Page 21

21

HAVOC

I ’m still wrapped in a towel when I wake up. My phone is charged and plugged in next to me, and the clock reads nearly noon.

Every.

Thing.

Hurts.

Down to my fucking soul. The nausea is the worst, and I don’t want to get out of bed or even open my eyes, but I know the longer I go without treating it, the worse it’ll get. I scratch the sleep out of my eyes and see the glass of water and the pill waiting for me.

I check the dosage on the bottle and laugh. They may as well have given me nothing.

But Maddox left the bottle.

The way she was quick to reach for the bag at the pharmacy made me think I wasn’t going to be in control of this anymore. I shouldn’t be, by any fucking means.

But I am.

I try to open the plastic container, but my cast makes it too hard, and the damn child proofing is impossible to beat one handed. I bite at the lid, a dull ache through my teeth as I try to pry the top off. Clenching my jaw in frustration, I settle for what’s available, drinking down the weakest oxycodone to ever exist. It gets stuck in my throat; they always do, and it’s an indescribable agony to go through.

It’s why I normally prefer just burning away at my nasal cavity with it instead. My tongue keeps throwing the pill everywhere but down my throat, and the water eats away the coating of the pill to the point where I taste the bitter powder on my tongue. It’s the worst, and I almost want to spit the meds out.

I don’t. I take another long gulp of water and then another to wash away any traces of it from my tastebuds. The water is too much, too heavy and filling on an empty stomach when I’m already starting to feel dopesick.

Laying on my back, sprawled across the bed, I wait for it to pass. I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth until the need to vomit travels fully through me.

I hear a knock at my door.

“Yeah?” I answer, sitting up and tightening the towel around me.

Kade has likely been up since at least five, always having to catch a jog with the sunrise.

“Morning,” they say, their eyes floating down to my cast. “How you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by an angry pivot last night,” I laugh. “You won us the bout!”

Kade scratches at the back of their head, blue hair falling in front of their face to cover their embarrassment. “Yeah. I mean, you did most of the work.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” I smile, putting on my best face for them.

“Hey, uh…Madeline Maddox was here last night.” K says it like it’s a fact, but I’m almost positive it’s a question.

“Yeah. She was.” I bite my lip before continuing. “I needed some help last night.”

“Sounded like it,” Kade says with a grin, and my entire face heats up knowing they weren’t asleep for that. “Glad you two are turning over a new leaf.”

I choke on my own cough. “Something like that.”

The memory of last night comes flooding back. Of me in the shower, unraveling in her arms. The way she made me feel, not just physically but more than that—taken care of. That wasn’t the same girl who hated me so much that she couldn’t stand to be in the room with me, and certainly not the same girl intent on laying me out to prove a point. So if all of that was the way she hated, then what was this?

“How’s your wrist?” K strays from getting too personal, a skill they’ve mastered.

“Fractured.” I blow out a huff of air through my lips. “Looks like you’ll be first jammer for a while.”

K laughs. “Yeah, right. Leonard would rather you break the other wrist before he sacrifices all those points you score.”

“We’ll see. This is probably for the best, anyway. I need to get a job before I burn through the rest of my savings. I can’t be spending every second at Skatium,” I admit, and it’s mostly for myself.

The reality checks always come when I’m sober.

With a click of their tongue they lift a finger. “Actually, that reminds me. You said your degree was in social work?” I nod. “The girl who does my hair said her kid’s school needs a counselor.”

My eyes widen, and I lean forward, a new burst of energy filling me temporarily. “Wait, really? That’s perfect!”

“It’s a private school, though. Background checks, paperwork. Can you be on your best behavior?” Kade laughs like they know me.

They only know what I let them see but it’s enough for this assumption, so I give them a smile.

“I can fake it,” I promise with a low salute.

“Great.” They’re still amused by me, gripping the door handle to give me privacy once again. “I’ll leave all the info for you on the counter. I’m heading out for the day.”

“Okay. Have fun.” Living with Kade is easy. They don’t pry, don’t ask too many questions, and we really get along on a fundamental level. “Shit. Wait!” I shout, remembering the opportunity.

K opens the door and pops their head in with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t open my meds. It’s time for me to take my pills.” I give them a cheesy grin. “Help,” I cry pathetically.

K smiles and walks my way, opening the bottle with ease and pulling out one pill before they close the cap again. “Careful with these things.”

My heart sinks, but I swallow down the feeling and paint a thankful look on my face before I accept the pill, chasing it with water, this time much more successfully than the first go-around.

“Bye.” K pats my head and ruffles my hair before leaving for good.

I lean back against the headboard and swipe meaninglessly through videos on my phone, waiting for the pills to kick in. I wait for the throbbing in my wrist to subside, for the burning to ease, for the relief to wash over me.

