22. Nia

22

NIA

Icoast through practice all week in a foggy haze from the mixture of pain pills and heroin that is starting to become such a common part of my day-to-day, I'm not even bothering to lie to myself anymore.

I have a problem.

Well, I have three problems.

The Cat Harvey-sized problem is growing by the minute, the one that shatters my confidence but keeps me wrapped tight in her chokehold. I don't know what it is we're doing, but I crave it, and every moment I don't have it, I need to be high.

She isn't the cause, though, and if I wasn't depending on her, I would just be using something else as another excuse to get high. My wrist became a new opportunity, but now, it's taking three times as many pills to do the job of a little bump.

I'm also running out of money, and my car keeps breaking down, which is an added issue I can't afford to fix. I'm running out of subject changes every time my father asks why I haven't answered my mother's calls since the accident. In a way, it almost feels like I'm running out of time, like I'm dashing toward some imaginary finish line.

Some sort of ending I can't bear to be a part of.

By the time Slam Night comes, I'm not interested in attending. I know I'm benched. I have to be, because putting me on the track is a liability Scott won't risk.

I fight the part of my brain that tells me to not go, and that I could just get high on the rest of my stash, figure out what comes next after I run out.

"You're not ready?" Kade asks, standing at the open door of my bedroom.

"Do I need to go?" I whine, sitting at the edge of the bed with my fishnets still hanging off my ankles.

"Is that even a question?" they deadpan. "Nancy Shrew and the Shrewdettes would literally put the bout on pause, hog-tie you, and stuff you into their trunk just to make you sit on the bench tonight." An eyebrow raises. "Or you could come willingly."

I exhale and drag out the word as it leaves my mouth. "Fine. Watch it, though. One snap of my fingers, and I'll have them dragging you along to the next social event too."

K's face is one of pure dread. "Kill me first, please."

Laughing, I start getting all of my things together. "You're not a fan of the team?"

"No, no. It's not that at all. Everyone is perfectly… perfect." They shove their hands in their pockets and shrug. "I'm just… not great with groups."

"I get it." I give them a reassuring smile. "I promise."

Kade leaves me to change, and I continue the ritual with my fishnets, pulling them up and then donning my Devil's Dame's black spandex shorts. I don't bother with anything other than my practice tee with my skate name on the back. I won't be on the track tonight anyway, which means I also take no care in slapping my roster number on my arm in eyeliner. The sixty-four is sloppy, maybe because I wrote it with my left hand, or maybe because I no longer care to tout my mother's birth date on my skin.

There I am, in front of the mirror.

Every flaw glaringly obvious.

I despise who I've become.

I'm three times as unnecessary as I had originally thought I was. Since Rae-Gunn passed their minimal skills test, Scott felt decent about moving the roster around so that K-Otic starts, and if needed, a switch could be made with Harvey.

But I'm not focused on the bout. I'm not focused on much of anything except my cuticles, which I've gnawed to death, and the itching at my chest from my last hit.

"You good?" StarScreamer slides into me on the bench as she takes a swig of her water bottle. She's dripping in sweat, but she's killing it out there. Stella is one of the best damn blockers I've ever seen.

"Just ready to be out there again." I weave another lie into my web.

She laughs. "Yeah, the bench sucks, but you'll be back jamming in no time." She gives me a playful shove before she heads back behind the pivot line.

At halftime, we're so far ahead that Scott is joking about putting me back in just for shits and giggles. Mo doesn't appreciate the joke and sets him straight. My neck and chest are covered in scratch marks, and I'm ready to get the fuck out of Skateland.

That's when Harvey stops in front of me. It's the first time she's acknowledged my existence today, and for some reason, it feels like a gift. The realization of what she's doing to me is both obscenely degrading and hopeless, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm so small in her hands, so small in her world, and she's so big in mine.

All I can see is Cat Harvey.

Like she's not actually a problem but the answer to all of them. Her eyes lower to my knees, which are obnoxiously bouncing. She drops her hands to my thighs as if to keep them still, bending just enough so that her face is in line with mine. I think my heart's stopped, but I'm not positive, because all the blood is currently flooding down south. It feels like our entire team is staring at us, but I wouldn't know, because I haven't looked away from her.

Her thumbs squeeze the inside of my thighs, and then with one hand, she's reaching for a water bottle next to me. She finally lets me go, standing to get her fill of a drink.

I'm

a

speck

of

dust

floating

in

her

presence

again.

Mo calls the starting skaters to a huddle and delivers the final plays for the night before the zebra blows the whistle, signaling the end of halftime. I'm nodding in and out for the second half, but it's fine, because everyone is focused on the track, on the win guaranteed to be ours.

