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James turns around when he hears the door open, and is surprised to see Tasha wiping her feet on the doormat.
“Hi,” he says blankly, done with asking why she’s not attending the class he knows is currently on her schedule.
“Mmph.” Tasha halfway nods at him, then wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. She marches past the kitchen table where he’s currently studying a religious map of South Asia, then swings her backpack over her shoulder and removes a Walgreens bag, which she proceeds to unload onto the counter.
“What did you get?” James asks, sparing her a glance. “Gummi worms?”
Tasha scoffs. “No.”
“Eh, didn’t think so.” James gets to his feet and crosses to see what his little sister has brought home today.
Two bottles of cough syrup stand side by side in front of the toaster. Then there’s something prescription wrapped in a white paper bag.
“Interesting haul,” James comments.
“What? I have a cold.” Tasha sniffles loudly, and, James assumes, on purpose.
“Did you go to the doctor?”
“No.” Tasha’s tone begins to grow hateful. “Why are you harassing me, anyway?”
“Because I know you, and I know your scripts, and I know you’re not due anything.” James reaches for the white paper bag and tears it open, ignoring Tasha’s indignant, “Hey!”
“Oxy?” James stares down at the bottle, rolling it back and forth on his palm to be sure he’s read the label correctly. Thirty neat little painkillers, made out to none other than Tasha herself. His brow furrows as he looks up. “How’d you get your hands on that?”
“I don’t have to fucking tell you.”
“Well, you don’t get prescribed stuff off the top shelf for a goddamn cough.”
“You took it when you didn’t need it.” It’s a harsh blow, and one James didn’t think Tasha would swing. Not so soon into their argument, at least.
“Yeah, well.” He holds his prosthetic arm a little closer to his body, but decides not to actually say any of the comebacks that come to mind. That’ll just make matters worse. He’s used to being the bigger person, but this is even more of a strain.
“Hm.” Tasha’s lip curls, and she knows she’s hit a nerve. “Maria’s brother’s a tech. Looks like I got me a source. Or us, if you wanna get back to–”
“Hey, I never broke the law.” James holds out his hand for the bag anyway, his heart thudding as he thinks on the fly. He wishes Steve were there, someone with half a rational mind to take control of the situation and solve it for them.
James knows it’s going to end badly, but at this point, there is no telling that to either of them. The possibility of paradise is too close at hand. Literally. So he makes the most insincere of half smiles and buckles in for the ride. He’s going to have to fix this later. Might as well watch the creation of the disaster.
“What’s your dose?” James asks.
Tasha smiles and drops the paper bag into his outstretched hand. “Two. Plus a Xanax. And with the way I’m feeling, maybe a little red juice…”
James looks at her blankly. “You’re gonna puke.” Though the idea of the cocktail isn’t distasteful. He wonders where she keeps the Xanax.
Tasha shrugs. “Well, I’m sick.”
James sighs. “Fine.” He hands the bottle back to Tasha so she can open it, then murmurs, “Deal me three.”
_____________________________________
James leaves the bathroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. It’s been a long time since he rolled on oxy, and his old dose has done more than a number on him. His eyes feel gritty, and his salivary glands still burn with the threat of more sick.
“Too much?” Tasha asks with a blurry laugh when he wobbles back into the living room. “Or too much fun?”
“You’re having too much fun,” James says, nodding to the orange soda and cough syrup on the coffee table beside his little sister. She’s nowhere near sober, but he’s surprised how calm she is, not to mention aware, and not even vaguely nauseated.
“Nah, this is just regular.” Tasha flashes a grin and offers up her bottle of Sunkist. “You need rehydrating now.”
“Whoa, now.” James puts up his hands and takes a step backward. “Couple things here. You don’t get to look after me like that. ” He narrows his eyes. “And that shit tastes like ass and Delsym.”
Tasha puts the bottle down. “I only know what one of those tastes like.”
“You’re a twerp.”
