In the Lion's Teeth: Second Edition

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning lingers — sitting at the dining room table in the corner of the kitchen over coffee and cranberry muffins, putting your coats and scarves on as you prepare to go outside. You take the long way back to tack an extra fifteen minutes onto your drive, and when Dona walks you to your door, again, you don't invite him up. Instead, you both stay, fingers brushing against hands and wrists, noses touching, kisses and half-kisses and almost-kisses.

But finally, you do have to go, and as you turn away to punch in the security code, he gently pulls you back into one more kiss and whispers, "Keep in touch. I'll call Wednesday so we can plan next weekend, but don't be afraid to call sooner, all right?"

You smile, and you nod, and the way your noses press together when you lean in to kiss him back is almost more intimate than the kiss itself. "Yeah," you murmur, still close, the warm wisp of his air on your lips.

"Let's try to plan a date sometime in the middle of the week, too," he says. "Just something small. Maybe coffee or lunch."

Your smile widens and you press your forehead against his, grounding yourself against him.

"I'll get in touch sometime before the weekend is over." And you promise it, even though he doesn't ask you to.

He smiles, and when you smile back, you laugh, too, in happiness you never thought you'd get to feel.

***

The next two months are made of up late nights at the hangar and early mornings on the library database and coffee dates with Dona grabbed in the middle of the day when you both have an hour to spare. The five hour spaces between doses keep you stable, but you end up having to up them from three a day to four to keep it in a constant stream, and you know you're going to hate yourself for it once detox weekend comes, but for now, you crave the silence and comfort the constant flow feeds you.

The week before spring break, you put in your ketamine order with Benji. Twenty-five milligram doses, since effects hit based on body weight and you're definitely in the underweight range for your height. They're $25 a piece, but now that you have steady work, you can afford some extra if it's not what you need.

"Can I sell any extra back to you if it doesn't work out?" you ask. Your fingers are tight, tapping rapidly on the bed beside your leg.

"Yeah," she says. "I know you're good. I'll find a way to move it."

"$200, then," you say.

"I'll have it in four days."

"Thanks," you sigh, but even as you do, your shoulders and your neck get tighter, tighter.

***

That Thursday, Benji knocks on your door, light, clipped, at 5:30 p.m., just as she'd promised.

You smile and nod at each other as she steps in and closes the door behind her.

"How are you going to go about this?" she asks. Her hands are stuffed in the front pocket of her hoodie. Her hair is a little longer than when you first met her, but not quite to the point of being a fringe yet.

"Clean," you say.

She hisses in sharply through her teeth.

"Yeah," you whisper. You run your hand over the back of your neck, down your throat. Settle it on your shoulder.

"I can try to get you some methadone," she says. "Make it easier. I can't promise, but I know some people I could ask."

You take in a deep, slow breath through your teeth as you consider.