Gone From Me Read Free Page B

been seven years. No amount of depression will bring them back. As my shrink says, “Accept what you cannot change.” That’s what I’ll do. Experience all life has to offer. Maybe this is what my aunt meant when she told me to live a little. I didn’t need tattoos but alcohol mixed with punch, and chunks of fruit floating on top.
    “That way,” the girl smirks, rolling her eyes.
    I don’t even care. “Thanks,” I respond, waving.
    When I find the bathroom I grab hold of the handle and try to turn. It’s locked.
    A girl pushes my shoulder. “Hey, there’s a line.”
    I glance at her, and see she’s pointing at a group of girls leaning against the wall. It seems to go on forever.
    “Oh, sorry.” But I’m not deterred and decide to see if there’s a kitchen. There should be. This is a house. I spot an entry with swinging western doors and push my way in.
    It’s the kitchen all right. There’s an island with pots hanging above it. To the left is a microwave, a stove, and cupboards. Straight ahead is the sink, but it’s occupied. 
    A couple is having sex. The girl’s ass is situated on the edge.  The guy is standing, his pants around his ankles and her legs around his hips. They’re moaning, saying things, words that make my face heat and blister.
    “Sorry,” I say, but either they don’t hear me or they don’t care, and I’m not waiting around to figure it out. A delicious ache spreads low in my belly. Seeing the way they were so into each other, lost in the moment. I can’t help but wonder what that must be like.
    At the end of the hall is a set of stairs, and I climb, still thinking about the pair, my body singing with hunger for something I don’t understand. Aunt and Uncle Martin weren’t exactly forthcoming on the “birds and the bees” front. They gave me the basics, methodically and without emotion. Then they played me a video of a woman having a baby. It was horrific, full of blood and goo. If they were trying to keep me from being curious, it worked. But as my thighs and knees quake with need, I get the sense there must be more.
    At the top of the stairs is a long hallway, several closed doors on each side. I’m thinking maybe I should forget about cleaning my shirt and go find Gina. Get more Jungle Juice and maybe try a couch shot after all. But as I’m debating, I’m walking, and open a door.
    The room is full of smoke and a strange smell. Two guys are sitting on the lower bed of a set of bunks, holding a python. It must be ten feet long. Its slithery body is trying to coil around one of the guys’ thighs. A couple of girls are in chairs across from them.  They’re laughing. One girl passes a pipe to the guy getting his leg throttled. He takes it, inhales, and holds his breath. The girl across from him stands and places her lips on his. As he exhales, he rubs one of her breasts over her shirt.
    They notice me and the guy whose thigh isn’t being strangled says, “Come on in.” He gives me a lopsided grin , showing off a dimple.
    “That’s okay.” I close the door and head down the stairs. My sticky shirt is going to remain sticky—at least until I get back to my room.
    This house reminds me of a fun house at a carnival, and it’s exhilarating. Every step, every turn is filled with strange and thrilling horrors.
    I carefully make my way back to the living room and search for Gina. She’s talking to a couple of guys. They laugh. A coy smirk flashes across her face a nd she places a hand on each guy’s chest.
    “Gina! Gina!” I wave, but the party is too loud. Moving past people, I make my way toward my roommate. 
    Another set of girls is being couch tipped. It’s like a weird ritual. I can’t help but stare. Which is bad because that means I’m not watching where I’m going.
    I walk into a hard body.
    “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “Watch it.” He smells like fresh laundry and beer. The kind my dad used to drink.
    Glancing up, I’m about to utter an