It doesn’t.

My tolerance is too high, and I know why.

I pull the drawer and reach for my old copy of The Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood . I open it to the middle, where the tiny Ziploc baggie is pressed flat with the light beige powder inside.

My heart thrums violently just staring at it. Long ago, this had been a bottom line for me, yet here I am, casually consuming it for breakfast. Just a little bump , never more than that.

My hands tremble as I dump a small pea-sized pile of the powder onto my nightstand then reach for a cut up straw somewhere in the back of the drawer. The sting is minimal compared to the pills, and the relief is instant.

I

sink

into

the

bed.

I sink into the bed.

I sink into the bed.

I sink into the world.

I

escape

my

mind.

* * *

There’s a bright light I can’t look away from. It burns with intensity, and it’s so close, it’s overwhelming.

“Hey. Twerp.” Ryan’s voice is abrasively loud and stern, and I hate when he tries to wake me up to move me to the bed.

“Just carry me,” I whine, but he shakes me.

“Gimme a better sign of life, Vera,” he says, and I flutter my eyes open, the flashlight still pointed directly in my eyes.

“Fuck,” I cough out, choking on my own saliva, “turn that shit off.” I push it away with my braced hand.

Ryan is standing above me, and next to him is Bobby C, a guy who’s been recently coming around. He’s annoying, but Ryan trusts him and doesn’t mind that the dude only comes by for free shit.

I guess I’m kind of doing the same anyway.

Bobby is in a stained gray sweatshirt from the same high school I attended, except his says class of ‘07 on the front so I know he’s quite a bit older. “Oh good, she’s up. Thought I was gonna have to give her a second dose.” He waves a little plastic bottle before shoving it back into his pocket.

“What happened?” I ask, and just then, the bile rises up my throat. Jerking to a seated position, I push past Ryan, running into his kitchen just in time to spew my vomit into the sink.

I heave a few more times until only bile is left, along with its bitter aftertaste.

“You OD-ed.” Ryan’s voice is stern as he stands behind me.

I’m still bracing the sink, sweat glistening at my back and a cold chill wrapping around me. I don’t say anything. The vague memory of the day sets in, of me driving to Ryan’s at the peak of my high, of being offered another bump from his stash and graciously accepting it. Of nodding off in front of the TV.

“What time is it?” I ask him.

“It’s almost midnight. Vera, why did you overdose?” His voice is sharp, full of anger, disappointment, and all the things I hate from the people I’ve grown too attached to in my life.

“I don’t know. You’re the one dealing it out, Ryan,” I snap at him, though I know I’m the one fully in the wrong. “How was I supposed to know it was too much?”

“Bullshit. I gave you one little bump.”

Fuck.

“What else did you take, Vera?” When I don’t answer, his hand slams down on the counter next to me, making me flinch. “What else?” It comes out too loud of a yell, louder than my own father had ever gotten with me.

“I forgot, okay!” I cover my ears like a child, overwhelmed and overstimulated by his outburst, his emotions and the situation. “I took my pain pills for my wrist.”

“Shit,” he hisses, and I turn back to see him palming his face with frustration. “I should have known when you walked in here with that cast that they’d given you something for it.”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, hating that I’ve somehow put this burden on him. “I’m sorry. It was stupid and I won’t do it again,” I promise him.

“You sure won’t. You’re cut off.” He crosses his arms like he’s putting his foot down or something.

“What?” I explode. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He raises an eyebrow, like whatever I’m about to say is of no interest to him. “So fucking typical of you, Ryan. Get your little addicts all hooked so that you can cut them off. What’s your plan? Want me to beg you? Ask to pay double or triple for my next dose?”

His face falls flat. “If that’s what you think, get your shit and get out of my house.”

“Gladly,” I scoff, grabbing my wallet, my keys, and my phone and heading to my car.

I feel for the little baggie in my pocket, the one I came here to buy. It’s still there, and I sigh a little bit of relief in knowing that.

And a dreadful feeling wraps me up in something bitter.

I’m thinking about her so often that by the time Monday comes around, I’m desperate for practice. I hang around the rink all day, hoping she may show up for some time to herself. Work was a drag the previous day. Every time that front door swung open, I hoped it would be her coming through, but it never was.

She doesn’t look great when I see her, though. The same shitty braid I fashioned two days prior still hangs down her shoulder. She looks out of it, sickly and lackluster. Either she’s using, or this is the effect of not using. No one else seems to either notice or care, though.

I do.

Leonard forgives her for being slow and sloppy during practice, chalking it up to the injury and benching her for the remainder of practice. She looks pissed, and it's only slightly adorable. I take her place as jammer and get beside K-Otic, waiting for the blow of the whistle to start the jam, but Venice Witch is taking too long with her water break.

