Page 58 of Reasons We Break

Rajan scoffs. “You have a joint in your hand, asshole.”

Nick takes a drag from it. “Haven’t you been sober for months?”

Rajan doesn’t like his insinuation. “It’s notheroin.”

“For you, it might as well be.”

He’s right, some part of Rajan knows this. At the start of juvie, going cold turkey on everything was a shock to his system. He was keyed up all the time. When they finally dragged him to the addictions counselor, he denied it at first. He wasn’t some clichéddrug addict. It was all just for fun. Yes, his use had ramped up over the last year, yes, he was trying new stuff, but nobody else was having issues—

It’s not really about the drug, Rajan. It’s about you. You can’t have one thing giving you all your happiness, whether that’s a drug or something else. It’ll suck the life out of everything else. Until that’s all you have. The opposite of addiction is balance.

Currently, he couldn’t give less of a shit about balance. “Is this because you think I don’t have money? I have a job. I can pay cash. Tomorrow.” He’s desperate. The pain is so bad he wants to rip his arm off. “Give mesomething.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Nick asks. “I thought you didn’t want to breach probation. What if they find out?”

“Who’s going to tell them? You?”

Nick blows out smoke, considering him. Then: “Zohra, take him home.” He closes the door without warning. It pisses Rajan off. He slams at the door, but it’s now locked.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he shouts at the lion’s crest. “Me, relying on you for everything I need? Here I am, and you don’t want me anymore?”

No answer. It feels like he’s been shut out of the only place that has consistently been home. A twisted thought, but it’s true. Simran did that—shut him out. For his own good, maybe—but right now, it feels like he’s lost everything. It feels fucking cruel.

“Rajan,” Zohra says quietly, and he looks up, vision blurred, to find her reaching for him.

He lets her wrap her arms around him, his fight gone. She smells like her usual perfume, the one that stuck to him for hours when they were together. A confusing mix of emotions rise in him. Desire. Disgust. She, and Nick, and the Lions reduced him to this. Having a breakdown because he can’t get high. He used to be a good person, damn it.

Self-loathing crawls under his skin. “Zohra, you know you owe me. Get me something. Please.” His voice cracks.

Her resolve seems to break at that. “Okay, okay.” Her voice is gentle and soothing. So are her lips, when they press against his. “Come with me.”

ABSURDLY, SIMRAN’S MOTHERlooks almost childlike in a hospital gown.

It’s the morning of her surgery. Simran waits with her in the OR lounge, unable to stop herself noticing how odd her mom looks without her kara and kirpan, her grey hair covered with a surgical cap instead of a turban. She looks like a nobody.

Her mother speaks first. “Stop biting your hangnail. It’ll bleed.”

Simran sighs. Of coursethat’swhat her mom is thinking while they’re holding hands.

“And those jeans need washing. Look at the scuff marks. Did you even eat breakfast?”

“Mom.”

“I’m serious. You need to take better care of yourself. And stop slouching—”

Simran starts to pull her hand out of her mother’s grip, but the grip tightens. Simran looks up at her. And although her mother doesn’t say a word, her stony expression giving nothing away, Simran understands everything in that moment.

“Mom, the surgery will be okay,” she says gently, and that mask cracks. A bit.

“I’m afraid of what they’ll find.” Her mother’s voice wavers, suddenly as stripped down and vulnerable as her appearance. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to see the doctor.”

“You—you waited?” Simran stammers despite herself. Her mother’s never gone into detail about how the diagnosis was made.

“I was embarrassed, you know. That I was having bleeding again at my old age. I hoped it would go away, and now I learn that when this cancer is caught early, surgery usually cures it.” Her mother’s lips tremble. “Shame.Thatis the reason I might die.”

Simran’s throat clogs. It’s a horrible thought, that all this could’ve been prevented, but she tries not to show it. Her mother is scared enough already. “It can still be cured. Remember the pamphlets? There’s radiation, chemotherapy—”

“They say you lose yourhairwith chemotherapy, Simran.” Her mom’s voice comes out in a rush. Clearly she’s thought about it. “I don’t want that. You...Youknow what it means to me.”