Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“Do you want me to stay?” I say when we get to her house. She looks up at me, her hair mussed and her eyes half-closed. She's quite a mess.

“Could you?” I had a stash of clothes at her house in case of emergencies like this. Back when we were kids, she'd sometimes have me over and beg me to stay the night. Once she'd even cried because I had to go camping with my parents and couldn't stay. Plus, I'm scared to go home. I don't know if Peter or Ivan are waiting for me there.

“I just have to call my parents,” I say after I get her on the couch. I get my mother and tell her that I'm staying with Tex. She sighs knowingly and tells me to call her if I need anything. I say I love her and hang up. I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow when I do go home. I'm worried about them, but I can't see Peter or Ivan hurting my parents. They've done nothing. My logic may be twisted, but I'm going with it. Otherwise, I'm going to spend the night clutching a machete and muttering to myself.

I have to pull the curtains so I won't look out the window constantly. I also lock all the doors, as if that could stop them.

First thing, I get Tex a glass of water and some aspirin.

“Drink,” I order. She does. I pull her shoes off and put a blanket on her. Even though it's warm in the house, she's shivering. She still stinks of the party, but so do I. She sets the empty glass down and closes her eyes.

“I'll be right back,” I say, taking the glass, making a detour to the bathroom to pee and check my neck. It's a little red, but otherwise I'm good. I take a few aspirin myself and splash some water on my face. I look like one of those hookers they find on those cop shows. The dead kind.

“How you doing?” She looks at me, eyes bleary and doesn't answer. “I'm gonna make you something, okay?”

“Ungh.” That's as good as it's going to get. I have to search the freezer, but I find some cheese in the back. Perfect. I make some nachos in the oven, checking every now and then to see how she's doing. I have to wake her up when the nachos are ready.

“Come on, you need to eat.” I pull her into a sitting position so she won't choke.

“I don't want to.” She slumps back over.

“Too bad.” I shove a plate at her. “I'm going to shove them down your throat if I have to. You're going to thank me tomorrow.” She glares at me and takes a chip. Cheese drips on her chin and down the front of her tank top, but she eats.

I help her demolish the rest of the nachos, and I think she's feeling a little bit better. That is, until she starts talking. I turn on the television so I can have something else to stare at other than how messed up and broken and sad she looks.

“I'm never going to meet anyone,” she moans as I take the plate back into the kitchen. Oh, we have been down this road, too. So many times we don't even need a map. I re-fill her water glass and press it into her hand. With a wet paper towel I start getting the smeared make-up off her face. I think I'm going to need a chisel.

“Yes you are. The perfect guy is out there waiting for you.” This is my standard line that I say in a soothing voice. She doesn't push me away as I wipe, the paper towel turning all different colors from the stuff on her face.

“Bullshit. That's all that fairytale crap that doesn't come true. No one is ever going to want me.” I stop wiping and try to think of what I can say to make this better.

Tex made the unfortunate mistake of losing her virginity to a boy who broke up with her a week later last year. Let's just say that homecoming weekend, alcohol and a parade float were all involved. She'd been totally head-over-heels and lost all sense. It happens to the best of us. To the worst of us, too. Tex was like that. She thought you could never have too much of a good thing.

Whether it's peanut butter cups or boys, it's never enough for her. Apparently, she was too much for Blake. He had all the qualifications of perfect boyfriend material, so it should have worked out for longer than it did. I would rather have my entrails pulled out of my body with a rusty hook than admit that I think it's her fault that he broke up with her. She'd been too much for him. Clingy and Possessive had replaced Sarsaparilla and Anne as her middle names.

Thankfully, he'd graduated and gone to college in Colorado so Tex doesn't have to see him, which is a blessing. There'd also been the rumor Blake had started about Tex being bad in bed, which had pretty much died down in the year since, but people remembered things like that. They'll probably still be talking about it until we graduate next year.

“Come on Tex.” I pout at her, hoping to make her laugh. This takes a lot of effort on my part. I'm not at my best.

“Blake didn't even want me.”

“Tex, that was one guy, and it was two years ago. You need to move on.” I squinch my nose up at her.

“But I loved him, and he didn't want me.” She starts to cry. Oh, damn.

“He's a douchebag.” It's time for Phase Two. Trusting she won't slit her wrists while I'm gone, I assemble the Fix-Tex kit. Ice cream, – probably not the best idea with alcohol, but still – nail polish, her old stuffed unicorn, our yearbook and her favorite movie, Breakfast at Tiffany's. The combination of objects hasn't failed me yet.

She gives me a watered-down smile when I come back with everything balanced in my arms. She knows the drill.

“Tada!”

While we watch Audrey Hepburn have lavish parties in her crappy apartment and flirt with George Peppard, aka Fred, we go through the yearbook. For some reason it makes Tex feel better when we look through it and talk about who's changed, who's gotten fat, who's gotten a bad dye job. Shallow, bitchy and horrible, but it works. So does quoting the movie, which we do pretty much the whole time.

“I'm having the mean reds,” she says, pointing to the screen. “Only I don't have Tiffany's to make me feel better.”

“But we have Zappos and eBay.”

“True,” she sighs. We stay silent for a little while. I hope she's not still obsessing over Blake.

“Ugh, I feel like shit,” she says when the movie's over. Uh oh. I know that face. I scramble to follow as she lurches to the bathroom. I hold her hair and avert my eyes. Nachos do not look pretty coming up, FYI. When she's done, I wipe her face with a cloth and hand her a toothbrush. What are friends for? I spay some air freshener and sit on the tub to make sure she's done.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” she says around her toothbrush.

We spent the rest of the night on a reality show marathon, Tex drinking ginger ale and eating Saltines. She passes out around three a.m., and it takes me ten minutes to get her upstairs and into bed.