“Maddox,” K says amicably before placing their mouthguard back in.

I nod my chin at them, wondering if they’re going to ask about the other night. Surely, they’d already talked to Vera about it.

But they say nothing, and the whistle blows.

Already too used to blocking, I focus on the defensive instead of going for the win. We go a few more jams before Leonard calls it quits for the night, asking the skaters to line up for their measly little royalty checks from the last jam. It’s nothing, probably fifty bucks per player, but it’s enough to excite the skaters. Before this, we were paying dues monthly to keep the league going. Now, we’re getting paid.

I hate admitting it, but somehow, this asshole knows a little of what he’s doing.

Getting rid of him isn’t going to be so easy, but now, I’m not sure what my options are.

No one else here can help, and even if they could, the majority have their own very real problems to deal with. Skatium can’t be all of our burden to share. I look over at Vera again.

She’s a mess, falling apart.

Unraveling at the seams.

This grief devours you whole, and she’s in the belly of the beast.

Leonard hands Havoc her check first, letting her skip the line before he passes me one as well. I don’t focus on the rest of the players and what they do next. No, I zero in on the five-foot-nothing jammer skating toward the locker room.

We haven’t spoken since I tucked her into bed after the hospital.

Is she pretending that she was too out of it to remember? The thought itches at my skin. Like rink rash, she knows how to make me burn. I can’t tell if I hate it or love it.

In the locker room, her gear is already off and thrown in her bag, her helmet peaking out, the plastic dull and dented, like it needs to be replaced. She stands there, in front of her open locker, watching me remove my skates, but neither of us talk.

The tension is borderline fucking painful.

I want to speak, but I need to maintain some sort of control here.

She just stares, and eventually, every single piece of my gear is off and put away.

It’s the longest game we’ve played yet, and she plays it well. I tilt my head to the side, as if to say what’s next?

Stepping backwards, she keeps her eyes on me until she hits the wall behind her. She gives me a single look, pulls the curtain open in one of the shower stalls, and drops her clothes to the ground. First the fishnets, then the spandex shorts, and when the shirt goes, I have to remind myself to close my jaw.

She walks into the stall and leaves the curtain open. The only other skater in here is Bae, who’s got her earpods in and is facing a completely different direction. The others will be in soon.

Fuck it.

I pull my practice tee off and leave it on the bench before I do the same with my gym shorts and my underwear. Then, I walk in her direction, closing the curtain behind us.

Her back is to me, her casted hand lifted out of range of the water, and she doesn’t turn when she hears me join her. I wrap my fingers around her hips and pull her to me, one hand traveling north, up her side, while the other simply holds her.

She glues her back to me, like she can’t help but get closer. I pull her in even tighter, and when she feels my grip, she melts. My fingers twirl the hardened bead of her nipple as the other hand dances lower. She lets out a soft whimper just as I hear DreadPool’s loudmouth enter the locker room.

“Can someone tell Leonard to just shut the fuck up?” they yell like they’ve been holding it in all practice.

A trail of laughter follows, the rest of the skaters packing in behind them. “You were saying ‘thank you, daddy’ two seconds ago when he handed you your check,” Feral calls Dread out.

I don’t let them distract her, my fingers sliding through the sticky heat waiting for me. She’s so wet. Even with the water washing it away, she’s still soaked, her arousal dripping down her thighs.

Vera lets out a squeak when I spread her lips, sliding past her clit and pushing all the way inside, my fingers curving and hooking.

“Shh,” I whisper in her ear. “Do you want them to hear you?”

Their voices drown out in the background with their normal post-scrimmage conversations and plans for the night. The loud beating of the water makes it impossible to know what anyone is saying unless they yell.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t hear us .

I’m moving my fingers slowly, savoring the build up this time until I have her bucking her hips with each stroke. She’s moaning, and it’s nearly audible. If anyone is suspicious, they don’t make it known. The stalls are tall, but it would only take someone looking in the gap beneath the curtain to see both our feet.

I flip her to face me, lifting her up by her hips and pressing her against the wall. She instinctively wraps her legs around me, holding herself up. A desperate, hearty moan falls from her lips once I move my fingers inside her again.

I cover her mouth with my free hand, but within seconds, she’s wiggled enough to move it out of the way, biting it. Her teeth wrap around the outside near my pinky. She doesn’t make another sound; instead, she bites harder the closer she gets to her release.

I take it as a challenge. The more pain I feel, the harder I fuck her.

Her explosion is catastrophic, a tidal wave of pleasure that pulses through her so violently, I can feel it in my own soul.

Satisfaction.

It’s the only high I chase.

Somehow, it’s become intrinsically entwined into her existence.

