Glass (Crank, #2)

by Ellen Hopkins

Here, now. You’re my new girlfriend, okay? I don’t know if he means for real, or for the benefit of the kids, but either way, I’m fine with it. I’m someone’s new girlfriend, at least for the moment.

Hey, everyone, this is Kristina. He kisses my forehead. Isn’t she pretty?

Damn, it feels great and so do I.

It’s like riding a bike. Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall. And then he does things no one has ever done, takes me places I’ve never been, and my tears turn to cries of indescribable joy.

“That’s the first time.” He doesn’t understand. “The first time I ever had a . . . a . . .” I can’t bring myself to say the word, so I try, “ . . . you know.” Realization dawns and he smiles, dimple to dimple. Really? Want another one?

Back to you . . . but when? Back to you…but when? I know it won’t be that long. After all, I’m here, and I’ll be waiting. And if that’s not enough, his connect is here too.

It’s been a little over three weeks since Trey and I were together, and I can’t get him out of my mind. At work, at home, amidst Thanksgiving preparations, he’s all I can think about. Well, Trey and ice. Every

I’ve heard after a while your body will just shut down, speed or no speed. I’m almost looking forward to that.

“Will you come pick me up after dinner?” Mom will be livid. But I couldn’t care less.

And what about your baby? Don’t you love him anymore? Bam! Bam! That hurts, but not as much as it should. “Of course I still love Hunter. But I need the other kind of love too.

Go on. Go out. Get out of my house. But someday you’ll regret this.

Love is the first step toward breaking up. [Come on. Love makes making love better.]

Fueled by ice, it all takes a very long while, but finally we both ascend about as high as two people can. Despite the glass, we float in a sea of exhaustion. Trey whispers, Please stay with me tonight.

Cushioned by his arms, it occurs to me that I’ve never actually slept with a guy before—never had the chance.

Trey props himself on one elbow, looks into my eyes, kisses my forehead and says, I love you, too, Kristina.

I was with Trey, slept here with Trey, confessed to Trey that I love him. And Trey told me he loves me, too.

Look at yourself, Kristina. You’re incapable of caring for a baby. You’re off the deep end. Do you want to drown him, too?

Her words bring back a dream I had when I was pregnant. A dream about Hunter drowning. Suddenly it’s Bree I want to drown. Bree and the fucking monster.

I know I’m in the backseat of my car, but I can’t remember exactly why. Hunter? Something about . . . Oh, now it all comes back to me. I screwed up.

glance at the clock on my phone. Three A.M. Most likely he’s sleeping. But is he sleeping alone?

Christmas is only a few weeks away. I have toys on layaway for Hunter. Will I get to play Santa? Where will I be Christmas morning?

Paycheck to paycheck. Hey, I think I get that now. It really does suck.

I drive back to Red Rock. Somehow it still doesn’t feel like home, even if it is where my clothes reside; where I go to sleep (sometimes) at night; where I eat (sometimes); where people (strangers) wait for me to come back to.

I know, deep down, that falling hard for the first guy to take interest in over a year was not the best idea.

But how do you tell your heart, No, don’t swell with magic, you’ll only burst? How do you tell it to clamp itself off from possibilities? God knows I don’t need more pain in life. Why did I invite it in? Do I have to feel pain to believe I feel anything at all?

I can’t believe I will finally get to see him in the flesh. Touch his flesh. Taste his flesh, and beg him to taste mine. I want to be in his arms again, sleep in his arms again, and wake, skin to skin.

They say the best things in life are worth waiting for, but patience is not my best thing.

I watch, thinking what a great dad he’ll make one day. I wonder if he could ever become Hunter’s dad. [Stop it. Wishful thinking will get you exactly nowhere.]

“I think your cousin is just a wee bit jealous.” Can’t blame him a bit. If the situation was reversed, I’d be jealous too. Jealous that he could do this. . . . [Can you believe he can do that?] And this. . . . [OMG. No one can do that!]

Oh, you like that, do you, you nasty little girl? If Brad were here, doing this to you, I might have to kill him. Either that, or ask him to share.

[Men are clods. Maybe he thinks what he said qualifies as “I love you.”]

Despite all the kissing Trey and I did last night, I have to admit some part of me really enjoyed Brad’s kiss. Maybe I’m turning into a pervert. [Join the club!]

“Don’t you understand? I gave up spending Christmas with my own family so I could be with you.” Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, but only for a second. I never asked you to.

Possibly, I’m pregnant. Possibly, I’ve damaged the baby. Possibly, I will choose to abort. Possibly, Trey won’t support me, won’t even come back to me.

Better go. My mind is going places it shouldn’t. See you in the morning. The door snaps shut behind him. My mind is going places it shouldn’t too. I call Trey, before my body follows.

We need each other. How can that be wrong? I still love Angela, and I know you love Trey. Can’t you and I love each other too?

I haven’t thought past loving Trey, never considered loving someone else, especially not at the same time. Can I love more than one person? Would that make me love Trey less?

I have no answers now, need no answers now. Except one. “Are you ...

Brad and I are still friends. But we’re a different kind of friends. More than pals. More, even, than fuck buddies. It’s like we’re stand-ins for the true loves of our lives. And the only way to be that is to let ourselves love each other.

When you love someone, you don’t want to hurt them, even if they deserve to be hurt. When you love someone, you want to hurt them, even when they don’t deserve to be hurt.

Six months since we met up again, we are inseparable, an intricate weave. No longer do I believe this is a temporary fling. More like total commitment. More like I have walked down the aisle, holding hands with the monster.

I’ve Tried to Get Over What happened that night. Tried to blame the meth. The booze. The situation. I even tried to forgive him because Hunter is an angel.

Wonder if I could quit. [Don’t make me laugh.]

He’s determined. Determined, like the person he so resembles, the one I’ll see much too soon.

Being here with Hunter is weird too. Kind of a synthetic state of mother- hood, not so different from being a nanny, because I know no matter what I do, no matter how fucked up I am or become, he’s not really my responsibility. Okay, morally, Hunter is my responsibility. But Mom took it upon herself to usurp the mommy role, so great. She taught me a lesson. But who’s really getting hurt here? Not me.

But it’s really hard to look at him, especially after just being with my baby. His baby. Our baby. God, that stings.

We smoke three bowls, and as the ice does what it’s supposed to do, his eyes take on the glow of the monster. Major déjà vu. Have I made an irreversible mistake?

Then he says something completely unexpected. I saw your mom with your baby the other day. I knew it was your mom because she looks like you. I knew it was your baby because he looks . . . He can’t know. I won’t let him. I’ll deny it until the day I die—or he does. I hold my breath. . . . like you, too.

Am I totally schizo? [Close. But there’s a bigger question.] Oh, yeah? Like what? [Which half is the real you?]

Robyn escorts me to her room, much like she did several times in the past, only this time she’s dressed in a purple silk teddy. Her legs are too thin, her own chest flatter than I remember, and a thick layer of makeup barely disguises sores. Monster sores. I chide myself to slow down before I end up with sores. Or here.