music together. So, each time I took a hit in the apartment, I never cried when I opened my eyes to find him gone. I didn't ache at the sight of him no longer being there.
But I did now.
“I'm sorry, Jamie,” I repeated to the empty room. “I'm so, so, so sorry.”
“Hey, Andrea?”
It was Dad, right outside my door. He was there, so close, and how much had he heard? Could he hear the cocaine? Could he hear it, so loud and electric, plucking at my veins and drumming against my heart?
“Yeah?” I called out, breathless as I frantically set to cleaning up.
“Can I come in?”
My hand bumped the open bag of cocaine and some of the remaining powder spilled in a white cascade over the black walnut desktop. With my heart racing wildly, I scrambled, brushing the powder into my palm, as I shouted, “Yeah, just give me—”
The door creaked open and in an agonizing panic, I rubbed a dab of the remaining coke against my gums, not wanting to waste it all, as I reluctantly brushed the rest against my jeans.
Dad stood in the doorway, surveying the room, and I watched him, trying hard to remain calm while my nerves grabbed a hold of the high and began to run, run, run away.
His eyes landed on me and an apologetic smile spread across his face. “Sorry,” he said. “It's just kinda weird, you know? We've lived here since you were a little girl and this has always been your room. But now, I guess,” his smile shifted, now sad and sentimental, “I guess it's not.”
“I-It's not a big deal, Daddy,” I stammered, as my racing anxiety heightened.
“Well, I dunno. It sort of is,” he said with a melancholic shrug. “I guess I just thought there'd be more warning, you know? Like, it wouldn't be so ... sudden.”
A wave of nausea nearly knocked me over, and I gripped the back of the chair. “Did you ... Did you want something?”
“Oh,” he snapped his fingers, as though remembering what it was he was there for. “Right. Your mother wanted me to ask if you were staying for dinner.”
“I can't,” I hurried, reminding myself that I needed to breathe to stay alive and that if I held my breath, I would die.
Was I dying?
Oh, God, I didn't want to die.
Dad's disappointment was clearly evident as his smile transformed into a frown. “Oh. Well, that's okay. Some other time, right?”
I nodded erratically. “Y-Yeah, Daddy, sure.”
His tone shifted then, as he stared at me. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and I knew, I just knew, that he suspected something. He had to. You don't witness your daughter's death, just moments after she snorted a couple of lines, and not have a single clue.
“Andrea,” he began, his tone full of caution, “are you okay? You don't look good. Should I—”
“No,” I interjected roughly, shaking my head. “I'm fine, I'm okay. I'm just--”
“Are you pregnant?”
I gawked at my father, shocked, and realized I wished that's all it was.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “Vinnie and I ... we had some sushi last night and I don't think it's sitting well,” I lied.
He nodded with understanding. “That'll do it. Okay, well, I'll let you finish up in here. But, honey pie,” his worried gaze dropping to my trembling hands, “if there's ever anything you need, if you ever need help ... We're always here, okay? I'm always here.”
There were still traces of that innocent little girl, trapped somewhere beneath the sins I'd committed over the past several months, and she cried. She screamed out now, urging my legs to run toward him, pleading to beg him for salvation. But I remained still while the anxious high ate away at me, corroding my blood and guts, as my stupid, numb lips said, “Thanks, Daddy. But I'm fine. Really. Everything's fine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
VINNIE
“What the hell do you call this?”
I glanced up from the pie I was making to look in Jenna's direction. “What?”
She thrust her hands toward a different pizza, fresh out of the oven. “Look at this!”
“I'm lookin'.”
My older sister gawked at me before aiming pinched fingers at the pie, to peel a used cigarette butt out of the mess of cheese and sauce. I grimaced, not knowing how it got there or when, and then flinched when she threw it at my shoulder.
“I don't know—”
“You don't know a lot, do you?” she accused, her face red with anger.
“I'm sorry. I've been so—”
“Distracted, tired, busy,” she rattled off. “Yeah,