I pull my fingers free once I feel she’s fully down from the climb.

Her eyes are locked on mine, and she hasn’t blinked. I lean closer, whispering a quiet hum in her ear. “Now go try to pretend like I didn’t just get you off again.” Letting her down, she gives me one last glance before she grabs a hanging towel and slides out behind the curtain.

I look at my hand, instant gratification at seeing the blood pebbling out from the mark her teeth left on my skin.

“I thought Mads was in the shower?” I hear Bae asking loud, her headphones probably still on.

“Oh—uh, I think she’s showering too.” Havoc’s voice trembles just outside the stall, and the smile curves itself on my face like it belongs.

I let my hand drift down, sliding my fingers, still coated in her cum as I reach between my folds. The relief is immediate of the weight that’s been there, slowly building all day like pressure at a dam waiting to be emptied. I bite my lip, stroking her arousal over my clit and dropping my head to my forearm resting on the wall. I can feel her teeth wrapped around my hand, and the sting of the water on the pebbling blood only makes my thighs clench around my fingers. It doesn’t take long, the image of her eyes fixated on mine while she came undone makes me tremble. Just the memory of her breathy pleas while my fingers were deep inside her—and I’m gone. I come quietly, letting the water go cool before I think about coming out again.

When I’m done and dried, the locker room is clear.

I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.

* * *

It’s Friday night practice now, and I’ve seen Vera Havik exactly two times since the bout. Monday and Wednesday. She’s making a habit of sneaking out of practice early enough to get in the shower before anyone notices, always leaving the curtain open for me to follow behind.

I make her come, she sneaks away, and by the time I’m done, she’s out of sight.

Tonight is no different. She has her teeth wrapped around my hand, her eyes lasered in on me while I fuck her with three fingers. She grips the wall, the shower caddy, anything to hold herself up as she comes undone with tonight’s orgasm.

But we still don’t talk.

I open the curtain, already wrapped in a towel, but I’m startled when I see MorningStar standing on the other side, waiting.

“Just so you know, I am one hundred percent invested in this.” She grins like an idiot.

“What are you talking about?” I give her a side-eye before walking back to my locker and pulling clean clothes from my bag.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we still in the pretending phase? We all assumed since you two were getting it on in the shower all week that it was fair game to talk about it.” She shrugs, staring off into the distance to give me something like privacy while I throw on my clothes. “We’re all talking about it, so I figured you’d at least want to join the conversation.”

I don’t answer her.

“Fine,” she says dramatically, like she’s the one exhausted of me . “But I’m thrilled. I think you’re perfect for each other.”

“Leave it alone, Lucy,” I warn her, not needing to complicate things any further by adding a peanut gallery to our situation.

They thrive on inner-team gossip, and there hasn’t been a relationship in the team since Venice and Lady Yaga screwed around that one summer.

At least they can stand to be in the same room again.

“I’m just saying, Vera needs someone like you, and I think you could benefit from someone like her too. Help pull out that stick you lodged too deep in your ass.” She gives me her cutesy smile, like she didn’t just deliver a wicked insult.

“She’s a mess,” I retort.

“Aren’t we all?” She crosses her arms, and I can’t help but agree.

Star waits for me. It’s standard to not let a skater leave the rink alone at night. The walk to the car is brief, but you never know when a weirdo might be lurking. The rest of the skaters have gone, but Vera is sitting on the hood of her car, biting her thumb nail as she stares at her phone. Her hair is unbrushed, tangled, haphazardly thrown into something like a bun at the top of her head.

Because she can’t do much else herself.

“Vera!” Star chirps, her tone full of dramatic suspicion. “What are you still doing here?” She gives me a sly grin and elbows me, like she thinks this is part of some plan between us.

“My car won’t start.” She huffs, and though she’s looking at MorningStar, it’s the first time I’m hearing her talk this week.

I’m desperate for her attention.

It’s a measly little crumb, and I devour it.

“Do you need a jump?” I ask, giving myself permission to initiate since it isn’t a conversation about us.

“That’d be great.” She just barely glances at me, and I’m not sure if it’s me or if it’s Star causing this reaction from her.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to each other then,” MorningStar sings as she opens the driver side of her PT cruiser.

Havoc is staring at her phone again, so I flip Lucy off while walking toward the trunk of my SUV. I grab the cords and get in my driver’s seat, pulling the car up beside Vera’s banged up little shit.

She’s off the hood now, sitting on the curb, still staring at her phone. The nervous energy vibrates offher, evident in the way she bounces her leg to self-soothe. I attach the ends of the jumper cables, and she gets in her car. We both let it charge until she’s satisfied it’ll run.

“Call me if you get stuck,” I offer, knowing she won’t.

She nods again. Nothing else said between us.

It’s torture.