Exit Wounds

03 | good girl

T H R E E

NEW YORK CITY, NY

          I meet up with Sadie the following morning, pretending not to notice her scowl when she hears my coffee order.

          "You should probably get some sugar," she advises me.

          "You should probably mind your business."

          "You are my business."

          After what was possibly the worst night of sleep of my life, I don't have the patience to argue with her, so I remove the lid out of my cup, reach out for a packet of sugar, and dump its contents into my skinny latte. Her lips curl like she wants to say something, but all she does is cross her arms and not move a single inch, though I can tell she's shooting me a murderous glare from behind her sunglasses.

          At most, I think she tolerates me.

          Our relationship is mutually beneficial, so it's useful to the two of us to keep the other around, and I believe she takes great pleasure in knowing I'm barely able to function like a human being whenever she's not around. It's pathetic to even admit it to myself, but it's true. She always picks up my pieces, even the smallest ones, even those I thought to be lost forever, scattered underneath my couch, hidden among dust bunnies.

          When I couldn't fall asleep, I was thinking about her. I was thinking about how in the world I could tell her about California without being fully honest—something she'd detect instantly, thanks to the built-in lie detector residing in her brain—but still being convincing enough so she wouldn't worry. I still don't want to go, but I don't want to be the one to break my father's heart even further, even harder, especially right after his mother died. He doesn't have it in him to hate anyone, as the kindest human being I've ever met, but if there's one thing my family does better than everyone else is holding grudges.

          Once Sadie finds us good seats—close enough to the windows so the natural light helps with the photo she's about to take of me for Instagram, but not too close for people on the outside to try and spy on me once they recognize either of us—and I take off my leather jacket (vegan, of course, as Sadie doesn't think the general public would be too much of a fan of animal cruelty), she crosses her legs and stares intensely at me. I think that's what she's doing, as she refuses to remove her sunglasses even while indoors, claiming the light still hurts her eyes.

          "You look like you haven't slept in days," she comments, sipping her coffee—black, as always. The sugar advice only applies to me, as Miss Zero-Percent-Body-Fat would rather die than sweeten any of her drinks. "We can't have you show up like that in public. At least use some makeup to try and hide those circles." She leans forward across the table, swiping her thumb under my eyes, across my cheek. To the outside, it can look like a caring gesture, but I know she's checking if I'm wearing any foundation or concealer. I'm not. "Come on, Harley. Whether you want to or not, you're a brand. You're a product. You have to sell yourself a certain way."

          "I couldn't be assed."

          "You need to be."

          I move away from her hand, scowling. Her hand hovers in the space between us, like she's about to reach out for one of mine, but I know better than to expect such a thing. "I've had other stuff in my mind lately. I really didn't want to bother with makeup when I was in a rush to meet up with you."

          I think she deflates, but I can never be too sure of anything with Sadie. She's the least chill person I've ever met in my life, and I grew up with my mother; the fact that it's been five, six years since I first met her and still don't know her last name, her favorite color, or what she does in her free time speaks volumes on her warmth and eagerness to let me in on her personal life. All I need to know about her is how well we work together and how she has the power to take me places and give me everything I've ever wanted.