The door jams when I try to open it. I have to shove it with all my strength to get it to unstick.
Trash litters the cramped apartment. A thick layer of dust covers the cabinets and counters. The kitchen sink has a stack of dirty plates with food stuck to them.
The stale air inside carries a sharp odor: urine and sweat and something sickeningly sweet. The low coffee table has two lit candles that emit a cheap vanilla scent. Near the couch where Lauren lounges are several rolled-up dollar bills and a white powder residue. Doesn’t take
a genius to know what’s going on.
Pushing her stringy, unwashed hair out of her face, she looks up to me. Without makeup, her complexion is sallow. Her good bone structure has become sickeningly prominent; it can’t disguise the fact that she’s unhealthy and needs some serious intervention.
Shock ripples through me, then pity stirs, but then I shake myself out of both. She can get the help she needs from people who give a fuck. I don’t. Not anymore.
Her gray pupils are dilated, but there is still some lucidity in her gaze. Enough to comprehend what I’m about to tell her.
“We’re finished,” I say. “I know everything.”
She waves me away. “You don’t know anything.”
“You’re that ‘hard to meet’ girlfriend of Anthony’s. Elliot never tried to touch you. And Elizabeth never insulted you the way you said she did.”
“Are you going to side with your brother and sister over me?” She tries to sit up, but her balance is too poor. She falls back on the couch. The venom in her voice doesn’t weaken.
“When they have hard evidence on their side? Yup.”
She pales for a moment. But she straightens her shoulders in defiance and glares at me. “What ‘evidence’?”
“Elliot recorded you.”
Her tongue dashes out and licks her slightly cracked lips. “He entrapped me. Can’t you see? He’s trying to tear us apart!”
“He’s trying to prevent me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”
The gorgeous engagement ring I bought for her seems to burn in my pocket. It’s a one-of-a-kind ring that I specially commissioned. Beautiful platinum and rose gold twine to form a band. I thought it would represent our lives together, how we would create something better and greater together. How stupid I’ve been.
“I didn’t even know that you’ve been using.” I suspected she might be drinking too much, but never fooling around with hard drugs. Did I just not know what to look for, or did I ignore all the signs because I didn’t want to believe the worst?
“Fine then! But we’re still doing the movie together, right?”
I shook my head. “I can’t work with an addict. Nobody else is going to work with you either. Addicts are unpredictable…poison when you’re trying to bring a movie in on time. We’re through, Lauren. Go back home, and don’t ever contact me again.”
“You can’t do this!”
Anger thickens her voice, gives it a screeching volume. Still, she can barely stand up, her balance precarious.
Pain sears me. I can’t look at her anymore without hating myself for being so blind. I walk out without a backward glance, letting the door slam shut.
The apartment burned down that night. The Mexican fireman found a single female body inside. The autopsy revealed that the woman died from smoke inhalation, although she also had enough cocaine in her body to kill her. The investigators said that she must’ve caused the fire when she knocked a lit candle over. They had to break down the door to get to her because it had jammed.
Even though I hated her at the end, I wish I hadn’t left the way I did. I wish I’d called somebody so they could watch over her. Maybe even the police, so she could spend some time in jail. Mexican jails suck, but at least she wouldn’t have died.
People who don’t know all the details will say she got what she deserved. But I know I’m responsible for her death. I was the sober one. And I slammed that door shut.
I tell Paige the dirty and sordid details of that night. I’ve never told anyone, not even Elliot. He knows Lauren caused me a lot of grief, but he doesn’t know all the details about her relationship with Anthony, her drug use or the way she died. Dad knows as much as Elliot at best; I’m pretty sure of it. But—good old Dad—he always pretends to know more so he can stick the knife in and twist it.
“That’s the story of Lauren,” I say.
Paige’s voice is so soft I almost don’t hear her. “That’s terrible. No wonder you jumped to conclusions.” She lowers her gaze, then reaches over and holds my hand. “You should tell Anthony. He needs to know the truth and stop blaming you.”
I pull my hand out of hers. “It’s too late. We’ve said and done too many things over the years. And he crossed the line when he put his hands on you. Nothing I tell him is going to make things right between us.”