Page 34 of False Start

It’s stale.

“Yes, but not that rule.” He reaches for the bowl and takes it back to the kitchen.

Blowing air through my lips noisily, I give him the answer he truly wants. “We get high to celebrate, not to escape.”

“I knew you weren’t dumb enough to forget.” He seems more proud of himself for ingraining it into me than anything. “So why are you forgetting?” His tone is sharper at the end.

“I’m not forgetting, Ryan. I’m doing it on purpose.” I look away, uncomfortable keeping his gaze when the following words fall out of my mouth. “I don’t like being here very much right now.”

“I’m not keeping you a prisoner in my house, Antônia.” He’s offended, but that’s not my intention.

“That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head.

“Oh.” Ryan finally gets it.

I sit up. It’s awkward now.

There are friends you can share your dark parts with, the ones who hold space for you, the ones who can walk you through the darkness back into the light. And some friends run from it because they can’t be responsible for the weight of that heaviness. Neither is good, neither is bad.

But mixing up those two can complicate things.

And right now, I’m not sure if Ryan is the first kind of friend, because we’ve never tested that boundary before. Getting high together doesn’t require such deep thoughts and turbulent feelings.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know—” I go to lie, to cover it up with something else so we can move back to the light and funny stuff, but he cuts me off.

“My dad killed himself.” He shares something with me he’s never dared to before.

My eyes blur with tears, but I hold them back. This isn’t about me. “I-I didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it. I was just a kid. People leaving like that, it fucks you up, you know?” He’s staring past me now, like it’s too much to look at me while thinking about this.

“I’m sorry.” I say, but it means nothing. There’s nothing that can fix the pain he’ll carry until his very last day.

“This life, you get used to people coming and going. People ripping you off, people trying to catch you slipping up, or worse, take your place. Some of my favorite customers died too soon, and some of my least favorite made me rich.” His gaze finds mine again before he continues. “I’d berealfucking sorry to find out you died from something I gave you, Nia.”

Now it’s awkward.

He clears his throat. “Promise me.” His eyebrow raises, that brotherly stare directed my way again. “Celebrations. Not escape.”

“Fine.” I don’t know if I’m lying yet or not. He’s not wrong, and I should know better.

The problem is, I’ve found myself in that mental state where I just can’t seem to care.

“How many do you want?” he asks, even though he’s well aware I’m toeing a dangerous line.

“I don’t think I want the pills this time,” I confess, and he freezes.

“I told you that stuff’s not right for you. How about some weed?” He pulls out his personal jar.

“Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “I’ll just look for it somewhere else.” Shrugging, I grab my bag and stand.

It’s a huge bluff; I don’t really know anyone else, notanymore. Maybe once upon a time, when these were still my stomping grounds, but these days? I’m practically a stranger here now.

He’s in front of me in less than a second, taking up more space than I remember him being capable of. Ryan’s tall, probably six-foot-three, and now, in his thirties, he isn’t some lanky little dealer, all bones from being high the whole day.

He’s a big fucking dude.

“Donotfucking play with me, Nia.” His hand is on my wrist, and it’s squeezing hard. Too hard.