Thicken

“It’s 9am and you’re listening to the Johnny & Jayde Morning Show on XL 106.7, it’s 80 degrees outside; Happy Friday to everybody! Traffic is lookin nasty already…”

I groaned and buried my face in the mound of clothes that had accumulated on my bedroom floor.  Boxes were ripped open and overturned, my makeup was scattered all over the bed-I was in the middle of ground zero, and I still couldn’t find shit to wear.

“We’ve got Chris Kirkpatrick on air today-how’s it goin, dude? How’s Nigels11 coming along?”

I smiled despite my frustration and sat up to turn up the volume on my radio. Chris’s familiar voice flooded my bedroom, and I felt butterflies crashing around in my stomach.

“Going pretty awesome. Nigels11 is in the studio constantly  right now, but we’re doing great-I’m barely home anymore.” He chuckled and Johnny and Jayde laughed and started teasing him about his obsession with Twitter.

I smiled absently and tried to ignore the guilt that my conscience was trying to stick to me, frantically rooting through the debris on my floor, trying to find at least one thing that wouldn’t look ten sizes too big.

I finally found one of my favorite Sinful shirts and stumbled through the crap to the mirror, pulling my shirt quickly over my head. A glance at my clock told me I was already late and I cursed to myself, yanking the Sinful shirt over my head and spinning in the mirror, biting my lip.

The shirt, which had reached almost t-shirt proportions a few weeks ago, had finally shrunken up and started to cling in the places where I needed it to.  Which was very good, because I could not afford to look like a droopy teenage boy today. I paused for a second to consider my image in the mirror, despite the ticking clock. I was looking better, I surmised grudgingly. My battle with keeping down food was starting to turn in my favor; I wasn’t puking as much these days, and when I did it was no longer chunks of stomach or blood. The last two trips to Dr. Triche had yielded positive results-the cirrhosis was in no way diminished, but it was no longer being fueled. Color had returned to my face, and my appetite had come back with almost a vengeance.  

Chris had noticed this a few days ago and had watched me scarf down a cheeseburger with wry amusement. “Hungry much?” He had questioned, and I had responded with a big bite and a quick nod. “Well, that’s good, but don’t you be getting fat, now.” He had teased, and I had thrown a french fry at him. He had a point, I admitted, since my family had a long history of obesity (look at Christobel) and if I kept scarfing down everything I saw, I’d surely be headed for muffin top land. One of the worst things about cutting coke out was the fact that I couldn’t stay skinny, I thought, making a face. I was far from muffin-topping, though-it was the first time I had had a healthy appetite since I had been thirteen and I still looked too thin.

But look-I had cleavage again, at least, so maybe sobriety had one or two very minuscule points to it. I bent over in the mirror and slid my hands inside my bra to give the girls a nice push together. Not bad.

Johnny & Jayde moved on to heckle Chris about his ever growing collection of tattoos, and I sighed and turned away from the radio, trying to fight down the rapidly growing feeling of guilt and nerves that were bubbling my stomach. This isn’t right, one part of my brain whispered uneasily, and the other countered, no, but you have to survive, you can’t do that by being a waitress, right?

Unfortunately the self reliant, selfish part of my brain was the one I usually answered to, so I tried to push my worry aside and looked hastily around my room for my Vans, which had disappeared somewhere in the mountain of crap. Muttering curses to myself, I dropped to my knees and lifted up the dust ruffle of the bed to find my Vans lodged underneath. When I rose up with a sigh of relief, Christobel was standing in my doorway, eyeing me suspiciously, holding a bowl of what looked (and smelled) like baby puke. I grit my teeth and shoved one shoe on my foot, trying to ignore the stench. “What is it, Christobel, I’m in a hurry.”

We had not spoken since our exchange in the bathroom, but I knew Alan was out of town on business again (either that or spreading his gayness around with Lance) so Christobel was aching for someone to bother.

She didn’t reply, and I squinted at her in annoyance. “Come on, Christobel, what am I today? A brainless mooch? A heartless cunt? Say it and then get that nasty shit out of here.”

Christobel smirked. “I would, but you beat me to it.”

