Vintage: A Ghost Story by Steve Berman Page B

attack.
“Medicine?” I asked when she handed me the full mug.
“Bad hot chocolate.”
I breathed in the steam first. It smelled sickly sweet and made me wonder if chocolate ever spoiled like milk. Froth floated atop an obscene brown liq uid. I closed my eyes and chugged it down in three gulps. The ice that seemed to have coated my insides began to melt, making me feel loose and liquid under my skin.
I grunted, handing back the mug. “More.” I wanted to feel my throat scald.
She held up the jar, full except for the spoonfuls she had just used. “We have enough to party all night.”
    I woke on the couch and found Trace asleep in the easy chair across from me. I struggled to rise from underneath all the winter blankets Trace had wrapped around me. I never thought I’d be thankful to wake up sweaty.
    The thick taste of bitter chocolate ruled my mouth, and I brushed my teeth and even tongue with warm water for a good ten minutes before satisfied the awful flavor was gone.
    Trace stirred as I came back into the room. She stretched a moment, then blinked. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the glowing numbers of the cable box. “Just after two.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” A partial lie. I felt weak but no longer cold. “Thanks for coming over.”
She smiled. “Any time.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes. “So, what now?”
I shrugged. I could see the mess we had left in the kitchen. “I have to clean this place up before my aunt comes back.”
“No, about Josh,” she said.
“Oh.” I collapsed onto the sofa. The fear returned. The memory of almost drowning myself in a scalding bath to feel human. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Maybe… maybe we should find some way to keep him away from you?” She headed toward the bathroom. “Exorcism?”
“It’s more than Josh I’m scared of.” I called out to her.
She came back in a few moments shaking her head. “It looks like a flood in there.”
“It’s me. Even now, I can’t forget how he made me feel.” I lightly touched my chest over my heart where his fingers had once been. “I want that again. Part of me wants to feel him inside me again. I tell myself, next time I’ll be careful and it won’t get as bad.” I shivered thinking about Josh inside me. Did junkies feel this way, so soon after the fix wore off? Even a bad one? Did they yearn for another?
“Hon, what little gay boy doesn’t say that after he gets laid for the first time?”
“Evil.” I didn’t find her joke the least bit funny.
She came over to me and ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll call people. We can go over to Liz’s house tonight. I won’t leave you alone.”
I nodded but kept silent. And afterward when she dropped me back home? What then?
The brick walkway leading up to Liz’s house was bordered by sleeping rosebushes on wrought-iron trellises. As Trace climbed the front steps I hung back for a moment to finger one closed blossom, feeling the yellow petal’s softness. I nearly caught the edge of a thorn.
“Trace!” Liz opened the door all the way. When she looked over Trace’s shoulder to see me standing there, she smiled. “And you brought your sister.”
I rolled my eyes at Trace, who laughed. “Hey, Liz. Nice glitter.”
Sparkling green surrounded Liz’s dark eyes, perhaps a whole jar of glitter used, but it matched the emerald hue of the silk top she wore.
“You okay?” Liz asked in the midst of giving me a quick hug. “You look a little unsteady.”
“Yeah.” I had spent the day cleaning the house and then went under a hot shower. Yet, as soon as I stepped out of the house and saw how dark it looked outside, even wearing layers of fresh clothing seemed little protec tion from the cold night. I felt on edge.
“Tonight’s going to be special. I can feel it.” She wrapped an arm around Trace and led us deeper into the house toward the living room.
Liz’s folks had abandoned her in favor of money. Earning it and spending it. They were rarely