Chapter 20 #2
He slams his fist into the fence. Pain lances immediately through his shoulder, and with a cry, he drops it. But at least the pain has jarred him out of that suffocating feeling.
He sits in the grass, holding his shoulder. Tonight the ache is relentless. So bad, he might actually cry. He’s tired of hurting. He wants it gone, god, he wants to stop feeling this way for one fucking second.
And so, on impulse, Rajan tugs his phone out of his pocket and dials.
Zohra picks up. “Hello?”
“Come get me,” he says.
Rajan remembers his psych eval from juvie very well. Drug-seeking behaviours was noted in his chart early on. Probable substance use disorder.
In a way, juvie was like kindergarten, like he told Nick. There was finger painting. He did play a lot of basketball. Hell, he played the cymbals in the Christmas concert they put on. But they also did some serious shit while there. Therapy. Drug rehab. He got the “kicked the habit” sticker.
But the thing is, he’s not wired normal anymore.
Whenever something goes even slightly wrong in his life, he starts thinking about it again.
He knows it’s bad. He feels like a bad person right now, asking Zohra to take him to Nick, but that doesn’t stop him.
He’s so tired of fighting it. And for what?
Trying to set a good example for Sukha? That’s already failed. So who the hell is he suffering for?
Zohra picks him up in the ice-cream truck. She’s driving tonight, in a little black dress. She gives him a once-over when he clambers into the passenger’s seat. And clearly, she picks up on his mood. “Nick’s not at the café. He’s at Manny’s for a party.”
Nick has the good stuff. “Then take me to Manny’s.”
Zohra hits the gas without asking more questions.
Rajan’s used to her reckless driving and therefore knows to brace his shoulder against her sharp turns.
His father’s words, meanwhile, continue to echo in his mind.
They were too calculated to be spur-of-the-moment.
No, his father’s held his tongue for a long time.
Rajan’s reminded of the end of grade twelve, when he accompanied his mother to Surrey.
She was going to see new specialists for her transplant issues.
His father had work and his brothers had school; Rajan was the only one available.
His father begged him to stay out of trouble for once.
Rajan had scoffed. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. He could keep it together for his mom.
But, the move was hard. The appointments were painful.
Watching his mom waste away was excruciating.
It didn’t help that his aunt’s family, who they stayed with, knew his reputation and treated him like shit.
It helped even less that his mother never tried to defend him when they criticized him.
She was probably too exhausted, but it still hurt.
He took it for her sake. Sometimes he needed help staying mellow enough to do so. It was easy to get connected—and then, of course, he met Nick and Zohra. With them, he drowned his frustration in stronger ways. It was the exact opposite of the bare minimum his father asked of him.
Knowing that, Rajan supposes he should be grateful his father didn’t scream at him at the funeral.
At that time, his father hardly showed any emotion at all, not even when Rajan said he was sorry.
He just looked at the casket and told him the bank was taking the house.
And it would be best for everyone—particularly his brothers—if Rajan didn’t come back to Kelowna. At least until things “settled down.”
He did not elaborate on what “settled down” meant. He also did not look at Rajan as he said it. But, for once in his life, Rajan did as he was told.
He dropped out of the community college his mom had convinced him to enroll in.
He spent his days sleeping off the night before.
He regularly came home with blood on his shoes, wasted at all hours, and when he stumbled in one morning with an LS tattoo he didn’t remember getting, his aunt finally kicked him out.
Life accelerated; time loosened and flew.
His nights became a blur of jobs with Nick and Zohra, with his baseball bat and gun and the lines of coke Nick provided to keep him happy.
The only thing he remembers clearly is that he was good at what he did—at being a Lion.
It was the only thing he was ever truly good at.
Rajan’s pulled out of memories when Zohra says, “We’re here.”
They’ve driven up a long winding hill in a rich neighbourhood, the houses bigger and more sprawling the farther they’ve gone.
And now they’re at the gates of one of the grandest. Real fancy gates, too, with black statues of lions perched on stylized khandas.
Rajan stares at them as they pass. The irony of the Sikh symbolism in the LS isn’t lost on him.
Just like the Sikh warriors of old, they want you to feel like you’re part of something bigger.
Like a soldier fighting for a cause you would die for.
Except in the Lions’ case, it’s not a very good one.
He jumps out of the truck before Zohra has fully parked next to a bunch of BMWs. She catches up and grabs his hand. “Put your arm around me. We have to look like we’re together.”
He pulls away. “You and me are done, remember?”
“This is for you. There’s a lot of people here.” She leans into him. “You haven’t seen what it’s been like. After...you got arrested. What people think of you.”
“That what? I’m not loyal?” He rolls his eyes and presses forward. “Well, nobody’s killed me yet.”
Zohra doesn’t answer, just hooks her hand around his elbow.
They cross the manicured lawn. From what Rajan can see through the glass, this is a rich-people-only event. Diamonds glint from ears, pale champagne is passed hand to hand, and he catches a flash of white powder on a glass table. He turns to Zohra abruptly. “Where’s Nick?”
“This way.” She steers him away from the grand front doors, away from the curious eyes, and they circle around back until they reach a service entrance.
The music is quieter here. Once inside, she leads him up a staircase.
In different circumstances, Rajan might be intrigued by the bird’s-eye view he now has of the party scene below, but today, he’s more interested in where they finally come to a halt: a door with a lion’s crest.
Nick opens it at Zohra’s knock, lit joint in hand. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Rajan behind her. “I don’t have a job for you yet, it’s only been a few hours.”
Rajan steps forward. Now that they’re face-to-face, a different question has sprung to mind. “Is my brother in the Lions?”
The only indicator of Nick’s surprise is a slow blink. After a moment he says, “Rajan, you know I don’t keep track of every low-level shithead in the Lions. Especially not in Kelowna. Or have you forgotten I’m only here temporarily?”
Rajan honestly cannot tell if he’s lying.
But then again, he’s got a point. When Rajan was younger, he, too, was on the fringes.
Running drugs, doing dirty work. People didn’t know him.
He was expendable. That was part of why he worked so hard to get known.
And it didn’t really happen until he met Nick.
Rajan narrows his eyes at the thought. “If you ever come near him, I’ll kill you.”
Nick yawns theatrically. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go away.”
He starts closing the door, but Rajan sticks his foot in the way. “Wait. That’s not...what I’m here for.”
Nick scans his expression. Rajan doesn’t know what he sees, but whatever it is makes him turn to Zohra. “You brought him here why?”
“You know he doesn’t stop when he gets like this.” She sounds slightly defensive. “Better he uses with us than somewhere else.”
“Well, too bad. I don’t have anything.”
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 not heroin.”
“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 clichéd drug 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 me something.”
“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.”