I rolled my eyes. “God, get a life.” I muttered to myself, and Christobel evidently didn’t hear me and took my silence for permission to edge into the room, casting a look of irritation at the mess I had made. The smell of her ‘food’ grew stronger and my sensitive stomach did a dive roll.

“Found a place to live yet?” She questioned pointedly, and I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back a scathing retort. I did not have time for this, and I-

Before I could answer, my belly lurched and I clapped a hand over my mouth and stumbled frantically for the bathroom, barely getting the toilet in time before puking up my eggs and sausage. I closed my eyes and tried not to breathe the smell of my regurgitated food. Behind me I heard the sharp click of my cousin’s Gucci shoes on the tile, could feel her eyes on me.

“Go away, Christobel.” I groaned, groping blindly for the toilet handle.

She didn’t reply, and I slowly turned my head to find her leaning against the counter, looking at me with this expression of…not anger, not disgust, but pity. I blinked at her, too taken aback to feel irritated.  It had been a very, very long time since Christobel had looked at me that way. Jealousy and bitterness had stolen away any sympathy I thought she had had.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant.” She said, softly.

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. I just gaped at her. “What?”

She sighed in exasperation. “Please don’t insult my intelligence.”

I shook my head dazedly. “Wasn’t sure I was.”

Christobel ignored that. “You’re sick every morning and you’re always sleeping. You’re pregnant, Nyx. Own up to it.” She crossed her arms, looking extremely satisfied with herself.

I shook my head, sighing. “Christobel, I’m going through goddamn withdrawal. I’m not pregnant.”

She snorted. “Then why did I hear the maids talking about your trashcan always being empty? You never ask for Midol and they never see any pads or tampons around. And don’t tell me you leave them at Chris’s, cause that’s just gross, Nyx.” She shook her head in disgust.

I heaved a long sigh. “Why is my menstrual cycle being discussed at length in this house? I find it a little gross, not to mention disturbing.”

“Say whatever you want, Nyx, but you’re pregnant. I know you are.” Christobel fixed me with a sharp gaze, her arms still folded. Oh boy.

I pulled down the toilet lid and slowly lifted myself to sit on it, yanking my hair in frustration. “Christobel, trust me, I’m NOT pregnant.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe you really quit drinking and all your other stuff. And please, you’re screwing a famous guy. You really expect me to believe that you guys have safe sex?” Christobel rolled her eyes. I glared at her.

“What Chris and I do is our business. And let’s not forget that YOU’RE the golddigger in this family, Christobel. I don’t fuck people for money.” I retorted, and Christobel turned a nasty shade of purple, but my look of death silenced any rebuke she may have had. She cleared her throat, hastily shelving her diatribe for later.

“Whatever. Look, Nyx, you need to tell him.”

I threw up my hands in frustrated amazement. “Tell him what?”

“You’re pregnant, idiot! You need to tell a doctor or somebody, Christ, you’re drinking!” Christobel hissed, and I laughed dryly, burying my face in my hands. “Oh, god, you’ve lost it.”  I said, my voice muffled.

“Benita found a bottle of tequila underneath the bed the other day while she was cleaning! God, is that all you do, Nyx, lie?” Christobel demanded, starting to pace the length of the bathroom. I uncovered my face and looked up at her with an expression of outmost exhaustion.

“That was old.” I muttered, and she kicked the side of the bathtub angrily. “Stop fucking lying!”

I shot to my feet, finally losing patience. “I’m not fucking lying, asshole,” I bellowed, taking a few steps towards her. “I’m not goddamn drinking and I’m not fucking pregnant and even if I was it wouldn’t be any of your GODDAMN business, because you and I burned that bridge a long fucking time ago, and you KNOW what I’m talking about.” I could feel my upper lip curling and my eyes burned into Christobel’s, who had stumbled back a few steps and was now staring up at me in shock.

I clenched my fists and spun away from her, muttering angrily to myself and collapsing onto the toilet again, raking my hands through my hair. Christobel cautiously took a step away from the wall.

“God, Christobel, why are you so hell bent on me being pregnant?” I whispered, my voice very loud in the silent bathroom.

