20. Nia

20

NIA

I'm still wrapped in a towel when I wake up. My phone is charged and plugged in next to me, and the clock reads nearly noon.

Every.

Thing.

Hurts.

Down to my fucking soul. The nausea is the worst, and I don't want to get out of bed or even open my eyes, but I know the longer I go without treating it, the worse it'll get. I scratch the sleep out of my eyes and see the glass of water and the pill waiting for me.

I check the dosage on the bottle and laugh. They may as well have given me nothing.

But Harvey left the bottle.

The way she was quick to reach for the bag at the pharmacy made me think I wasn't going to be in control of this anymore. I shouldn't, by any fucking means.

But I am.

I try to open the plastic container, but my cast makes it too hard, and the damn child proofing is impossible to beat one handed. I bite at the lid, a dull ache through my teeth as I try to pry the top off. Clenching my jaw in frustration, I settle for what's available, drinking down the weakest oxycodone to ever exist. It gets stuck in my throat; they always do, and it's an indescribable agony to go through.

It's why I normally prefer just burning away at my nasal cavity with it instead. My tongue keeps throwing the pill everywhere but down my throat, and the water eats away the coating of the pill to the point where I taste the bitter powder on my tongue. It's the worst, and I almost want to spit the pill out.

I don't. I take another long gulp of water and then another to wash away any traces of it from my tastebuds. The water is too much, too heavy and filling on an empty stomach when I'm already starting to feel dopesick.

Laying on my back, sprawled across the bed, I wait for it to pass. I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth until the need to vomit travels fully through me.

I hear a knock at my door.

"Yeah?" I answer, sitting up and tightening the towel around me.

Kade has likely been up since at least five, always having to catch a jog with the sunrise.

"Morning," K says, their eyes floating down to my cast. "How you feeling?"

"Like I was run over by an angry pivot last night," I laugh. "You won us the bout!"

Kade scratches at the back of their head, blue hair falling in front of their face to cover their embarrassment. "Yeah. I mean, you did most of the work."

"Don't sell yourself short." I smile, putting on my best face for them.

"Hey, uh… Cat Harvey was here last night." K says it like it's a fact, but I'm almost positive it's a question.

"Yeah. She was." I bite my lip before continuing. "I needed help last night."

"Oh. Well that's… nice of her?" Kade questions their own words. "Glad you two are turning over a new leaf."

I choke on my own cough. "Something like that."

The memory of last night comes flooding back. Of me in the shower, unraveling in her arms. The way she made me feel, not just physically but more than that, taken care of. That wasn't the same Cat who hated me so much that she couldn't stand to be in the room with me, and certainly not the same Cat intent on laying me out to prove a point. So if all of that was the way she hated, then what was this?

"How's your wrist?" K strays from getting too personal, a skill they've mastered.

"Fractured." I blow out a huff of air through my lips. "Looks like you'll be first jammer for a while."

K laughs. "Yeah, right. Scott would rather you break the other wrist before he sacrifices all those points you score."

"We'll see. This is probably for the best, anyway. I need to get a job before I burn through the rest of my savings. I can't be spending every second at Skateland," I admit, and it's mostly for myself.

The reality checks always come when I'm sober.

With a click of their tongue they lift a finger. "Actually, that reminds me. You said your degree was in social work?" I nod. "The girl who does my hair said her kid's school needs a counselor."

My eyes widen, and I lean forward, a new burst of energy filling me temporarily. "Wait, really? That's perfect!"

"It's a private school, though. Background checks, paperwork. Can you be on your best behavior?" Kade laughs like they know me.

They only know what I let them see but it's enough for this assumption, so I give them a smile.

"I can fake it." I promise with a low salute.

"Great." They're still amused by me, gripping the door handle to give me privacy once again. "I'll leave all the info for you on the counter. I'm heading out for the day."

"Okay. Have fun." Living with Kade is easy. They don't pry, don't ask too many questions, and we really get along on a fundamental level. "Shit. Wait!" I shout, remembering the opportunity.

K opens the door and pops their head in with a raised eyebrow.

"I can't open my meds. It's time for me to take my pills." I give them a cheesy grin. "Help," I cry pathetically.

K smiles and walks my way, opening the bottle with ease and pulling out one pill before they close the cap again.

