13. Nia

13

NIA

This is the longest I've been around Cat Harvey without skates on, and the tension is quite literally killing me. Without K around to be my shield, I feel exposed, vulnerable. My friends don't get it. They are also her friends, constantly dismissive of how intimidated I feel in her presence.

"She'll get over it and warm up to you soon. Cat doesn't hold grudges," Deandra said when she warned me that Harvey would be here tonight.

But every minute is long, and it's exhausting avoiding her gaze. She's fucking gorgeous, and the only thing keeping me from staring at her all night is the knowledge that she can't stand me.

I find reprieve in the bathroom somewhere around two or three in the morning. I can't tell how late it is anymore, and though Kade offered to pick me up, I'm more than content just crashing on a couch here to avoid extra work on anyone's part.

I just need a break from everyone, from the social buzz and the noise that's not just external, but inside of me too. I dry the bathroom counter to be safe before I dump out the pill I had already crushed earlier in the day.

I've been a good girl, and this is my last one.

After this, I'll be done.

I'm rolling up the dollar bill and leaning over the counter when the bathroom door opens. I'm not startled. It's a party; no one should bat an eye to see me putting anything up my nose this late in the night. But I am cursing myself for not making sure it was locked before starting. Cat Harvey closes the door behind her and crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head in curiosity.

Her short blonde hair falls over her eyes, down her cheek, just a little longer than when we first met a few weeks back. Everything else is still trimmed short and neat, and the blonde is impeccably white. I thought her eyes were green before, but now that I'm closer, it's impossible to miss.

Like an endless lagoon.

She hasn't said a word, but she leans against the door behind her, one knee bent with her foot resting against it, almost as if it's to keep anyone else from entering. I raise an eyebrow, but it earns no reaction or response from her. Picking up my makeshift straw, I proceed as planned, inhaling the powdered pain pill until half of it is gone.

I'm ritualistically pushing up my cheek to drain my sinuses when I look back at her, her expression still unchanged, as if witnessing me putting drugs up my nose has no effect on her.

Good.

If she came in here to intimidate me, to threaten me, then she can fuck off. I won't pretend to be anyone other than exactly who I am, faults included. I spent far too much of my life afraid to be disappointing, and all I got from it was disappointments.

"What do you want?" I finally ask.

Her eyes narrow, and she bites her lip like she's thinking about the answer. My eyes are stuck there, watching the way her teeth graze over her skin before I'm hit with the blaring reminder that she's more likely to hit me before she ever kisses me.

"You're not scared I'll tell them? Tell Scott?" Her head shakes slowly from one side to the other.

"You would have done that already when you had proof." I dangle the empty bag in the air. "Now, you have nothing." I toss it in the trash and stick my dollar straw in my nose again, finishing the remainder of the "evidence."

Her expression remains unphased.

"Why didn't you?" I have to know; my brain won't shut up about it.

"I haven't—yet," Harvey clarifies, kicking away from the door and taking a step toward me.

I don't like the way my heart thumps when she gets closer, so loud that I swear she can hear, but if she does, she ignores it.

"I'm deciding what I'm gonna do about this." She takes another step.

"This?" I ask, swallowing down the bitter powder with a hard gulp.

"You," Harvey confirms, closing the distance between us.

"What about me?" My voice is quieter than I truly have the capacity to be.

Her hand cups the side of my face, lifting my chin up to meet her gaze, and I try to shift away from the heat of it. It's the thing I fear the most, being perceived from this close where I can't hide. Her stare is familiar, but it's hard and full of a hatred I can't begin to comprehend, especially when it's directed at me.

I do nothing when a tear wells in my eye, and with her in full possession of my face, I can only let it fall down my cheek. Her thumb squeezes against my jaw.

"Stop that," she says through clenched teeth, turning my head to the side, where the brand new scar is fully exposed by shaved hair.

"I have feelings," I snip back just as she lets my face go. She's still staring down at me, and it's overwhelming. I can't look away—I don't think I'm supposed to look away. "Sorry if you don't want to be reminded of that."

She lets out a humored exhale. "What happened to your head?"

I haven't told any of them yet, but for some reason, I tell her. "I hit a tree with my car."

She seems satisfied by the undetailed answer. "Looks bad."

"I'm lucky to be alive." I say the words for the first time since waking up from the coma, the same words countless doctors told me while I spent weeks recovering.

"I don't pity you," she clarifies.

"Wasn't asking for pity." I take a long, stuttered breath. "How did Lonnie die?"

It's like I've been holding in the question just for her. Maybe because asking the others feels a little like burrowing a knife slowly into someone I love, maybe because digging that knife into Harvey doesn't cause as much guilt, or maybe it's because I know that, despite how she feels about me, we both felt the same about Lonnie.

"Cancer." The word is heavy, and it begs no apologies as it falls from her tongue.

Lonnie deserved more than cancer. I can't fathom the image of them, worn and weathered, frail, dying of weakness. Lonnie was the epitome of unfaltering strength, a well of reserves for anyone who needed to draw from them. Lonnie was a goddamn Valkyrie, too battle-hardened to die from a sickness.

I forbid anymore tears from forming.

My final Roxy does the trick as it makes its way through my system, muting the sensation of the world around me and making everything just a little more tolerable. We don't speak for a few moments. We just stare, as if it somehow makes any of this more digestible.

"Is this a problem?" she asks, her gaze shifting to the plastic bag in the trash can.

"No," I lie, looking past her. "Why would you even care?"

"I don't," Harvey says without hesitation.

"Are you gonna let me go?" I'm quiet again. I don't mean to be, but I am.

"I'm not stopping you, princess. Just came to use the bathroom." She smirks.

Liar.

But I walk around her, only slightly disappointed when she lets me past her without incident. The party's fizzled once I'm out of the bathroom. D and her husband are nowhere to be found, which can only mean they're safely tucked in bed. Nancy and Bae are sharing the couch, and Electric is long asleep on the floor.

Everyone else is gone.

I fidget nervously for a few moments, deciding whether I'm going to find my own little corner to pass out in, or if I'm going to bother K and ask for a ride home. Though the latter is the more comfortable option, there's no way in hell I'm going to make myself that much of a burden, no matter how close I feel to them.

The sound of the door clicking behind me makes me wince, because I know exactly who's standing there. "Do you need a ride?" she asks.

I shake my head, not bothering to turn around to face her.

Her tone is irritated but her words contradict. "Come on. Let's go." She doesn't beg, and she doesn't look back to see if I'm following.

I know the invitation is only good for so long, and as much as I don't want to come back here tomorrow for my car, I want to sleep snuggly in my own bed before the bout tomorrow. Tonight.

Staying up this late fucks with my brain, with my logic.

Nothing good happens this late, everybody knows that.

Even my enemies are acting suspicious.

I follow, grabbing my shoes off the ground and scurrying toward the door behind her.