False Start

33. Nia

33

NIA

I’m restless, crawling out of my own fucking skin in that office and scratching the remainder of it to hell from the onsetting withdrawal. So I step out for a drink, and on my way to the water fountain, I stumble into Mo. Avoiding conversation isn’t possible, but they’re aware I’m sick and don’t seem suspicious.

“Is your wrist at least feeling better? Hopefully that cast comes off soon. We barely got to scrimmage before you got knocked out of commission.” Mo gives me an awkward side hug and ruffles my hair.

“Yeah, I’ll be stoked to get cleared for contact, but that probably won’t be for a couple more weeks. Scott will just have to suck it up.” I shrug.

“I mean, in the end it’s your call, now that you and Harvey are in love, and getting married, and having skate babies,” Mo says.

I laugh, confused. “What do you mean, my call?”

“I mean, in the end, it’s your rink, right? Or did you guys decide you were going to sell to Scott?” They frown.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Morgan?” I’m so confused, I don’t know where the start or end to this conversation is.

“Harvey hasn’t told you.” A sinking realization splashes across their face.

“Harvey hasn’t told me what?” My heart thunders a storm inside my chest, the thought of Harvey keeping something from me already enough to make me nauseous.

I’ve put all my trust into her.

“Well, you know how the rink is yours and all? Well, Scott offered to buy it outright. Own the Dames and Skateland.” Mo stuffs their hands in their pockets uncomfortably.

“Back the fuck up to the part where the rink is mine and all.” Every word is sharp, my confusion slowly turning into a burning anger.

“Harvey didn’t?—”

“No, clearly Cat hasn’t told me a fucking thing, Mo. So why don’t you enlighten me?” I’m so pissed, I can’t see straight, dreading the words that are coming next even though my brain is already starting to piece it together.

“Lonnie left the rink to both of you. You and Harvey.” Mo tugs at the top of their ponytail to tighten it, clearly uncomfortable with this whole exchange. Their gaze shifts up, and I don’t have to follow it to see who they’re looking at with that oh fuck look on their face. “I gotta go, I think. I’ll see you later, Nia.”

I’m dumbfounded, the other skaters continuing on with practice, too busy on the track to even notice me. My heart bubbles with rage, and I finally shift my eyes to where she stands with Scott.

My expression surely gives me away.

StarScreamer is skating toward us, trying to stop in her tracks like she senses the tension, but it’s far too late. She stumbles into Harvey, almost knocking both her and Scott over.

And I’m too pissed off to keep what I’m feeling inside. This goes beyond our relationship, beyond whatever the fuck we are to each other. This is about her hiding something from me that Lonnie had meant to be mine. She had no fucking right.

Harvey’s skates move toward me like anxious prey, unsure if she can approach or not, which is hilarious from someone like her. Except I’m not in a laughing mood. “Babe?” She lifts an eyebrow up, slowing down the closer she approaches me.

“Do not fucking babe me.” The words feel cold out of my lips, and Nancy, who’s three steps away from the locker room, does a 180-degree spin on her heels.

“Oh shit,” I hear her say in the distance as she plops her ass down on a bench, like this is about to be the best entertainment of her life.

“Whatever it is, can we talk about it at home?” Cat asks, looking around, seeing that all eyes are now officially on us.

“Your home. I don’t have a home in Devil Town. Oh—wait, except this fucking rink that you’ve failed to mention to me.” I’m yelling, but I don’t care. I cross my arms over my chest and immediately regret it. I’m so fucking angry, I don’t know what to do with my limbs, but maybe it’s better they’re tucked away.

“Did Morgan tell you?” She takes a step toward me, but I shake my head in warning, stepping back as well.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is that you’ve been lying to me since fucking day one.” I command every cell in my body to forbid the tear to form. Never in my adult life have I been in control of regulating my emotions, of not letting my anger turn into tears, but today, I will.

I will not cry over Cathrine Harvey.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Nia. You weren’t?—”

“Supposed to find out? Was your plan to just drive me away? Kick my ass until I gave up? Then you realized I was an addict and didn’t need your help? You were just waiting it out?” I grit the words out, hating myself for saying them but unwilling to stop.

We’re already standing in front of the meat grinder, so why not jump in?

