Moment Of Truth

'No, you've taken too much already. Get hugged instead.' Trevor held her closer, which she liked, though she kept eyeing his black Jansport book bag on the coffee table in front of them. Out of the unzipped partition had slid his algebra book, a graphing calculator, and a clear vial of Special K. Ketamine, a veterinary tranquilizer that was supposed to mellow her out from the crystal.

'More K would help, Trev. With the hug. Like a side order.'

'Be patient, honey. You were so high, it takes time. That's how crystal is.'

'You should've told me that.'

'I did. You insisted, remember?'

'Oh, yes, maybe you did. I don't remember.' Paige's thoughts jumbled together like colored glass in a kaleidoscope, and her muscles relaxed with the K. 'I still can't deal with what happened. With my mother.'

'Don't think about that now. You've been through too much tonight, way too much.' Trevor cuddled her in his arms. 'You want something to drink? Some water or something?'

'No.'

'How about I turn the TV off? Or make it louder? You like Pop-Up Video.' Trevor gestured at the TV, but Paige still wasn't able to focus. It looked like Smashmouth doing 'Dancing on the Sun,' but it could have been any white guys jumping around in knit caps.

'Nah, it's okay.'

'You're not hungry or anything? I can make grilled cheese.'

'Too fattening.' Paige shook her head and felt the K finally cooling her out. The fight with her mother had been the worst one since she'd moved out. She had been so angry, she had screamed at her mother. Then she'd reached for the knife, on the table. No. She couldn't get the pictures out of her head. She felt chilled to the bone. 'Trev, can't I please have another bump?'

'I really don't think that's a good idea, babe.'

'I do. I think I need two.'

'Can you just relax and nod off? I can bring you something to drink.'

'Come on.' Paige rolled her eyes. 'Just one more? Don't be so stingy.'

Trevor sighed and gentled her back to the sofa. 'All right, but one is enough. I don't want you to overdo it.' He leaned over the coffee table, picked up the vial, and screwed off the black lid. He rummaged through his pencil case to find a Bic pen and used it to scoop powder from the vial. 'Just one more. That's it.'

Paige nodded, but couldn't think clearly. It was all too terrible. She had known the dinner meeting was going to be bad, but it had gone way too far. Her mother dead. The bloody knife hot and slippery in Paige's hand. She had dropped it and started crying.

'Here we go,' Trevor said, handing her the pen cap with the K, and she raised it to her nose and snorted, one nostril then the other, and inhaled deeply. Her brain clouded instantly and she dropped the pen cap. She wanted to ask; she didn't want to ask:

'Trev, did I… did I… really do it?'

'Honey, why are you asking me?' His green eyes looked confused. 'Don't you know?'

'No, I guess, I don't remember. The crystal. I remember some of it, but not all.' Paige felt sick inside. It couldn't be true, but it was. She hated her mother. She had dreamed her dead a thousand times. 'I remember the knife, and her screaming.'

'Let's not talk right now. I'm worried you're gonna get a migraine.'

'No, I want to know.'

'Okay.' Trevor sighed and rubbed her shoulder. 'Well, she started in on you about not gaining weight, something about retaining water, whatever that is.' He sighed heavily. 'And you started yelling at her and when you told her, she hit you and kicked you. You remember that, don't you?'

'Yes.' Paige tried to remember the scene. She saw herself on the floor of the dining room, rolling away from her mother's foot. 'She kicked me, okay, and yelled. She wouldn't stop.'

'I tried to pull her off you but I couldn't. Then, well, it was like you just went crazy. You went after her.' Trevor's voice grew hushed. 'I never saw you like that. You've never been like that. You were completely out of control. You were raging. It was like it got to you all at once or something, and you picked up the knife. Remember the knife, from the table?'

'Yes.' Paige shut her eyes to the memory. The knife. It was the knife they always used for filet. How could she have done this? Killed her mother? Was she crazy? Was she a horrible person? How could she do such a thing? She shouldn't have done the crystal. She burst into new tears, and Trevor held her close again as she sobbed. 'Oh my God, I can't believe it. My own mother. I… killed her.'

'Don't think about it, now. Just relax.' His arms encircled her shoulders, wrapping her in a warm, woolly cocoon. 'It's not your fault. She's been so miserable to you. You couldn't help it.'

Paige listened to his quiet words as the K finally came on. Her breathing slowed. The craziness of the crystal disappeared. Calm crept through her body. Her emotions grew remote, as if they didn't belong to her, but her eyes still stung from crying and she couldn't breathe through her nose. She imagined she looked like hell. She'd studied her face like other kids study French. Trevor massaged her shoulders, loosening the muscles, easing the pressure on her head. Once he had prevented a migraine, just by giving her a massage. He took better care of her than her mother ever had.

'That's it, that's my girl,' he said, kneading her shoulder.

Paige heard him but her attention was focused on the pictures in her mind, filtering through her consciousness. Not a kaleidoscope anymore, but a book of photographs, one after the other, as if she were thumbing through her own portfolio. Her face in soft light. In backlight. With too little sleep or too many drugs. She was floating now.

'You all right?' Trevor's hands moved to her nape, slipping under her hair. 'You better?'

'Definitely,' Paige heard herself whisper. The photos in her mind portfolio morphed into her mother. Her mother in Mikimoto pearls. In DKNY sunglasses. With Estee Lauder eye cream. Her mother was a collection of brand names. Paige smiled inside, drifting. She looked like her mother, everyone said so. Her mother's eye cream evaporated and her blue eyes became Paige's blue eyes. Then her mother's face got younger and younger and turned black.

'Babe, you there? Anybody home?'

Paige nodded, smoothing her cheeks to relax them, like her mother had taught her. Her mother was never a model; she was a deb. Her mother had made her into a model. When she was little, she was in diaper ads, then newspaper layouts and catalog work. This year, her mother was trying to get them a shot in YM magazine. A sudden fear disturbed Paige's floating. 'What if the police are on their way? I mean, they'll be looking for me.'

'No, they won't. Don't worry.' Trevor held her closer. 'They don't know you exist. You don't even live there anymore. How would they even find you?'

'You're right, they can't.' Paige squeezed his arm and it felt like an oak tree. What would she do without him? She got that giddy feeling, kind of horny, that she sometimes got with K. 'I love you, Trev.'

'I love you, too. We're gonna get through this together.'

Paige looked up at him with gratitude. She remembered that he had made her wash up after, at a gas station on the way home. He had told her to get the knife but she'd forgotten it, and he hadn't even yelled. 'I'm worried about the knife, Trev. Can they get fingerprints from it, like on TV?'

'No, I don't think so. They have to match them to fingerprints they have on file, I think. They don't have your fingerprints at the police station. You've never been arrested or anything.'

'What do we do if the cops come?' she asked, but the question sounded like it came from someone else. Someone inside was asking; whoever kept you breathing in and out. She had learned it from her science tutor before winter break; the automatic nervous system? 'I mean, what do I say? I was supposed to have dinner at my parents'.'

The cops don't know that, and if they do, just say you were supposed to go over but you didn't. Maybe you can say you had a migraine.'