“Your best one,” Tasha says.
“Huh.” James tips his head toward his shoulder, accidentally bringing on a rush of vertigo. “I guess you’re right.”
“And I guess you’re about to fall down.” Tasha gathers herself up and shifts down the sofa cushions to make room for James. “Here. The footrest on that recliner is probably too hard for you to work right now.”
She’s right, but James gives her the finger anyway. Then he flops onto the couch beside her and lowers his head practically to his knees, willing the sickening spinning to stop so he can have half a chance at enjoying the lightness of his body.
“You haven’t even cracked the Xanax yet,” Tasha giggles, pulling a small, dark bottle from her pocket. Her tone implies that she has, and that James is a pussy for cutting out after the first round of drugs.
“Yeah, and it’s just gonna make me barf again…”
“Might clear your head, though,” Tasha says with a shrug. “You’re looking awful guilty over there.”
“You mean just awful…” The truth of the matter is that half of what turns James’s stomach is the frustrated feeling that he’s broken his streak after so long, but there’s no way he’s telling Tasha that. There’s no discussing abstinence with her, for the word may as well not exist in any way, shape, or form.
“I mean, honestly.” Tasha bites her lip. “How long’ve you been clean?”
James scoffs. “You know I’m not clean.”
“Well.” Tasha rolls her eyes. “Cali clean? Into party stuff, but off the hard shit?”
“Um…” The calculation is hard to make, what with his brain stuffed with cotton. And even once he figures a rough estimate, he isn’t sure he wants to share it. “I’m not sure that’s so much your business, Tash.”
At that moment, the apartment door opens, and a windswept Steve walks in. “What’s not her business?” he asks, joining the conversation as if he’s been there all along.
James and Tasha exchange looks as Steve turns away from them to hang up his coat.
“Whatever it is,” Steve says, spinning around and taking his backpack to the kitchen table, “I’m on Buck’s side.”
“Ha, see?” James says, more than a little shakily. “I win. Not telling.” But the words rise into his throat with a gag and a splash of bile that have him quickly off the couch and halfway down the hall.
James slams his knees into the tile before the toilet and grasps the seat with both hands, one flesh and one prosthetic. A gush of fluid comes up, then the residue of things he doesn’t remember eating. He hangs his head over the porcelain bowl, panting, and trying to organize his brain into telling his body how to straighten up, wipe his mouth, and be a functioning human again.
“Buck?” There’s a soft knock on the door, and it opens a crack. Steve squeezes inside, then closes it again and latches it. “You ok?”
“Hm. Yeah.” James hurriedly uses his sleeve to clean up his mouth again, then flushes and hops to his feet, moves too quickly, and promptly loses his balance.
“Hey, ok.” Steve catches him around the middle and carefully lowers him back to the floor. “Just sit a minute, alright?”
“Hm.” James isn’t happy to oblige, but he doesn’t see any other options at the moment.
“D'you want me to help you get to bed?” Steve offers. “You feeling bad or something?”
“Yeah,” James says honestly, “But…” He shakes his head. “Gotta look out for Tash…”
“What were you guys doing?” Steve pulls off a length of toilet paper and sees to cleaning James up properly. “And what did you not want to tell her?”
Not seeing any point in hiding it from Steve, James sighs and mutters, “Oxy.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“No offense, but it looks like it’s kinda kicking your ass.” Steve half smiles and pets strings of sweaty hair off James’s forehead. “Not your usual poison?”
James pauses. “Not, uh, anymore.” He swallows, tasting the residue of sick and guilt. “Not something I’ve had a lot of chance to talk about.”
“Oh,” Steve says again. “And I’m guessing you’re probably not ready to change that?”
“Probably not yet.” James lets out a shaky breath and lets himself feel immensely grateful for the love and trust he has in Steve.
“Ok.” Steve nods. “Well, whenever you’re ready… You know.”
James blinks, then sighs. “Sure. Thanks.”