Addicted (ongoing)

One

The pill is lodged in my throat. I feel it there, a solid lump at the hollow of my neck. I run my fingers along the bumpy spine of my windpipe, pressing lightly to coax the pill down. But it won't budge. I gulp a glass of water and then swallow again, testing. The stuck feeling is still there.

Like always.

"Get a grip," I tell my reflection, arms braced against the countertop.

I cap the bottle and return it to the medicine cabinet, positioning the plastic container so that it sits flush with the edge of the shelf. Then I close the door and immediately open it again to make sure I've turned the label outward.

From my closet, I choose a pair of skinny jeans and a white pintuck blouse, my eyes darting indecisively between the pale pink cardigan and red v-neck sweater. I settle on the pink cardigan and push my arms through the sleeves, standing before the full-length mirror to smooth out the bumps and bulges. Satisfied, I reach for the shiny black flats to change into once I get to school, rubbing away a smudge with a bit of spit on my thumb.

The doorbell rings as I'm pulling my hair into a tight ponytail.

"Ethan's here!" Mom yells.

A moment later there is a knock at the door.

"Come in!" I holler from the adjoining bathroom.

I hear the bedroom door open, the bottom edge making a soft whish against the carpet.

"Are you decent?" Ethan calls.

"I wouldn't say come in if I wasn't."

Ethan pokes his head into the bathroom. He's grinning. "Need help with anything?"

I hand him the necklace I've been trying to fasten and turn so he can clasp it in place. I try not to notice how his fingers linger against the skin of my neck.

"Thanks," I say.

"Anytime."

I step around him into my bedroom and come to a sudden stop when I see it—a vase of red and white carnations and a plush teddy bear sitting on my desk. I point. "What's that?"

Ethan shrugs. "I guess a little Valentine's Day fairy must've visited you in the middle of the night."

I open my mouth to reproach Ethan, but he holds up a hand. "We do this every year, Ali. Don't make a big deal."

I bite my tongue against what I want to say. "Thank you. They're beautiful. It's really sweet of you."

"You're welcome," Ethan says. He closes his eyes and holds out his hands, palms up. "Now, where's mine?"

I cross the room to my desk and pull his Valentine out of hiding, feeling slightly self-conscious at the discrepancy between the gifts. I cringe as I place it in his hands.

Ethan opens his eyes. If he's disappointed, he doesn't show it. "A homemade card. How very Ali-like."

He clears his throat as though about to read an official decree. "For the best friend a girl could ever have." He opens the paper card. "Aw, shucks. There's even a heart-shaped lollipop taped inside."

I play-punch his arm but don't miss the tell-tale flush of his cheeks. "Have you had breakfast?" I ask.

"No," Ethan says. "You're the one with the mom who can cook, remember?" He sweeps his hand gallantly toward the door. "Lead the way, milady. I smell bacon."

We find my mom in the kitchen flipping pancakes on the griddle while reprimanding my younger brother Daniel for the lake-sized puddle of syrup on his plate.