“Cause I can’t be.” She said quietly, biting her lip. I glanced at her, guilt clenching my stomach.

“Yes you can, stop acting stupid.” I said irritably, and Christobel smiled, but it was exceptionally bitter.

“Yeah? Tell that to my gay husband. He shrinks away just hearing the words petri dish.” Christobel turned away from me and stared at the mirror. I shifted uncomfortably.

“Alan wants kids, though.”

“He wanted them with you.” Christobel shot back, shooting daggers at my reflection in the mirror. I winced.

“Christobel…that doesn’t mean anything. He’d still be gay.”

“Yeah, but he can actually stand to touch you.” She sighed, and I bit my lip, hating to admit that it was true.

“Maybe if you’d stop threatening to ruin his life, he would feel a little more affectionate towards you.” I muttered, and Christobel whipped around to face me, her face brick red. I recoiled.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do, Nyx?! What else do I have?! He makes the money, he owns this house, he can kick me out at anytime and send me back to the family.  He’d do anything for you, a girl who dumped him cold TWICE, but I try to be the trophy wife he’s supposed to have and he won’t give me a baby. That’s all I fucking want and I’ll do anything to get it, I’ll put up with him not loving me and him being a fag; I’ll ruin his fucking life if I have to and  I won’t think twice. And don’t you judge me for it, either,” She snarled, her finger pointed directly at my chest, “you’d do the same thing.”

She was right. I would.

Christobel sighed and collapsed on the side of the tub, worn out from her rant. “I just want a baby.” She whispered, her bony hands twisting in her lap.

Pity flooded me as I was forced to see a new side of Christobel that I had never anticipated. I had never wanted a baby or a family of my own, so wanting a baby I couldn’t relate to, but I knew what it felt like to NEED something to your very core. The irony of this weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I let out a dark chuckle.

Christobel looked sideways at me. “What?”

I shook my head, sniggering darkly. “Nothing. You’re just the perfect granddaughter.” There was no sarcasm in my voice.

I thought she’d snap at me, but Christobel smiled a little. “Yeah, kinda.” She admitted, and we both giggled a little bit at the same time, this momentary truce feeling very strange and yet very familiar.

“I still don’t believe you.” She admitted, after our nervous titters had subsided. I groaned. “Christ, I’m telling you-I’m NOT pregnant.”

“Whatever. If you are, and I’m dead certain you are-just don’t abort it, okay, Nyx?” She begged, and I got to my feet, groaning.

“Goddammit, if I were pregnant, do you really think I’d do that?”

“Yes.” She replied, and met my answering glare with a bland expression.

I sighed. She was right, which is why I had gone to enormous lengths to never get myself knocked up. Abortion was greatly frowned on by my family, and though I didn’t want to think of it, my brain forced an image of Chris’s face had I told him I had gotten pregnant and was going to get rid of it. I shivered and had to work very hard not to puke again.

I suddenly remembered the time and groaned; I was so fucking late.

“I have to go, Christobel. I can’t sit here and talk about this with you.” I muttered, hurrying towards the door.

“Nyx.”

I spun around in exasperation. “What?”

Christobel looked down at the tile floor. “Promise me you’ll see a doctor.”

I almost lost my temper again at her insistence, but paused, an idea snaking its way through me.

I  braced my arms against the side of the door. “I’ll go see a doctor under one condition.”

Her eyebrow went up.

“You let me stay here for a little longer without giving me any shit.” I said evenly, and before the whole sentence left my lips, Christobel scoffed, standing up.

“No deal.”

I glared at her. “So all this concern about this so called baby isn’t that important?”

Christobel paused-I could see her mind clicking away. On one hand, she wanted me to leave so badly that she couldn’t stand it, but on the other, a possible abortion by alcohol poisoning would not look good to the family, especially while I was under her roof. They would blame her for not taking better care of me. I took a step towards her.

“You let me stay for awhile and I’ll talk to Alan about letting you get pregnant.” I murmured, and Christobel’s eyes darted to mine, narrowing.