“You get real nasty when you’re withdrawing, babe. I’d really like to do this in private,” she says calmly, like I’m the fucking one in the wrong here.

“Of course you would, you manipulative bitch. It’s so much easier when you can just paint me out to be the unstable one.” My arms break free from my own hold, and I clench my fists at my side.

“Ohhooooo, wow. Bite me, princess, spit in my eye. Whatever it takes, right?” She’s smirking like she’s amused, though I know she’s not. Nothing I’ve said is worth a laugh. She’s moving closer to me again, but I’m only getting more pissed off.

“Get that smirk off your face. You’re so fucking condescending.” I’m beyond my own control, overstimulated, angry, and approaching meltdown. She’s in my space, and I can’t help it. I reach out to hit, but she grabs my wrist instead, then the cast.

“It’s not condescending. You’re just kind of fucking toxic, Ant?nia.” She loosens her grip on the wrist that threatened her.

I lower it to my side, the sting of her words enough to quiet my voice so the others can’t hear us anymore. “Then why are you still here?”

She clicks her tongue, as if I should already know the answer to that. “I guess that’s just what I like.”

She drops her forehead to mine, but I push away.

“How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve been keeping this from me, Cat?” And there they go, the weepy withdrawal tears ruining any chance of me maintaining my composure.

Making me weak instead of righteous in my fury.

“The same way I’m supposed to trust you to stay sober when you’ve already proven to me that you can’t.” She says it so plainly, but her truth is a leather belt leaving raised welts on skin.

She tugs at the gold loop of the collar like it’s a reminder.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper, no longer wanting everyone’s eyes on me.

It’s the first time I’ve been in the car with Cat with the music off. The drive feels three times as long, and all I want to do is reach over and hold her hand. In just a matter of weeks, she became my entire universe.

No.

She made herself my entire universe, and I can’t help but let my mind tell me it was all part of some plan. This was orchestrated. Because it is. It is entirely in her nature to plan something out like this so craftily. Everything hurts, and I no longer care to be sober, to be hers, to be anything.

I pull my phone out and send the text.

PICK ME UP

I send the address just as I walk inside, heading to the bedroom for whatever I deem essential. The collar itches at my neck, feeling too tight and suffocating. I don’t ignore the symbolism of it as I fumble with the buckle, but I give up once I can’t take it off one-handed.

She’s still sitting on the couch when I come out of the room. This feels like more than just a fight, but I don’t have it in me to lug around all my possessions. At this point, she can just toss all my shit into Skateland for all I care.

I only bring my backpack with me.

Feeling the buzz in my back pocket, I don’t have to check to see who it is. The headlights against the window tell me Bobby’s already here.

“Don’t go, Nia,” she says as I walk toward the door. Her voice sounds dry, cracked, and it's enough to make me turn toward her.

She’s crying.

Typical.

I break everything.

Except for once, I don’t feel as bad. Like a child who threw a toy at a wall too many times, I see the consequence of my actions.

I walk out the door, practically running into Bobby’s car so I have no chance of stopping myself, no chance of ruining this perfect opportunity for self-sabotage. I haven’t fucked myself over in a while, so let’s make this one really good.

I wait at the passenger door for a split second, forgetting whose car it is and that the door works before I get inside. “Hey, pretty lady,” he says, all smiles before his face really sets in on mine.

“Let’s go.” I wave him off, trying to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible. I can’t help it; my eyes dart to the passenger mirror where I see Cat standing outside her door just as we leave.

“You look rough, girl,” he confirms the obvious.

“Yeah, I know.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead.

He nods towards the glovebox. “In there.”

I open it, but there’s nothing except car documents inside. “Manila folder,” he says.

Maybe he’s not as dumb as I thought he was. I shuffle through some of the documents before I find the bag of powder between the registration and the manual. I don’t wait for the car to slow down or for us to stop at a light. I drop it to the back of my hand and shove the tiny mountain of dust into my nostril.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pressing on the Ziploc and tossing it back into its hiding place in the glovebox.

The relief is immediate.

The physical.

The inside bits too.

The ones I can’t put a word or category to, the ones I haven’t quite named yet, only acknowledged. The ones shredding my soul everytime I blink and see Cat’s face.

I lean back into the seat and close my eyes, disintegrating into the moment and finally getting some peace from my own head.

I

can

finally

turn

it

off.