Artificial Love (The Goodbye Trilogy #2) by Alisa Mullen

away with some memories. What can I do for you? I cleaned up your place and got a little food. I found some old, stale mushrooms in the back of one of your cupboards and put them into a tomato sauce for spaghetti. What a really weird place to put those,” I commented, hoping I hadn’t just insulted his cleanliness. He had to know that he was a bit of a slob.
    Again, Johnny used silence as a weapon to make me squirm. He was this gorgeous rock God with pretty tattoos. He had an unbelievable life with no worries, not counting his apparent unrequited love for Julia, and here I was, telling him that he didn’t know how to store produce properly. Go away, Stepford woman. I could rock and be worry free, too.
    “So you said you were coming home late, right? Should I leave it out for you?” I asked into the dead air of the phone.
    Low grumbles of curse words were preceded by his throat clearing.
    “Emily? Those mushrooms aren’t real mushrooms. I mean, yeah, they’re real but they’re hallucinogenic mushrooms. I was storing them in the cupboard because I didn’t want to lose them the next time I tripped out. So… unless you want to see fantastic colors and feel just as amazing, I would suggest ordering pizza.”
    I was silent then. I didn’t know what to say. I looked over at the spaghetti sauce on the stove, heat rising from its simmering state.
    “So, if I ate some of that on my noodles, I would trip,” I stated.
    “Yeah,” he blew out a breath, almost like he had been holding it as he waited for my response.
    “Do people, you know, trip alone?” I asked, feeling all shades of stupid.
    “Uh – sure but it is better to have someone with you that’s done it before. It can get pretty intense a few hours into it.”
    I coughed. “A few hours?” Jesus, how long did they last? Did I just swear in my head? Wow, I was starting to act a little like a rock star. I smiled at myself and wiggled my butt a little. I pointed at the Ouija board and thought, Back off, bitch.
    This new turn of events called for a shower, a baseball hat, and something paisley to wear.

Chapter Thirteen
    Johnny
     
    All I could think was if Emily ate any of the spaghetti. For three anxious hours, I picked up my cell and wanted to call. If she was tripping, she wouldn’t answer but then she might. What would I ask? “Hey Emily, you seeing shit yet?” That endless loop of a daydream took up all my head space on the drive back to New York. Of course, I fantasized about her lips twisting around a heaping fork of noodles. Did she slurp the sauce? No, she was too proper for slurping. Did she take a big spoon and start eating the sauce by itself? I would have, had I been there.
    And why the fuck weren’t we there yet? I was so God damn antsy to get off this bus and back to my apartment. My guest, Emily was waiting for me. It felt like she had been when we talked.
    An hour later, I was standing outside my brownstone in Manhattan, looking up at the windows on the 4 th floor. There was a small light on and I saw rapid movement through the shadows of the light. Emily was either throwing herself around in a drug induced spasm or she was dancing. I didn’t hear music but that didn’t mean she didn’t have headphones on.
    I met the open elevator and my packed duffle bag of dirty laundry was thrown on the floor right before I smacked the fourth floor button. I was nervous - really fucking nervous. My palms were sweaty and I knew I smelled like ass from being on the bus. As I approached my door, I blew out a few deep breaths and put on a smile. It wasn’t genuine but I didn’t want to scare her away if she was, in fact, high on drugs. Some people got pretty paranoid on that shit.
    What I did not expect was to see a woman with short and orange hair vacuuming my living room while she talked to herself. I dropped my duffle and was so stunned at the difference of the Emily I had left and the one that was in front of me now. She didn’t hear the door close,