Page 70 of False Start
The water is closer to cold than lukewarm, but I don’tcare. I sit there, my head hanging while the stream of water beats over me.
“Nia, your cast.” Harvey comes in, flustered because I’m facing the wrong direction, my casted arm against the wet wall with no option but to stay doused under the spray.
“Hmm?” I look over, and by the time my head has fully turned in that direction, she’s already pulling my body and turning me in the tub.
“Shit. Well, at least your swelling’s gone down, so you’re probably okay to ask them for a new one now.” She’s looking at me like she’s anxious, like maybe she’s not confident in what she’s saying.
I nod. That’s all I can do right now.
She doesn’t force me to stand. Instead, she just washes me. It’s not sexual, but it’s caring, it’s intimate, and I feel far too vulnerable. The weeping comes again, and I hate myself, reminding me that it’s just the fucking lack of drugs. When she’s draped me in an oversized shirt and tucked me into the luxurious fluff of her bed, I think I might actually be tired.
I don’t let my brain ask questions like what time it is or what obligations I have. That kind of overwhelm would send me into a spiral I don’t need to face right this moment. I don’t quite make out what she says, but I feel her comforting touch as she runs her fingers through my hair, coaxing me into sleep.
I nodoff for what feels like seconds, but maybe it’s longer. I’m sweating, and I can hear the tv in anotherroom. My phone says three in the morning. I haven’t slept more than an hour, I’m sure of it. I’m cold, I’m hot, but most of all, I’m desperate to get high.
Harvey isn’t here.
Rummaging through my bag is my first priority after I roll out of bed. A weightlessness fills me when I find all my things untouched. I feel around in the smallest zipper pocket until I find the baggie. It feels like the smallest victory. I pour just a little—not enough to get high, but enough to feel better—of the beige powder onto the nightstand. I don’t bother with a straw; I simply block the other nostril and lean down as close as possible until it’s already practically in my nose when I inhale.
I put it all away before the powder makes its way through my system. I remember a stupid joke from some stoner kid who used to hang around a million lifetimes ago. He used to say if you snorted through the right nostril, it went straight up to your brain and got you high immediately. If you snorted through the left, it went down to your stomach and had to digest and process longer, so the high would be weaker.
It was one hundred percent bullshit, but to this day, I favor the right side, only opting for the left nostril if the right one is completely out of commission.
I slump down against the side of the bed, feeling comfortable in my own skin for the first time all day. I’m barely leaning my head against the headboard when a sound catches my attention.
It’s a sound I’ve only ever heard in a dream, and I follow it, gracefully stumbling from the bedroom into the hallway. It’s coming from the hobby room, and the door is wide open.
My lungs shrivel up, all the air pulled out of my bodyat the sight of Cat sitting on a leather chair with her fingers inside herself. It makes every part of me feel weak, fluttery, needy.
And it feels incredibly violating.
“I-I’m sorry,” I say, gathering her attention because it feels better than a knock. “I woke and heard something and?—”
“Nia, it’s fine.” She smiles, tilting her chin up as if to summon me closer.
I don’t think I have a single solid bone in my body to move, though.
“Come here.”
29
HARVEY
The words come out, but I’m not confident in them. I’m nervous, self-conscious, and all I can do is wait for the bad to surpass the good. I brace for her to rush to me, for her to try take control or try to be the one who fucks me, just like they always do. I’m clenching my jaw tight while I wait for it, while I anticipate eyes that burn with judgment.
My heart races and my thoughts spiral, but when I come back to myself, she’s not looking at my hands or down there at all. Her eyes are on mine, on my face. She’s barely moved, just a few steps away from the door, enough to close it behind her and kneel.
The smile on both of our faces is proof we’ve gone too far.
Because I’ve never allowed myself to be with anyone else this intimately before.
Not intentionally.
Not willingly.
Her stare is everything right now. I rub my fingers through the slickness, shocked by how wet I find myself.I’m desperate to get off, and her here, watching me, is now somehow making every nerve in my body a hundred times more sensitive. I bite my cheeks to fight any moans, but she can see what she’s doing to me.
Every stroke of my fingers, her smile sets deeper, and I get closer.
