Page 46 of False Start
“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 ofenergy 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 ofThe 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.
