Chapter 7
SEVEN
NAOMI
I grab my phone with trembling hands, ignoring the texts and calls from Brandon and instead hit Blake’s contact.
She answers on the second ring. “NayNay? Wh?—”
“B. I—” The words catch in my throat, shattering as I force them out. “I-I did it again.”
A rustling sound, then the jingle of keys. “Where are you?”
“Home.” I slide down against the kitchen cabinet, wrapping my free arm around my knees. “It’s getting worse.”
“Don’t move. I’m coming over.” Her voice sharpens with urgency. “Stay on the phone.”
“Can’t.” The pressure builds. “Gotta go.”
I lurch toward the bathroom, my phone slipping from my grip and clattering to the floor. My knees follow as I hunch over the toilet, shoving my fingers into my mouth. Inside me, everything twists and lurches.
It’s like a fist squeezing everything up and out—chips, rice, and all the other stuff while shame stays rooted deep inside.
You’re fine. I’m fine.
I’m disgusting.
Please, B.
She’ll be here now any second and make this go away, at least for a little while. She has to.
I gag again, retching until there’s nothing left, until I’m hollow, aching, and too fucking exhausted to do anything but crumble against the wall. My face is damp with tears, snot, and whatever else clings to me.
Please.
The front door slams. Keys clatter.
“Nay?” Blake’s voice echoes through my apartment. “Where are you?”
I curl tighter into myself.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Her boots appear in my peripheral vision. “NayNay?”
I lift my head. Blake stands before me, her red hair a mess, dark circles ringing her eyes, and a silver sequin dress barely reaching mid-thigh.
“You look like shit,” I say.
“Says the girl on the bathroom floor.” She slides down next to me, her shoulder bumping mine. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Your mom?”
Silence is my only reply.
“Fuck.” She pulls out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “I’m calling Brandon.”
I grab her wrist. “Don’t.”
“He should?—”
“He’s drunk.”
Her fingers pause. “And I’m high. Your point?”
“B…”
“Fine.” She pockets her phone, then wraps an arm around my shoulders, gluing me to her side. “This is non-negotiable.”
I huff out a breath and sink into her warmth, letting it wash over me like rain on a parched desert, resting my head on her shoulder as her fingers comb through my hair with such tenderness it feels foreign and sacred at once.
“Remember when we used to hide in your room and smoke pot?” Blake says. “God, we thought we were so cool.”
I manage a weak smile, a fragile thing that feels almost foreign on my lips. “You were the cool one. I was just the nerdy sidekick.”
“Shut up.” She flicks my ear. “You were never just a sidekick. More like the mastermind behind all our schemes.”
“Because you totally needed my help to charm your way out of trouble.”
“True. I was pretty irresistible.” She pauses. “Seriously though, Nay. This shit with your mom… it’s not okay.”
Every muscle tenses like a coiled spring ready to snap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She shifts closer. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“I’m handling it.”
“By puking your guts out every night?”
“Fuck off.” I try to break free, but she holds firm.
“Nope.” Her eyes lock onto mine fiercely as if trying to reach into my soul and pull out the uninvited shame. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A sob wrenches from my throat, raw and ugly. “B.”
“I know.” She cradles my head, her arms strong and steady around me.
I cling to her, my fingers digging into her back. She smells like home, like safety. Like the only fucking constant in my life.
“Remember our pact?” she murmurs into my hair. “No matter what. It’s you and me against the world.”
I let out a watery laugh. “We were kids.”
“So? Doesn’t make it any less true.” Her thumb brushes away a tear. “I’ve got you, Nay. Always.”
She’s here. No matter how much I try to push her away, she’ll just push right back. Because that’s who she is. Who we are.
“Come on.” She rises, hauling me up alongside her. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I let her guide me to the sink, watching numbly as she wets a washcloth and gently wipes my face. She’s careful, her touches soft and soothing.
“There.” She sets the cloth aside. “Better?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah, well. Baby steps.” She takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Sooo, we still hate Brandon?”