“That’s none of your business.” She snarled, and I just looked at her. “No more then me and Chris having sex is yours.”

She bit her lip, looking both intrigued and disgusted by the idea. Seeing her falter, I rushed on.

“It’s probably not how you’d want it, but you know Alan will listen to me. And we both know how much you want a baby. Think of how proud the family will be.””

Christobel just stared at me.

“Look at it this way-you’ll finally beat me to it.” I wheedled, and finally, a little smile broke out on her lips.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

“See? Everybody wins.” I said gently, and Christobel looked at me, considering. I just returned the gaze, congratulating myself on the inside. I had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. The chance to prove herself worthy to the family was everything to Christobel, no matter how much she swore they didn’t matter anymore.

“Are you going to get out eventually?” She wanted to know, raising an eyebrow, and I held up my hand.

“I swear.”

Christobel searched my eyes for a second, looking for the punchline, the lie, the HAHA! Just Kidding. I did not waver.

After a few moments that seemed like eternity (and believe me, I was counting down restlessly), she nodded, and I returned the gesture.

“But if I do this for you, you have to stop threatening to tell everyone he’s gay, Christobel.” I warned her, and she made a face.

“Fine, what the hell ever.  I just need his sperm, for Christ sakes, what he does with guys is disgusting anyway.” She waved a dismissive hand at me.

Trying not to think of a doctor injecting Alan’s sperm into my cousin, I waved away her promise and stood against the door.

“If you don’t mind, Christobel, I have to get the hell out of here. I’m really fucking late.”  I made an impatient gesture for her to leave the bathroom, and she looked at me strangely but obeyed me, and I quickly ushered her out of my room.

“Nyx?”

“What?” I spun around, my tone very angry now.

Christobel was standing at the entrance to my doorway. She grimaced;  it looked as if someone was pulling out her teeth.  I sighed.

“You’re welcome.”

She smiled, and left.

I hurried over to my radio and punched the off button, cutting Chris off in mid laugh. Grabbing my bag and keys, I left the room, my mind already elsewhere, focused on necessities.

Everybody has a price.

I don’t give a damn bout my reputation
You’re living in the past it’s a new generation
A girl can do what she wants to do and that’s
What I’m gonna do
An I don’t give a damn bout my bad reputation

“Oh no, not me.” I muttered underneath my breath, pulling alongside the curb, my stomach twitching as if someone was pulling a loose thread on my innards. I killed the motor, silencing Joan Jett (and yes, Joan, I do care about my bad reputation) and peered anxiously up at the towering stucco apartment building.

It was not what I had expected, and relieved as I was that it wasn’t some dark alley or dilapidated crackhouse, the structure seemed to thrum with foreboding all the same.

What am I doing?

I bit my lip and sat back into my seat.  I could forget I did this, I thought, and just go back to being a waitress, asking for more shifts, demand for a payraise.  The image of cornering Wade again after work and threatening him to tack two dollars more onto my salary flitted through my brain, and my conviction wavered.  This didn’t have to happen. There were plenty more jobs out there that would be safer for me, and by extension, Chris.  I didn’t have to tempt myself or put his name in danger or get thrown in jail.

I thought of the numbers that had shown up on Apartments.com, numbers that didn’t fall below $500 unless I wanted to live in a rat infested shithole. I made decent money waitressing, but not enough to pay an astronomical rent. The economy was bad and clerical jobs were almost impossible to come by.

“What’s it gonna be, Dufrene?” I murmured, slipping my hand around the door handle.  Love him though I might, I silently cursed Chris for making me lose all of my nerve. The old Nyx would have walked in there and taken no prisoners. The new Nyx was weaker.

No, not weaker, I tried arguing with my conscience, just better.

I could practically hear my conscience rolling it’s eyes.  Uh huh, keep telling yourself that.

Fuck. I bit the inside of my lip and opened the car door, half expecting a flurry of cops to pounce on me and slap handcuffs on my wrists for just being there. One of my Vans hit the sidewalk. Nothing.

Cars zoomed by, trees swayed. I heard faint hip hop music coming from a house down the street. The air swam with the summery smell of BBQ, and despite my nerves, my stomach whined in protest. I ignored it. Now was not the time for food.