The team is vibrating with positivity. Two bouts in a row, and as I look around, Skateland seems to be fuller than ever before. This is good—this is amazing. It's everything Lonnie ever wanted.

Like pesticide, the thought of my dead friend kills all the joy that wanted to bubble around me, infiltrating every inch of my heart. I suddenly no longer desire to be on this bench, on this rink, or anywhere near this building.

I don't look at anyone. I just command my feet off the track, pushing past the excited spectators without bothering to head for the locker rooms. I'm sloppy taking off my skates, still too high to care to focus. There are judging eyes; I don't have to look up to know they're there, burning into me.

Once I've rounded up all my shit, I push out through the double doors, and the chill hits through the holes in my fishnets.

F

U

C

K

I didn't drive.

My heart sinks, all hopes of a sneaky early getaway evaporating into thin air. Pulling my hood over my head, I resort to slouching down against the wall and staring at the parking lot until time decides I'll have to do something else about this.

"Girl, where the fuck have you been? We've been looking for you forever!" Lady Yaga's loud voice wakes me up.

It's freezing cold out, and I'm still sitting on the ground in front of the rink, resting my back on a pillar. The parking lot is mostly empty now, like all the attendees who came to watch have already left.

Shit.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, but I'm groggy.

No.

I'm high.

Looking down, I see my pill bottle in my lap, half open. I broke the child tampering lid the other day in order to stop depending on everyone else, so now it only barely rests on, half the lid split on one side. I think I took another while I was out here waiting, but I don't fully remember. Yaga doesn't notice the orange bottle in my lap; I quickly fist it and shove it into my bag.

"Wasn't feeling it. Sorry." I shrug sympathetically. "It's hard watching everyone else skate while I'm like this."

She laughs. "Maybe that's your lesson." I frown, but she doesn't stop. "I just mean, you never got hurt before. Not before the big one. You always started, always played, hardly got benched unless you were so exhausted someone else had to fill in. When you got hurt, you left. You didn't give yourself a chance to stick around and heal with us."

She's right. I ran away, tail tucked between my legs, because if I wasn't skating, then who was I? I couldn't let my team see me that way. And now, here I am, repeating history. Yaga looks at me like she can see it too.

"Don't leave again," she whispers, kneeling down to my level.

"I won't." The words come out, but I'm not sure I mean them.

"Promise?" She waits, an eyebrow lifted high.

"Yeah, yeah." I elbow her, forcing her to stand and then giving her my good hand to help me the rest of the way up.

"Party at Harvey's!" Nancy shouts coming out of the doors.

I'm guessing at this point, even the losing team has left, but I was out for most of it. I reach into my bag to make sure my wallet is still in there. Not like anyone would be stealing much anyway.

"Are you coming, K?" Dread asks. They're the only other person who seems comfortable communicating with Kade in a familiar way here.

"Come on, K, you practically won us the bout. Come celebrate," StarScream encourages.

Their face is uneasy, and I'm about to open my mouth to shoot off whatever random excuse I can come up with to get them out of this when Kade locks eyes with me and answers, "I will if Ant?nia comes."

Fucking traitor.

"Well, of course Nia is coming." Star links her arms with mine, and suddenly, my entire ability to speak and fight for myself is gone.

I search for Harvey in the pack and find her pretending like she's not listening while she fumbles with her keys at her car door. Her face is pure amusement. Her eyes find mine, and I'm so fucking obvious, it hurts.

"S-sure," I answer, looking back at Star. "Why not?"

Everyone cheers, but it's my roommate I'm blasting with a dirty look. "Fucking evil," I hum to Kade, pushing them with my shoulder.

"If I'm suffering, so are you, bitch." They laugh, shoving me back.

I guess we're doing this.

You can't grow if you don't leave your comfort zone. That's what Lonnie used to say, and though the words feel more like salt on a wound, they still attempt their intended job. Lonnie would say the pain is necessary; hell, they'd even find a way to make it sound poetic somehow.

Except Lonnie's in a casket under some dirt and I don't quite like poetry the way I used to.

I'm tired of leaving my comfort zone. I want to get wrapped up in it and never outgrow it ever again. That no longer seems to be an option. Skaters are packing into vehicles, most of them cramming and carpooling with each other, since everyone will likely be too drunk to drive. Instinctually, my feet follow K, but my eyes search for Harvey again, who's getting into her driver seat.

We lock stares, and she reaches over the empty passenger seat to get the door from the inside.

In some way, it's the same invitation I've been giving her all week.

My feet shift in her direction, and I take the first step, but then Bae hops over to Harvey's car and grabs the slightly open door, taking the passenger seat and buckling in. My face burns with embarrassment, and I dash to Kade's side as fast as I possibly can.

Fuck. I'm a goddamn tragedy in three parts.