“I can’t deal with him right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it fucking does.” She squeezes my hand. “He cares about you.”
“He cares about the idea of me. The perfect girlfriend, the trophy to hang on his arm at events. Not…” I gesture at myself, at the mess I’ve become. “Not this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” I turn to the mirror. “He looks at me and sees everything I’m not. Everything I can never be.”
“Naomi.”
“I’m not you, B. I can’t just… turn it off and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not.”
“I’m not asking you to.” She grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet her gaze. “I’m asking you to let someone in for once in your goddamn life. He’s been up your ass since college. But you… You would rather abandon him before he could abandon you.”
“He did abandon me.” I blink back tears. “And I let you in.”
“Yeah.” She snorts. “And look how well that’s turning out. I’m not enough, Nay. I can’t be.”
“You’re my best friend.” I pull away from her, my legs steadier than I feel. “You will always be enough for me.”
“And you are mine.”
She follows me into the kitchen, kicking an empty chip bag out of her path. “You two are more alike than you want to admit.”
“We’re nothing alike.” I grab a cloth, wiping down the counter with sharp, angry strokes. “He’s?—”
“Just as fucked up as you are?” Blake starts gathering the wrappers, shoving them into a garbage bag she pulls from under my sink.
“Can we not?”
“Fine.” She cinches the trash bag tight. “But only if you let me make you tea and actually fucking drink it this time.”
“I’m not?—”
She pulls out her phone. “Either you drink and keep it down, or I call Bran Bran right now.”
My fingers form fists. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s friendship, bitch.” She waves the phone. “Your choice.”
“No lectures about eating?”
“I’m too high to be motivational.”
“Fine.” I open the cupboard. “But I get to choose it.”
“As long as it stays in your stomach, I don’t give a fuck what it is.”
My fingers brush past Earl Grey, English Breakfast, until they find the yellow box tucked in the back. Chamomile.
I fill the kettle, the familiar motions grounding me.
Blake hops onto the counter. “Should we smoke?”
“Oh no.” I almost smile. “Remember when you convinced me it was a good idea to hotbox my bathroom?”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” She swings her legs, hitting the cabinets with a rhythmic thud. “First time I saw you actually relax.”
The kettle whistles, and steam rises as I pour water over the tea bags, the scent hitting me like the memory of the first time I met Blake.
“I was sixteen, crouched in the school bathroom, cold tiles biting into my knees.
Jason Parker’s words still echo in my head.
Who’d want someone like you? His laugh followed, his friends joining in, their cruel snickers cutting deeper than the words themselves. You’re not even pretty enough to be a pity date.
I wasn’t pretty enough. Thin enough. Enough.
And he was right. I am unlovable. How could anyone love someone like me? Who watched Anne lose everything and said nothing?
Even my parents can barely stand me. Dad looks right through me in meetings, his eyes lighting up only when Mykel enters the room. Mom… well, she made her choice that night in the garage. I’m just collateral damage.
And a person I thought was my friend told Jason about my crush on him, and so I hid in the bathroom.
I thought I was alone, but I wasn’t.
Blake was there. She was everything I wasn’t. Beautiful, confident, and the kind of girl who was destined to be prom queen.
But there was something else, too. A darkness behind her eyes, a sharpness to her smile.
“You’re Naomi, right?” She knocked on the stall door.
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, but I was too scared to speak.
“Come out.” Her voice was different than I expected, not mocking, just… tired. “I’ve got something better than crying.”
I wiped my face with toilet paper, the cheap kind that fell apart. “I’m fine.”
A thud against the door. “Trust me.”
My fingers trembled as I unlocked it to peek outside.
Blake sat cross-legged on the floor, her designer jeans collecting bathroom dirt. She pulled a joint and a lighter from her bag.
“You smoke?” I asked.
“Sometimes.” She patted the space next to her, then her temple. “When everything gets too loud in here.”
I sat beside her, our shoulders touching. “Won’t we get caught?”
