She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. Greta’s loneliness gnawed at her insides to the point that she actually felt elated to be surrounded by so many people. The thought of being alone suddenly terrified her.
“Everything okay?” Genesis asked.
“Yeah,” Angela said. “I just… have too much Greta in my system.”
“We can leave anytime you want,” Genesis said. “Just say the word.”
Angela shook her head.
“I’d rather stay,” she said.
“Cool,” Genesis replied, and leaned against Angela’s side.
Angela opened her eyes, stared at a poster on the wall. Three men covered in spiked leather and white-and-black face paint clutched invisible grapefruits in front of a wintry landscape somewhere in Northern Europe.
It was still there.
She sat bolt upright and looked around. The walls of the bedroom were covered in posters; heavy metal bands, dragons, a woman riding a motorcycle in a tube top and denim cut-offs. A bass guitar leaned precariously against the nightstand.
And on the bed beside her: Genesis, curled up atop the covers, facing away.
Angela scrambled out from under the blankets. She tripped over the bass, caught it before it hit the floor, and put it back where it belonged. She hurried out of the room without glancing back.
The living room was a mess. Bottles everywhere. A blue bag sagging by the coffee table from a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up. Jackie was sprawled on the couch, neck bent at an uncomfortable-looking angle.
Conflicting memories jockeyed in Angela’s head; meeting Jackie last night and meeting her four years ago at her grandmother’s funeral. It wasn’t like she was actually confused about which was real—both of her grandmothers were still alive—but it colored her perspective.