The Voice inside My Head by S.J. Laidlaw Read Free Book Online

scuttle backwards, scared she’d catch me lurking. I was sure she’d come back to say good-bye, even if it was just a shout down the stairs. Only when I heard the front door slam did I realize she was gone. I tore up the stairs and went straight to the living room window. As the car turned out of the driveway, I caught a glimpse of her, but she was facing forward. That was Pat, always more interested in where she was going than in what was she was leaving behind. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t blame her one bit.
    Bats frolic in the lamplight, swooping close to my head as they dive for the mosquitoes feasting on my flesh. Music and laughter waft out of the bars, and I’m slowed down by multiple invitations from total strangers to get hammered or stoned. I wonder how many of these people knew my sister. I admit the idea of getting wrecked again is tempting, but the pulsing behind my eyes has turned into a wicked throbbing and I’m starting to worry the weed I smoked earlierwas cut with something more lethal than the usual shit. By the time I reach my room, all I’m thinking about is a cold shower and bed, so when I see my front step occupied, I seriously consider walking right by.
    “Luke,” she says, getting to her feet.
    “Tracy,” I say.
    I don’t ask her what the hell she’s doing on my doorstep, but I’m pretty sure she hears it in my voice.
    “I want to apologize,” she says quickly, “for what Pete and I said earlier.”
    I don’t say anything.
    “I know what you must have thought this morning, how you must have felt.… ”
    No, you really don’t.
    “I mean, I can’t imagine how awful this must be for you.… ” Her eyes start welling up.
    “It’s okay,” I say quickly, hoping to avoid a repeat of this morning’s performance.
    No such luck. She heaves a big one, and the waterworks resume.
    I sigh, which she takes as some kind of invitation to leap into my arms.
    Again.
    “Do you want to come inside?” I ask, because my own legs are about to give out and I’m stupid enough to think I can get rid of her if I calm her down.
    She nods her head, now buried in my chest, so I awkwardly shuffle her backwards into my room.
    I look around for a tissue. Of course I don’t have any, though the way things have been going lately, I should reallyget some. I ease her down onto my bed and slump next to her as wetness seeps through my shirt.
    “I miss Tricia so much,” she blubbers.
    “I know.” As uncharitable as it is, given this girl’s obvious grief at losing my sister, I still wonder how they could have been friends. They couldn’t be more different. Pat and I have been through some heavy crap in our lives, and I’ve never seen Pat cry — not once. She’s probably a little too stoic, but that’s the kind of person she admires as well. She has no patience for crybabies.
    “Can you forgive me?” She looks into my eyes with her huge blue saucers.
    “Absolutely,” I say. If we can wrap this up quickly, I might still get a shower.
    She releases my neck and lies down on my bed.
    “Tracy,” I say firmly. “You can’t stay here.”
    She sits up again.
    And takes off her shirt.
    “Tracy.” I’m a little less firm this time. At least my voice is. “You really need to go.”
    She puts one hand behind her back and in a fluid movement, like a magician or a porn star, she makes her bra disappear. I look down at it on the floor and I don’t know how it got there. She lies back on my bed and wriggles out of her shorts. No underwear. Of course.
    And no bikini line.
    And sun-bleached hair and a rockin’ body.
    Uh-oh.
    M E:
I think your friend’s coming on to me
.
    P AT:
What was your first clue, Sherlock?
    Sitting up again, Tracy grabs the edge of my shirt, flipping it over my head and off.
    I could have stopped her. I’m twice her size.
    M E:
What should I do?
    P AT:
Not inviting her into your bedroom would have been a good start
.
    Tracy starts stroking my leg.
    P AT:
Snap out of it,