Both feet were now on the pavement, and I was getting out of the car, though every intuition I possessed was screaming at me to get the fuck out of there.  I had done a lot of crazy, reckless shit in my life, but this was the icing on the cake. No. No. Stop, Nyx. Chris’s worried expression exploded in front of my eyeballs, and I grit my teeth and forced myself to take another step.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I mouthed the words every time I got closer to the glass door of the apartment lobby. I knew I had to either put up or shut up; I probably looked very suspicious. Not exactly the image I wanted to put forth as I walked into a drug dealer’s place of business.

My fingers curled around the smooth silver handle and I took a very, very deep breath. It was shit or get off the pot time.

For a second I envisioned how hard, no, IMPOSSIBLE this would be. My picture had been in magazines, and though I doubted many drug dealers read People or Starz, my face would slowly become recognizable. Provided I stayed in Orlando, of course.  And I doubted my new would-be employers would be pleased to know I was: a)in the media and 2) dating a former boyband member.  Yeah, this was fucking impossible. I let go of the door handle and turned to go back to my car. Extra shifts, I thought, demand a payraise. I’ll figure it out, I consoled myself. This was too risky.

Call it misguided fate, but at that moment, my phone went off.  I almost jumped at the sudden noise and plunged my hand into my bag to grope for my phone. Chris’s face grinned up at me from the display, tongue sticking out, hair messed up, his smile cut in half by the reflection of sunlight on the screen.  I felt weak and dizzy and I moved, as if in a dream, to sit on one of the cement planters near the door. My finger hovered over the ANSWER button, but I could not bring myself to punch it. I was afraid he’d say something wonderful (and he usually did, 9 times out of 10) and break me.  

“You are absolutely nuts.” Chris gasped, rolling off of me onto the messy sheets, sweat worming down his forehead. I laughed and stretched languorously, like a satisfied cat, absolutely perspiration free. Chris, despite being plainly worn out, followed these actions with dark eyes. His hand snuck over and closed over my breast.

“Not nuts. Just tireless. And inventive.”  I teased, playfully pushing his hand off of me and twisting to face him. Chris smirked. “Oh, is that it?”

I shrugged. “You want it a certain way, you got it a certain way. Don’t ask for it if you can’t handle it, Baio.”  I cocked one of my eyebrows at him and Chris started chuckling, his arms sliding over my bare hip to press me closer to him. “Damn, girl. Cocky, aren’t we?” His mouth passed barely, barely! over my neck, and every nerve in my body seemed to implode.

“Something. like. that.” I choked out, and his goatee scratched against my jawbone as Chris grinned, pleased with himself.

“Ah, but that’s what I like about you,” he murmured, kissing his way slowly up my jaw, breath in my ear, gentle tug on my ear.

“What? That I’ve got more-holy shit…got more balls then you?” I whispered, eyes shut now, about two seconds from coming. Chris nipped my ear in warning and I let out a squeak.

“No, that you see what you want and you go for it. You don’t let anyone get in your way.” Chris stopped his soft assault on my neck and propped his head on his hand, looking down at me. Those dark eyes.

I thought of driving around for hours in Mom’s car, trying to find cocaine across five parishes. Alan trying to stop me, and my pushing him against the wall. “That’s not always a good thing.” I murmured, reaching over and picking a piece of blanket fuzz off of his collarbone.

Chris caught my hand and kissed the back of it. “If you say so, but I find it sexy.”

I smirked. “You also find it sexy when I tickle your-“

He flushed bright red and tackled me to shut me up, but I was already immersed in giggles and he gazed down at me and sighed, wearing the expression of the ever suffering.

“You wear me out, Nyx. You’re lucky you’re you. ”

I punched him gently. “Hey, you were the one who stalked me across the Internet.”

“You responded.” Chris countered, and I flushed.

“Yeah, well,” I bit my lip and looked past Chris to the ceiling. I thought of Alan’s expression. ‘’when I want something, I go for it.”

I pressed the END CALL button, cutting the call short. Chris’s picture lingered for a few seconds, then disappeared. 

