23. Harvey

23

HARVEY

Iblare my music and don't say a word to Bae the entire ride back to my place. Clitblocking on the most oblivious level, and it is one hundred percent her style. She sits there, little rainbow pigtails not even three inches long hanging from the top of her head while she bops along to Cray on the radio.

The song is catchy, but it doesn't take away my annoyance.

We aren't the first to get to my place, and the door is already unlocked. It looks like Mo's turned my dining room table into a poker setup, and DreadPool is trying to organize some sort of social media dance move to film on their phone with Nancy and Electric. I'm not trying to find them, though. No, my eyes are darting back and forth across my living space for the girl with the braid.

There's still no braid, though, just a knotted clump of hair above her head that's so wild and unkempt, it reminds me of Helena Bonham Carter. She's leaning against a window, talking to K with a forced smile on her face. I'm finding myself walking in their direction, hoping that, along the way, I'll stumble into an excuse, or someone else to talk to who won't make me feel or seem so desperate for her.

Venice slides in ahead of me, handing both her and K a beer. Nia gives Venice a grin when she says thanks, but K-Otic frowns. "Should you be drinking?"

"What do you mean?" Nia pops the tab anyway and takes a swig.

"You're on pain pills." K takes the can from her hand and, for some reason, that irks me.

"I'm a big girl, Kade." She tries to snatch it back, but they don't let go and the beer spills all over Nia's chest.

Her nostrils flare when she yells out in frustration at being wet and then runs to the bathroom.

Venice looks between the two of us with wide eyes and then awkwardly finds the next person walking by to take her away from the staredown K and I seem to be locked in.

"You can't control her." I don't know why I say it, but the words come out of my mouth anyway.

"I'm looking out for her." K crosses their arms, annoyed that I'm suggesting otherwise.

"Sure, but someone like Nia doesn't respond well to having her choices taken away from her." I take a drink of my own beer.

"Oh, suddenly you know a lot about Nia, do you?" They suck something through their teeth and push away from the wall, walking past me and heading out the door.

I guess that's as long as they can bear to socialize.

I won't apologize. They can't force her to make the right decision. They can't take her choice away.

I don't check to see if K's actually left for good. Instead, I hover in front of the bathroom door, unsure if I should knock, if I should go in, or if I should just leave her the fuck alone. She's said nothing to me, barely a thank you after I gave her car a jump the other night.

Nia Da Silva is officially the hardest puzzle I've tried to solve. I'm starting to think she has no idea what she looks like when she's whole, so how the hell is she supposed to put herself back together?

After ten minutes pass and she's still in the bathroom, I rap my knuckles lightly against the door.

"What?"

I don't answer for a bit. I don't know what to say, and I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. "It's me."

There's no response for a solid minute, but then I hear the click of the door unlock. Nothing else, no call to come inside, no sign from her on the other end. I open the door anyway to see her there, sitting on the closed toilet.

Her shirt is drenched in beer, her eyes red, her war paint from Slam Night streaking down her cheeks. There's a hundred things I could ask her; she looks miserable, in pain, and not just physically. Instead, I opt for skimming the surface.

"Dry shirt?" I offer.

She doesn't look up, but she nods and then lifts her arms, almost childlike, as she waits for me to help take hers off. It makes me wonder how she's getting by at home, if K is helping her, if she's hurting herself to get her basic needs taken care of. I raise the shirt and toss it into my hamper before pulling my own off and then sliding it over her head. She closes her eyes, shimming into the oversized thing and inhaling hard as it comes down.

"You look like shit." I immediately regret my choice of words, the hurt on her face like barbed wire in my throat. "I just mean, it doesn't look like anyone has been helping you. With anything."

She scratches at the side of her arm, and it lasts too long for me to think it's just nerves. "I just don't like to be a burden."

"You need help." She knows I mean more than just with the wrist.

"No shit," she whispers.

"You're a mess. You need order, systems, routines. Your type can't function without it." She's offended now, and it's obvious on her face

Nia laughs, but it's not from amusement. "My type?" She looks like she's about ready to go a round with me.

"Yeah. Forgetful. Impulsive. Dopamine seeking." She backs down once I name all her most apparent qualities. "I know because it's my type too."

"You seem pretty fucking together." Her arms cross over her chest.

"It's that or get swallowed by the chaos. We can figure out what works for you," I tell her.

Her sigh is exhausted. "Nothing works for me."

I lean closer and crouch down in front of her. "Stay the night." It's the closest I've ever come to begging in my entire life.

"You're asking?" She's finally looking at my face now.

"I'm telling." My hands are at the tops of her thighs again, just like earlier tonight. I give the same gentle squeeze with my thumbs, and her breath hitches.

"What are you doing to me?" That anxious tone laces through her words, those dark brown eyes burning into mine.

"What do you mean, princess?" I tilt my head, just the tiniest of a curl to my lip.

"I mean, you spend a lot of time getting me off, I guess it should all be the same to me because, in a way, I'm the one using you… but I think I'm just trading one thing out for another." She scowls. "What happens when you get tired of me? Or worse, when you realize you can't fix me because I'll never love myself enough to stop, and the only person I loved enough to care to stop for is now dead?"

I start to laugh but clear my throat so it doesn't upset her, "You think you're using me?" I can't help but sound smug.

"It feels like it." She says it like a confession.

It doesn't offend me.

I shake my head instead. "Unless you're at risk from coming to death, I don't think I'd call this trading addictions, Nia."

"What do you know about addiction?" She huffs.

That offends me. "I know that it's the only word I can use to describe the need I have for you." My fingers carve deeper into her thighs, her frown deepens, but she doesn't say she's in pain. "That I'm itching for you every goddamn day, waiting for you to ask me for help, to need me in some way."

"You haven't talked to me all week." She's looking down, like my stare is too much.

"That's a double-sided problem, princess. Have you talked to me?" My fingers dig in harder.

She finds my gaze again. "What are we doing?" she asks once more, but there's so much desperation in her voice that I'm compelled to answer this time.

I trace my thumb and index finger along the corners of her mouth. "We're friends." I lie, my only defense left to protect myself from her.

She scoffs before pushing my hand away. "You do this shit with all your friends?"

I don't fight the twisted grin. "Just my very special friends." My hand slides past her ear as I cradle the side of her head in my palm. She relaxes into the touch, melting, relaxing, until she realizes what it's doing to her. Then, that scowl forms again.

"Stop fucking with me, Harvey." Her eyes are welling with tears, but she leans harder into me, like it comforts her. Her voice breaks. "I can't handle it."

"You've been using." I don't say it with judgment; I just state it plainly.

It's all over her face.

"You've had my number this whole time. I told you to call me, didn't I?" Her eyes widen with realization.

"I just thought you meant it in the way everybody says shit like that. Call me if you need anything. Anytime, or my favorite, You're always welcome here. I can't decipher that shit."

She's spiraling, so I grab her chin once more to gain her focus. "Hey. That's them, out there. That's how they live with their weird societal hoops they jump through and codes they talk in that only they understand. Me and you? I'm always going to be straight with you. If I say call me, then you dial my fucking number, do you understand me? If I say anytime, then I want you here without thinking twice. If you need me? Then I better already be around."

The words are barely out of my mouth when I sink into the realization that I've lost at my own game.

And

Now

I'm

Hers.