My heart sinks, but I swallow down the feeling and paint a thankful look on my face before I accept the pill, chasing it with water, this time much more successfully than the first go-around.

"Bye." K pats my head and ruffles my hair before leaving for good.

I lean back against the headboard and swipe meaninglessly through videos on my phone until the pills kick in. I wait for the throbbing in my wrist to subside, for the burning to ease, for the relief to wash over me.

It doesn't.

My tolerance is too high, and I know why.

I pull the drawer and reach for my old copy of The Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood. I open it to the middle, where the tiny Ziploc baggie is pressed flat with the light beige powder inside.

My heart thrums violently just staring at it. Long ago, this had been a bottom line for me, yet here I am, casually consuming it for breakfast. Just a little bump, never more than that.

My hands tremble as I dump a small pea-sized pile of the powder onto my nightstand then reach for a cut up straw somewhere in the back of the drawer. The sting is minimal compared to the pills, and the relief is instant.

I

sink

into

the

bed.

I sink into the bed.

I sink into the bed.

I sink into the world.

I

escape

my

mind.

There's a bright light I can't look away from. It burns with intensity, but it's so close, it's overwhelming.

"Hey. Twerp." Ryan's voice is abrasively loud and stern, and I hate when he tries to wake me up to move me to the bed.

"Just carry me," I whine, but he shakes me.

"Gimme a better sign of life, Nia," he says, and I flutter my eyes open, the flashlight still pointed directly in my eyes.

"Fuck, turn that shit off." I push it away with my braced hand.

Ryan is standing above me, and next to him is Bobby C, a guy who's been recently coming around. He's annoying, but Ryan trusts him and doesn't mind that the guy only comes by for free shit.

I guess I'm kind of doing the same anyway.

Bobby is in a stained gray sweatshirt from the same high school I attended, except his says class of ‘03 on the front. "Oh good, she's up. Thought I was gonna have to give you a second dose." He waves a little plastic bottle before shoving it back into his pocket.

"What happened?" I ask, and just then, the bile rises up my throat. Jerking to a seated position, I push past Ryan, running into his kitchen just in time to spew my vomit into the sink.

I heave a few more times until only bile is left, along with its bitter aftertaste.

"You OD-ed." Ryan's voice is stern as he stands behind me.

I'm still bracing the sink, sweat glistening at my back and a cold chill wrapping around me. I don't say anything. The vague memory of the day sets in, of me driving to Ryan's at the peak of my high, of being offered another bump from his stash and graciously accepting it. Of nodding off in front of the tv.

"What time is it?" I ask him.

"It's almost midnight. Nia, why did you overdose?" His voice is sharp and full of anger, disappointment, all the things I hate from the people I've parentified in my life.

"I don't know. You're the one dealing it out, Ryan," I snap at him, though I know I'm the one fully in the wrong. "How was I supposed to know it was too much?"

"Bullshit. I gave you one little bump."

Fuck.

"What else did you take, Nia?" When I don't answer, his hand slams down on the counter next to me, and I flinch. "What else?" It comes out too loud of a yell, louder than my own father had ever gotten with me.

"I forgot, okay!" I cover my ears like a child, overwhelmed and overstimulated by his outburst, his emotions and the situation. "I took my pain pills for my wrist."

"Shit," he hisses, and I turn back to see him palming his face with frustration. "I should have known when you walked in here with that cast that they'd given you something for it."

"Don't. Don't take the blame for it." I shake my head, hating that I've somehow put this burden on him. "I'm sorry. It was stupid and I won't do it again," I promise him.

"You sure won't. You're cut off." He crosses his arms like it's the final step for the foot he's officially putting down.

"What?" I explode. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He raises a sarcastic eyebrow, like whatever I'm about to say is of no interest to him. "So fucking typical of you, Ryan. Get your little addicts all hooked so that you can cut them off. What's your plan? Have me beg you to pay double, triple for my next dose?"

His face falls flat. "If that's what you think, get your shit and get out of my house."

"Gladly," I scoff, grabbing my wallet, my keys, and my phone and heading to my car.

I feel for the little baggie in my pocket, the one I came here to buy. It's still there, and I sigh a little bit of relief in knowing that.

And a dreadful feeling wraps me up in something bitter.