“Please.” She lit it up, the flame dancing in her green eyes. “Nobody checks the third-floor bathroom during lunch. That’s why you’re here, too. Isn’t it?” She took a drag, then offered it to me. “Besides, what’s the worst they can do? Call our parents?”
My throat tightened. “I’ve never…”
“Here.” She demonstrated. “Just inhale slowly. Hold it. Then let go.”
She offered it to me again, and I took it.
The smoke burned my lungs. “It’s disgusting.” I coughed, eyes watering.
“There you go.” Blake grinned, but it wasn’t mean. “First time’s always rough.”
“That’s what she said.”
Her laugh echoed off the tiles. “Holy shit, she makes jokes! And here I thought you were just another stuck-up rich bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Touché.” She took another hit. “So, Jason Parker, huh?”
My smile faded. “You heard?”
“Everyone heard.” She passed the joint back. “He’s an ass and a cheater.”
“He’s not wrong though.”
“About what? That you’re not pretty enough?” She scoffed. “Please that guy wouldn’t know what pretty is if it looked him right into his eyes. All that guy cares about is sex.”
“Easy for you to say.” Even with smeared eyeliner and yesterday’s clothes, she was beautiful.
“Easy?” Her eyes narrowed. “You think because I look a certain way, my life is perfect?”
“No, I ? —”
“Let me tell you something.” She stabbed out the smoked joint on the tile. “My parents adopted me because I looked like their dead daughter. Do you know what that’s like? To be someone’s replacement?”
I stared at my hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She pulled out another joint. “Just don’t assume shit about people. We’re all fucked up in our own ways. Some of us just hide it better than others.”
The second hit went down easier, the bathroom’s fluorescent lights softened, and the knot in my chest loosened just a fraction.
“You know what we should do?” Her smile turned wicked. “We should get revenge.”
“On Jason?”
“Hell yeah.” She bumped my shoulder. “Nothing major. Just… maybe his car needs a new paint job?”
I almost choked on the smoke. “We can’t.”
“Why not? Afraid daddy will get mad?”
“No, I—” I thought of another garage, another secret. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Blake’s expression shifted, something understanding flickering in her eyes. “Okay, no revenge. But we’re definitely getting high and watching terrible movies this weekend.”
“I can’t. I have to study.”
She grabbed my hand, her grip firm but gentle. “You’re coming over. We’ll order pizza, paint our nails, and forget about all this crap for one night.”
“I don’t ? —”
“This isn’t a request, NayNay.” The nickname slipped out naturally, like she’d been calling me that forever. “You need a friend. And lucky for you, I’m excellent friend material.”
“I’m sure you have enough friends.”
“Not real ones. You think I don’t know what they say about me behind my back? That I’m a bitch, a slut, a freak?”
I didn’t know what to say. And she didn’t need me to.
We became friends. Sisters in a way.
Two weeks later, she showed up at my window with a joint and a bottle of cheap vodka. We sat on my bathroom floor, passing both back and forth until the world went soft at the edges.
“Your mom’s a piece of work,” Blake said, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling fan. “Saw her at that charity thing last week.”
I took another hit, holding the burn in my lungs. “Yeah.”
“Is that why you do it?” Her eyes found mine. “The vomiting?”
The smoke came out in a rush. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She clapped on my back. “Next time. Come find me first.”
“Why?”
“Because fuck them, that’s why. We gotta stick together.”
“Nay?” Present-day Blake holds out a steaming mug. “You went somewhere else for a minute.”
I take the tea, letting the warmth seep into my palms. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You annoying me in the third-floor bathroom.”
She grins, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Best decision I ever made.”
“You were high then, too.”
She clinks her mug against mine. “Some things never change.”
No, they don’t. The guilt is still heavy. The secrets still burn. But at least I’m not alone.
“Drink your weak-ass tea. Then we’re ordering. I’m hungry.”
“B…”
“Non-negotiable.” She flops onto my couch, spreading out like a cat. “I’m too high to argue, and you’re too fucked up to win.”
Some battles aren’t worth fighting. Not when you’ve got someone in your corner who knows all your scars and stays anyway.