Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [54]
“What’s so fucking funny?” I find myself snapping, alarming myself with the snideness of my tone.
Everyone stops laughing and Tommy glances at the hot guy in the corner. “Justin, you want to tell Amelia what’s so funny?”
The hot guy, Justin, smiles and looks even cuter than he did when he was laughing. He catches my eye from across the room. “Amelia,” he says, and I have an involuntary shudder at such a hot guy saying my name and looking me in the eye, even under these depressing circumstances. “That program doesn’t exist anymore.”
Tommy looks at Justin and asks, “And why is that?”
“The woman who started it got wasted and killed a kid in her car a few months ago,” Justin says. “The program has since been disbanded.”
“And that’s funny?” I say, hoping to shame everyone in the room.
“No, it’s not,” Justin says. “What’s funny is that when I got here, I asked the exact same question.”
“So did I,” Blondie pipes up.
“Good for you,” I say, not sure why they think any of this would be amusing or interesting to me. “But my point is that while I’ve acted addictively with drugs, I’m not an alcoholic.” Everyone is silent and I wonder if they’ve finally come around to actually understanding this extremely simple point I’m trying to make.
“Would you be at least willing to consider the fact that alcoholics and drug addicts are the same thing?” Tommy asks. He’s looking at me so kindly that I almost want to acquiesce even though I know he’s wrong.
“But they’re not the same thing,” I explain.
“I realize you feel that way,” he says. “And that’s why I’m asking if you’d be willing to just consider the fact that they might be.”
I look around at all of them, noticing several people I hadn’t even seen before and an inordinate number of tattoos. Was one of the prerequisites for Pledges a certain amount of permanent ink on various body appendages? Despite their general seediness and ridiculous optimism in the light of where they were currently seated, at this particular moment I find it strangely almost impossible to continue to hate all of them. And besides, I think, Tommy isn’t asking for so much.
“Fine,” I say. “I’m willing to consider that.” The group bursts into applause, like I’ve just performed a vignette, and I stifle the urge to tell them to stop clapping and get a life. Tommy stands up and walks over to me, leaning down to give me a hug.
“Welcome to Pledges, Amelia,” he says, pulling me close to him. And for reasons thoroughly unclear to me, I burst into tears. Everyone in the room breaks into another round of applause.
Later that afternoon, I’m crying again. And I can’t seem to stop. I’m in my room, looking around at my shabby surroundings, and sobbing. The gay guy, Peter, pokes his head in.
“You okay?” he asks. Why the hell do people ask that when the answer is so clearly no?
I shake my head and keep crying.
He makes a sympathetic face. “Why are you crying?” he asks, and I look up at him incredulously.
“Why am I crying?” I ask. “My question is, why aren’t you? We’re in fucking rehab.”
Peter blinks and smiles like he’s never experienced a sad emotion in his life. He’s probably thrilled to be here because he gets to room with other men, I think. I feel thoroughly positive that Peter hasn’t gone through a fraction of what I have and resent his put-together outfit and confused-looking head tilt more than I can even express.
“Please,” I say to him, “just leave me alone.”
He shuffles off and my tears eventually subside enough for me to go back to reading through the Pledges book that Tommy gave me after group. After a while, though, I mostly listen to the people out on the smoking patio. I’d hung around everyone after group and tried to feel comfortable while a girl