Then the girls arrived. Ilana wrapped herself around Aaron one night at a dive bar in Gastown. Nik had returned from the bar with a fresh pitcher to find her sitting in his seat. She drank more of their beer than she should have, stayed over, moved in. Kendall appeared shortly after. Ilana rented her the unheated back room without asking. Ilana did a lot of things Nik didn’t like. New Aaron watched Ilana like she was television. He often provoked her. He’d speak to everyone else except her, then smother her with attention. Or host parties at the apartment without inviting her, then accuse her of crashing them. New Aaron quit screen-printing, but not beer-drinking. New Aaron was more interested in Ilana’s well-stocked purse pharmacy than design, but didn’t bother asking who funded or supplied her pharmacopoeia.
Aaron still does most of the talking. That hasn’t changed, but the details of his stories are exaggerated with each telling. It keeps Ilana and Kendall entertained. It irritates Nik, but pointing out the errors only leads to more exaggerations. And mocking. Except now there’s an unfamiliar hostility beneath Aaron’s jests. Nik hears stories turn into lies and sees Aaron’s expression shift. He watches the two girls drape themselves over the furniture as though posed for a photo shoot. Ilana in something revealing and black. Kendall in gothic Anne Rice–inspired dresses. Both wear sly illusions: the clothes that appear shiny and dramatic at night are shabby in daylight.
One night when all the roommates were at a noisy goth industrial club, Nik saw Kendall glare at one of the cage dancers. In place of her usual disdain, Kendall’s eyes registered jealousy. Nik turned to look at the dancer. He didn’t shift his gaze for the rest of the night. His roommates left without him. The DJ stopped playing music. Jennifer exited through the Employees Only door. Nik stared at the closed door.
“She gets a lot of attention, that one,” the bartender said to Nik while shoving dirty pint glasses into the industrial dishwasher. Nik nodded. Stools were stacked on tables, a mop was splattered into a bucket of filthy water and smeared across the sticky floor. Nik waited until Jennifer re-emerged from behind the door, wearing skinny jeans in place of PVC hot pants and fishnets. She smiled at Nik.
The next afternoon, as Nik strolled through the living room in his boxers to get Jennifer a glass of water, Old Aaron spoke for the last time. “She’s so hot,” he mouthed. Ilana was sitting next to Aaron on the sofa, but she was painting her nails and didn’t look up as the words floated over her head.
After that, what happened at the apartment didn’t matter as much to Nik. He let it rumble, spending as much time as possible with Jennifer, while Old Aaron disappeared entirely, absorbed by nightly parties and Ilana’s games.
Nik tries to sleep, but he can hear his roommates talking about him in the living room. Kendall says, “Oh my God,” and Aaron says, “That bastard,” and Nik knows Ilana is twisting everything into something convoluted. Nik gets up, lights a candle under Jennifer’s cobalt eye, and is suddenly thirsty. He steps out of his room into a sudden silence. A circle of stares.
“Hey.” He tries to act casual on his way through. In the kitchen he has to wash a glass before he can use it. He takes his time, pouring dish soap droplet by droplet. He lets the water become hot enough to turn his hands pink. Then he fills the glass, watching soap bubbles billow over the edge. Nik swings the fridge door open and grabs the water jug. It’s full. For once. On his way back to his room he holds his glass of water in front of him like an excuse. His roommates are draped across the sofa, limbs sprawling.
“I can’t believe you assaulted Ilana and pushed her down just for looking at your paintings,” Kendall says. “She probably has a concussion.”
Nik is almost at his door. He turns around, faces the stares, opens his mouth.
“You’re messed up, dude.” Aaron lights a joint. Ilana is lying down, her head in his lap. He pats her lightly like a cat, but holds the joint out of her reach. “Don’t ever touch my little girl again.”
Nik looks at Aaron, expecting a wink or a nod of understanding.
Aaron looks away.
Ilana’s eyes are still red. She sits up, glares at Nik, and scratches at the runs in her tights. Nik notices the dead rat is gone and wonders what they did with it. Its stench still lingers underneath whorls of cigarette, pot, and incense smoke.
“I think we should talk about what’s going on here.” Kendall reaches a long, black-gloved arm over Ilana and toward Aaron for a drag. He hands it to her. “We could call the police, you know.”
“Ya, we could.” Ilana watches Kendall inhale, deep, like a vacuum. “But we won’t.”
“We won’t.” Kendall nods and exhales at Ilana in agreement then hands the joint back to Aaron. “But we could.”
“Wait — no. Kendall, this story isn’t right,” Nik says, still staring at Aaron. “Why are you even getting involved?”
“Because I live here and I don’t want a violent freak in my space, that’s why.” Kendall rolls her eyes and tugs at the trio of piercings across her bottom lip.
“Yeah. All you do is paint and act like an asshole.” Ilana wriggles back onto Aaron.
“I hear you have a huge secret stash of good booze.” Aaron crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexed forearms hovering above Ilana. “You always used to share. I share with you.” Aaron’s speech begins to slur. His head nods slowly forward then jerks back up again. “I think I’m entitled.”
Ilana pets Aaron’s thigh to get his attention. “Nik is obsessed. He can’t seem to get over the fact that Jennifer the skank dumped him,” she says.
“Are you even sleeping?” Kendall asks, but doesn’t wait for Nik’s answer. She turns toward Aaron and Ilana, shoulder angled to cut Nik off from the conversation. “I think he’s becoming a toxic presence here.”
“Jennifer is missing,” Nik says.
“She left you, Nik,” Ilana snarls. “She walked out.”
Aaron’s head nods forward again. He jerks awake and offers the joint in Nik’s direction, but Ilana grabs it. Nik takes two steps backwards.
“You haven’t seen her, though,” Nik says. “Nobody has. I don’t want her to become a circle of stones.”
Ilana and Kendall exchange looks.
Nik thinks about the park by his grandmother’s condo.
Aaron laughs. “What the fuck are you talking about? Aw man, I’ve got the spins.”
“Oh, baby.” Ilana shifts to make room for Aaron to lie down. “What did you take? I told you to be careful with my stash.”
“Nuffin.” Aaron clutches at his forehead and moans.
Nik sees Ilana’s eyes turn mean and retreats to his room, pushing at his door to close it, shut them out.
“Hey, asshole,” Ilana yells after him. “Get help or get out.”
Nik runs his hands through his hair so many times it stripes in a rainbow of paint. He gulps from his glass of water. His hands shake and he shudders, thinking of his grandmother, and the fact that Parkinson’s is hereditary. If Jennifer were here she’d set them straight about Ilana. She’d explain for him, like she did in his writing assignments. He paints a red X on the back of his hand for not standing up for himself. When he tries to calm down and daub red and purple onto the blood vessels of Jennifer’s right eye, the apartment rumbles and the paint bleeds into a smear. Nik kicks the baseboard along the wall with his steel-toed boot. His toes crash into steel, stinging.
“Ilana’s lying,” he says, talking to Old Aaron. “But I can’t prove it. I don’t know how.”
“I know,” Old Aaron would say.
“I have so much to deal with right now and Ilana makes everything worse,” Nik says.
“I trust you, dude,” Old Aaron