Finding Audrey

And I should feel high now. Shouldn’t I? I mean, I think I won. Didn’t I?

Only now it’s all over I just feel kind of empty. Frank’s sole comment as we walked back was ‘What a bunch of weirdos.’ Then he told me he was heading back to school for tech club, and when I gave him a big hug and muttered, ‘Thanks, I don’t know how I can repay you,’ into his shoulder, he said, ‘OK, well, I get to choose both pizza toppings on Friday night. OK?’

And now it’s seven o’clock and I’m on my own. Mum and Dad are out at their salsa class. They have no idea. I mean, how weird is that? I’ve actually met up with Izzy and they don’t know.

I’ve texted Linus and told him about it. I’ve said I’m sorry I blew up at him. I’ve said he was right, I should never have gone and I miss him and I want to see him so, so much. I want to go back to how we were. I want him to give me another crazy challenge. I want to forget I ever went to see Izzy.

I mean, I think we were both right. I was right because I didn’t relapse and there aren’t any pieces to pick up. And Linus was right because I shouldn’t have given her the time of day in the first place. So. And when he texts back, I’ll ask him round and maybe we’ll get back to that other conversation we were having in the park.

That was two hours ago and he still hasn’t texted back. I’ve checked my phone signal, like, a million times and it’s fine. Anyway. Maybe he’s busy or whatever.

Except by ten o’clock he still hasn’t texted back. And he always texts back. Always within the hour. He finds a way. He’s texted me from lessons, from his family supper, wherever. He doesn’t not text. But right now he’s not texting.

It’s eleven. He’s not texting.

It’s midnight. No text.

And now it’s one o’clock, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep. I can’t even lie down. I officially ‘went to bed’ three hours ago but I haven’t touched the covers. I’m pacing around my room, trying to calm my whirling thoughts, but they’re like a hurricane.

I’ve wrecked everything with Linus. He’s never texting. It’s over. He was right, I was selfish. I should never have gone to that stupid meeting. Why did I do it? Why? I always do stupid things. I’m such a stupid, idiot failure, and now I’ve spoiled the only good thing I had in my life, and he hates me and there’s nothing I can do about it. The whole thing’s over. And it’s all my fault, my stupid, stupid fault . . .

My thoughts are speeding up and my pace is speeding up too, and I’m pulling at my arms, pulling at the flesh of my forearms, trying to . . . I don’t know. I don’t understand it. I glance in the mirror and flinch at my own wild stare. I can feel a weird sparking all over my body, like I’m more alive than I should be, like my body is overloaded with life force. Can you have too much life stuffed into one body? Because that’s what this feels like. And everything’s too fast. My heart, my thoughts, my feet, my clawing arms . . .

Maybe I should take something. The thought hits me like a very sensible person talking in my ear. Yes. Of course. I have things I could take. I have lots of things.

I rootle around in my box full of magic tricks, dropping bottles and packets on the floor in my haste. OK, a Clonazepam. Maybe two. Maybe three. I swallow them, and wait for everything to calm down. But my mind is still screaming, round and round like a motor race, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand myself. I have to escape . . .

When suddenly another brilliant idea hits me. I’ll go for a walk. I’ll burn off all this energy. The fresh air will do me a power of good. And I’ll come back and sleep it off and, like they say, things will be better in the morning.