Page 41 of False Start

“Alrighty, Antônia. Here they are. Do you need instructions for taking these?” He looks past me to ask her.

She shakes her head, coming to a slow stand.

He holds the bag out for her, but I take it from him and then, with one hand on her low back, I shepherd us out of the pharmacy. She’s quiet, glancing at the prescription bag in my hand the entire walk to the car.

“Should I take you back to K’s… or?” I had no reason to be saying “or.” Or what? Or leave her behind? Or take her back to skateland? Or…

My house.

“K’s is fine,” she says with another quiet nod.

Vibrant. Full of life, energy, and confidence.

That’s how Lonnie had described Antônia Da Silva. But now, with her here in front of me and our only connection dead and buried, there is no more painting her in lies. All I see is her truth: she’s broken from her own chaos.

She is shattered by her own hand.

I blast the music, some old cover of a song written byThe Smiths. The time on the radio reads nearly one in the morning; between the X-rays and the journey through the hospital to see multiple specialists, this wasn’t a quick trip.

But I’m dreading the minute she’ll be gone.

I can’t stand the feeling.

She doesn’t even try to pull the door open when we get there; she just gives me that blank stare. She knows it sticks, but asking for help isn’t ingrained in her vocabulary, so she thinks looking at me is enough for me to guess her needs.

It is, but I don’t tell her that. No, I just reach over to push the handle and let her out.

One more vacant look my way, the words probably itching at the base of her throat, but she won’t say them.

“Do you need help?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Please.” The vibrance, the confidence, is now meekness and self-consciousness.

I grab her skate bag from the backseat and toss it over my shoulder. Following her from the driveway up the stairs to K-Otic’s place, I wait for her to fish the keys from her backpack with her good hand. She’s a mess. The backpack’s strap hangs off her cast, and it’s gotta be killing her, but she hasn’t asked me for the pills yet, and it feels like we’re playing chicken again.

We both know she’s going to abuse them.

So where do we go from here?

She unlocks the door and carelessly tosses the keys back into the abyss of her backpack before pushing the door open with her shoulder. All the lights are off, K obviously sleeping in their room, only the cat waiting for Nia.

He greets her with a loud mew, one that sounds nearly savage on a beast that size.

I drop to one knee to pet him, the purring a collection of bees in a jar, so loud and rumbly that it soothes. “Where do you want your bag?” I shift my gaze back her way.

“Um. In my room is fine. Thanks.” She points to a door down the hallway.

I’m expecting to see K-Otic sleeping, but the room is empty. “Is K here?”

“Long asleep, I’m sure.” She breathes out, and it looks labored.

She’s in pain, but she’s still afraid to ask me.

“Do you need anything else before I go?” I lean on the open door frame as she dumps the contents of her bag onto the floor.

“You’ve done too much already,” she says but then doubles back. “Actually, do you think you could help me?”

“With?” I want to force the words out of her.