be a better person, to be a better friend. To be whatever it took if it meant she woke up.

I dug my nails into the cold tile, needing to stop the shock that wracked my body. Ellie remained still, except from the chest compressions.

For some reason, my mother’s words from earlier came back to me.

You’re like me, you’ll lose everyone you love
.

“Trista.” Colin’s voice. I didn’t bother turning, not wanting to take my eyes off of her. “Trista,” he repeated, his voice more urgent than before. His arms came around me, pulling me away as the paramedics rushed into the kitchen and pushed everyone back.

“No!” I shouted, clawing against his hands. I couldn’t leave her, I couldn’t.

But her body was moved seconds later as a man wearing gloves pumped her chest and removed her from the house. Colin’s arms were around me, tight, and the wave of despair was so powerful, I was surprised it didn’t knock me from my feet. I rubbed the fabric of his shirt between my fingertips, as tears slipped down my face.

Six days later, Colin held me on grass soaked by rain. My heels sunk into the dirt, slowly, as if my body wouldn’t let me leave her alone.

Alone like I was.

I placed two white daisies on her mahogany casket as it lowered into the earth, to my best friend’s final resting place. My goodbye was silent, because I was too afraid to speak it.

Around my wrist was her daisy headband. In my heart was her smile, her laugh, her goodness. I wanted to believe she was leaving those pieces of herself with me, entrusting me to take care of them. Of her. She couldn’t be gone forever, not really.

We were Ellie and Trista. I didn’t know how to not be a conjunction.