The Only Medicine

My mouth drops open.

“It’s not mine,” Vic says quickly, whether to reassure me or himself, I don’t know.

“How the hell did that happen?” I ask. “Didn’t you sleep with her only a couple of weeks ago?”

Vic sighs again. “She has a boyfriend. And apparently we never slept together … I just climbed through her window, babbled at her and then fell asleep in her bed.”

“Oh, Vic …”

He just leans his head back against the couch. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. How were you supposed to know?”

He just shrugs and looks forlornly down at his hands. I reach for him and he hugs me gratefully, his cheek smooshing against my chest.

“What do you want to do?” I ask after a while.

“Die,” he says without moving.

“No, come on. To get your mind off things.”

“I want to drink so much that I forget that I even knew her or cared about her.” His words break my heart.

“Well, we can do that if you want.” I pause. “Won’t your parents be home soon, though?”

“I don’t even care.”

“Wait there.” I swaddle him in the blankets and hop up to look in the kitchen cupboards. I’m sure Mama and Papa Fuentes must have a bottle of spirits somewhere. In the bottom of the cupboard is a half-empty bottle with clear liquid in it. “What the fuck is Ouzo?” I call over my shoulder, twisting the cap off to sniff it. “Ugh!”

“It’ll do,” Vic mumbles.

I grab the bottle of orange juice out the fridge and a couple of glasses and carry everything over. Vic takes the ouzo from me, unscrews the cap and takes a long gulp. Shit. He is cut up.

“Better?” I ask.

“Fuck that’s awful,” Vic grimaces.

“It might taste better with orange juice, I dunno,” I say, offering him the bottle. He doesn’t take it. “But, you know, it’s only just after lunch time …”

He takes another swig from the bottle of ouzo, wincing. He hands it back to me and wipes his mouth. “I don’t care.” He flops back on the couch and pulls the blankets over his face.


I manage to put Vic to bed just before his parents get home, after he’s downed whatever was left in the bottle of ouzo. I feel bad leaving him, but I think it’ll be best for him to sleep it off. I leave a note on his nightstand, telling him to call me when he wakes up.

Mama Fuentes is just coming through the door as I lace my Vans up.

“Oh, Mia,” says Mama Fuentes, her arms full of paper bags of groceries. “Where’s Vic? Tell him to give us a hand.”

“Oh, he’s having a nap,” I reply, getting to my feet. I reach to take some of the bags, but she waves me off.

“That boy. Is Mike home?”

“Naw, he’s at Jessica’s.” My mouth feels weird saying her name, especially after last night. I push thoughts of her and Mike together from my head. “I’m just gonna go to the gym and see my mom. I haven’t seen her much this week.”

“Well, say hello to her from us. She must be so proud of you.” She kisses me on the cheek goodbye and heads up the stairs.


Mama is fast asleep in her bed when I get home—she must have worked overtime—so I quickly change into my workout clothes and catch the bus to the gym. I keep checking my phone absently on the ride there, but no one’s tried to get hold of me all day. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t have many friends. I need a hobby or something.

The gym is relatively busy when I get there and some sweaty beefcake is taking up my favourite squat rack and, to my chagrin, doing bicep curls in it. The other racks are occupied as well, so I hop onto the stairmaster to warm up while I wait for someone to leave. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

“where r u”. It’s Mike. My heart leaps into my throat.

“at the gym. why?”

“cu soon”

I frown down at my phone. Mike, Vic and I go to the same gym, but I can’t remember the last time either of them ever came here with me—or without me, for that matter. Actually, the last time we were here together, they just threw dumbbells around and grunted and pretended they were doing ‘curls’ and tried to make me watch them do made-up exercises. Usually I would have found it hilarious, if we were literally anywhere else, but the gym is my place and I take it pretty seriously.

The sweaty dude finishes in the squat rack, so I rack up 135lbs to do some front squats. I’m so engrossed in doing them and making sure I’m getting my ass to grass that I don’t even notice Mike in the mirror in front of me. I turn around after racking the bar and almost shit myself.

“Holy crap, Mike!” I give him a shove. “You gave me a fright.”

“How do your arms not pop out when you do that?” he asks.

“What, front squats?” I grab my towel off the side of the rack and mop my face and décolletage. “I dunno. They don’t feel like they’re going to pop out.” I glance at him again. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you make all the sweet gains.” He elongates the ‘s’, making it sound like a ‘z’. I roll my eyes. “Well, really I was wondering why Vic is drunk as fuck and comatose at 3PM on a Saturday ... and you’re obviously not.”

“How do you know he’s drunk?”

“Um, there’s an empty bottle of ouzo on his nightstand?”

Shit. I totally forgot to get rid of the evidence. “Mama and Papa haven’t seen it, have they?”

“No, they haven’t gone into his room.” He stops and muses for a bit. “Mom doesn’t go in there when Vic’s ‘asleep’ after she walked in on him that time.”

“Ew. Thanks for reminding me about that.”

I want to ask him about Jessica, but part of me is scared of the answer. I want him to go so I can finish my workout and plan how I’m going to react and fake nonchalance when he tells me that he hasn’t broken up with her and doesn’t want to fool around anymore.

“Um, so what happened to him?” Mike prompts me.

“Oh. Uh … I don’t know if Vic wants me to tell you.”

Mike lets out a short laugh.

“What?”

“Oh, you know. It’s just kinda funny that you’re keeping stuff from him, but then you’re keeping secrets for him as well.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” I stare at him incredulously. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Because if you are, that’s not cool. And Vic couldn’t handle hearing about us after what’s just happened.”

“After what happened?”

I sigh and turn to do my squats again. “Look, I’ll tell you later, okay?”

He comes up behind me and pretends to spot me. “Well, if you don’t tell me, then I won’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I pant as I squat. It’s very off-putting having him stand so close behind me.

“Ye-eah, back that ass up,” he murmurs in his best rapper voice.

I stifle a giggle and rack the weight again. “Stop. I can’t concentrate with you here.”

“Just tell me,” he repeats. He leans closer to my ear and whispers, “tell me and I’ll fuck you.”

I press my thighs together. “I’ll tell you later and then you can fuck me later.”

He groans. “Ugh, you’re killing me.”

“Just let me finish my workout and I’ll meet you somewhere. Starbucks or something.”

“You wanna fuck in Starbucks?”

“No!” I look around to make sure no one’s heard, but they’re all in their own little worlds. “It’s the only place that we can meet that won’t look suspicious—I don’t go to your house when I’m not hanging out with Vic, and you don’t come to my house unless you’re picking me up for school.”

“Fine,” he sighs and saunters off.

Surely if he’s joking (were we joking?) about fucking me in a public coffeehouse, then they mustn’t be together anymore, but I try not to get my hopes up about him and Jessica.

Notes