Page 55 of False Start
“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 itshouldall be the same to me because, in a way,I’mtheone usingyou… 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 stopforis now dead?”
I start to laugh but clear my throat so it doesn’t upset her, “You think you’re usingme?” 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.
Thatoffends 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 tome?” 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 myveryspecialfriends.” 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 wayeverybodysays 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 onlytheyunderstand. 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 sayanytime,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.
24
NIA
I’m trembling.
Some of it’s the heroin, but most of it is Cat Harvey coursing through my fucking system. She’s worse than a drug, because without the drugs, I’m miserable, but without her, I’m nothing.
