The Fire Between High & Lo
Page 22

I inhaled sharply, and the knife in my heart dug deeper.
Erika stayed at our place that night, moving furniture around the living room. Rearranging things was how she always got her frustration out. Other times, she broke plates and glasses from her frustration. “She’s being unreasonable, Aly. You don’t have to listen to her, you know. And if she threatens you, don’t take it to heart. I’ll help you figure it out.”
I smiled, then frowned. “I have to tell Logan. He’s been texting me all afternoon, and I haven’t texted back. I don’t know what to say.”
Erika frowned, then frowned some more. “That’s going to be a tough talk, but it should happen sooner than later.”
I swallowed hard, knowing that it had to happen that night.
“I’m worried though, Alyssa. I’ve known Logan for a long time, and he’s not always the most stable person.” Erika wasn’t the biggest fan of Logan, and I couldn’t blame her. He was the boy who almost burned down hers and Kellan’s apartment a year ago after going on a bender with drugs due to his parents belittling and hitting him.
“That’s only five percent,” I murmured.
“What?”
“He’s there ninety-five percent of the time, Erika. Ninety-five percent of the time he’s gentle. He’s kind. But sometimes that five percent slips in, and he’s not himself. He loses the battle between his truths and the lies that his parents feed him. But you can’t judge him on those moments.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because if you judge him solely on his few moments of lows, then you miss out on his beautiful highs.”
***
When it rained, it poured, and poured, and poured.
I’d seen Logan’s low points quite a few times within the past two years. Whenever it happened, he turned into a person I didn’t recognize. His words slurred, his body wavered, and his voice was always so loud. He was angry, and somewhat mean, whenever he used drugs other than smoking pot. I knew it mostly happened when his parents hurt him, though, when they left abusive scars on his heart. The bruises on one’s heart were always the hardest ones to heal, they seemed to last the longest. When those low moments happened, I knew it was best to just let them pass, because afterwards, he always found his way back to the Logan I loved and adored.
Five percent low, ninety-five percent high.
When I finally turned my phone back on that night, I had fifteen missed text messages from Logan.
Logan: Where are you, High?
Logan: I need you.
Logan: Please. I’m falling apart. My dad just left and I’m not in a good place.
Logan: Alyssa? High?
Logan: Never mind.
Oh no. He was having a low moment. Those were the ones that scared me the most.
Me: I’m here.
He didn’t reply until three in the morning. When he called, I heard it in his voice, how he was so far away.
“I’m on your porch,” he said. When I opened the front door, I gasped. His left eye was swollen shut, his lip busted open. Black and blues took over his normally tan skin tone.
“Lo,” I breathed, reaching for his face. He cringed, stepping backward. “Your dad?”
He didn’t reply as I took him in.
I noticed the twitching first, followed by his impaired coordination. He frantically scratched at his skin and kept licking his lips.
How far into the shadows did you drive tonight, Logan?
“Can I shower or somethin’? I couldn’t go home tonight.” He sniffled as he tried to widen his left eye, but it wouldn’t budge open.
“Yeah, yeah of course. Come on.”
I led him to my bathroom as he stumbled beside me. Once we made it, I shut the door behind us. I reached for a small cloth, soaking it in warm water as he sat on top of the toilet. As I started pressing it to his face, he hissed. “It’s fine,” he argued, pulling away.
“No. It’s not. You can’t open your eye.”
“But I can still see you.” His mouth hung open slightly before he went back to licking his lips. “Were you busy earlier?”
I blinked, not looking into his one open eye. I soaked the towel more. “Yeah.”
“Too busy to text?”
“Yeah, Lo. I’m sorry.” My breaths quickened as I eyed the exit. I needed a moment away.
“Hey,” he whispered, placing his finger under my chin, raising my stare to meet his one eye. “I’m okay.”
“Are you high?”
He hesitated, before laughing. “Fuck you for asking that, High. Look at my face. What do you think?”
I flinched. He never spoke to me in such a way, except for when he was almost completely down the rabbit hole. I should’ve answered his texts.
“I’m going to get some ice for your eye, okay? You can start the shower.” I stood up to leave, but he called after me.
“High?”
“Lo?”
He swallowed hard, and one tear fell from his eye which was shut. “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know why I said that to you.”
I gave him a tight smile and hurried away.
My hands were shaking as I went to grab a baggie to put ice in for Logan. I’d never seen him so beaten up, or out of it before. What did your father do to you? Why was he such a monster?
“High?” I leaped at the sound of Logan’s voice behind me. Hairs stood up on my arms as I turned to see him holding something in his hand. “What’s this?”
“Oh my gosh. Logan, I wanted to talk to you about that.” I stared at the pregnancy test in his hand, one that must’ve been left behind in the bathroom earlier that afternoon.
“What do two pink lines mean?” he asked, hardly able to hold himself up and he swayed.
You’re too far gone for this talk tonight. “We should talk tomorrow,” I offered, approaching him to place my hand on his shoulder. He yanked himself away.
“No, we should talk about this now,” he said loudly.
“Lo, can you keep it down? My mom’s sleeping.”
“I don’t give a damn. Are you pregnant?”
“We shouldn’t do this tonight.”
“What’s going on?” was asked behind me. I cringed, seeing Mom walk into the kitchen wearing her robe. When her tired eyes locked with Logan’s she grew fully awake. “What are you doing here? You need to leave, now.”