ONE MISSED CALL. I bit my lip. Fucking guilt.

I shoved my phone back into my bag, my mind made up. I reached for my dark sunglasses, slipped them on, and followed a group of shoving, wet surfer guys into the cool lobby.

You do what you have to do.

Isn’t that why I’m with Chris, anyway?

Hi, this is Nyx. Not here at the moment. Please hold while I fetch a violin for your inconvenience. Just kidding, sucker. Leave a message.”

Chris groaned in frustration.  I spend half my time talking to her damn voicemail, he thought irritably. The phone beeped in his ear and Chris sighed.

“Woman, where are you? PICK UP. PICK UP PICK UP PICK UP. Nyxxxx, PICK UP. I’m gonna sit here all day until you pick up. Or at least until your voicemail cuts me off. Nyx! PICK UP!” Chris tapped his foot against the ground and blew air between his teeth.  “Fine, don’t pick up. This way might be easier. Nyx, I…-“

Precious seconds ticked by and Chris took a deep breath. “I just-I just want you to know that I l-“

BEEP.

Dammit.

Fifth floor.

My breathing sounds ragged in my ears, like it’s being grated and twisted. My mouth is dry. I feel like I want to spray this neutral blue carpet with vomit.

Nothing about this place, besides the knowledge of why I’m here, is threatening. It’s tasteful and clean and the elevators didn’t stall between floors. No hookers loitered, no guns went off, no sweet smell of pot escaped from underneath the bland white doors. Was I at the wrong place? I paused, trying to remember the terse directions I had received from Wade a few days before. 

I turned the corner to find Wade leaning against the side of the building, puffing sullenly on a cigarette, his nose still bandaged. When he saw me, he flinched-just a tiny one, but I ignored it.

“Brooke said you needed to see me.”

Wade took one last puff on his cigarette and flicked it off into the green grass. “Yeah, you still intent on doing this crazy shit?” He asked gruffly, still not looking at me, his eyes on his shoes. I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure, myself.

Wade fished in his pocket and thrust out a piece of crumpled paper at me. I hesitated (just for a second)but reached forward and took it.

“Be there whenever you’re ready. Memorize it and tear it up.”

He waited for no response-just pushed himself off of the wall and slunk around me, giving me a wide berth. I looked down at the paper in my hand, my mouth slipping around the words. Fear bubbled up in my stomach, and I spun around.

“Wade?”

He halted to a stop, taking a very deep, very obvious breath.

“What, Nyx?” His voice was harsh and mulish, like a little boy who had gotten spanked by Mommy. I crumpled the paper in my fist.

“Never mind. Fuck it.” I retorted, my tone as biting as his.

He kept walking, and I looked down at the paper in my hand.

I had just wanted to say- thanks for nothing.

I was at the right place, I was positive of it. My GPS hardly ever failed me.  And at the end of the hall, my destination loomed; once I tapped on that door, there was no going back.

Oh for Christ sakes, grow a pair.

Good thing there was nobody else in the hallway; I did some sort of scary halfass lurch/sprint, and before I could puss out again, I tapped on the door.

I heard the muffled sounds of music, though I couldn’t make it out, the excited pitter-patter of feet (had I gotten the wrong apartment?) and I couldn’t be sure, but did someone just screech?

I slowly backed away from the door, ready to sprint away should I come face to face with a murder scene. What the fuck would I face when this door opened? My fingers tightened around my bag. Where was my fucking mace when I needed it?

Finally, the door wrenched open, and I braced myself, but didn’t have time to be scared, because-

My mouth dropped open.

“Are you FUCKING kidding me?!”

I fly like paper, get high like planes
If you catch me at the border I got visas in my name
If you come around here, I make 'em all day
I get one down in a second if you wait


Sometimes I think sitting on trains
Every stop I get to I'm clocking that game
Everyone's a winner, we're making our fame
Bonafide hustler making my name


All I wanna do is (bang bang bang bang)
And (kaching)
And take your money

All I wanna do is (bang bang bang bang)
And (kaching)
And take your money

“Paper Planes” by MIA