2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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TW / Mentions of Assault, Drug Use
Yael frantically pawed through the pantry, hair still dripping from her shower. Flour. Why was there never enough? Ah-ha. She reached in and retrieved the bag of rice flour and swiveled to pour it into the mixing bowl. Her movements were jerky, her breathing shallow. Haustin had only been gone an hour and a half—an hour and a half where she had managed little more than a cold, bracing shower. Some of the flour dribbled over the side of the bowl, dusting the granite counter white. Her hands paused, the galloping in her head stilled, and she licked her lips. Closing her eyes, she felt the hot flash of cocaine rushing through her veins, brightening the colors around her, sharpening her muddled brain. All she had to do was walk outside and find a baggie on any corner of this city. Easy. Leaving the half-completed pound cake, she snatched her purse and rushed to the elevator.
The humid night air greeted her, punctuated by the scent of flowers and bread from the bistro up the block. Running on instinct, her eyes scanned the street, looking for anyone who may be holding. She swore under her breath. Wrong neighborhood. Nothing here but a man in skinny jeans walking his tiny fluffy dog, a woman stepping out of a Lexus, and a twenty-something man leaning against a building messing with this iPhone and illuminated by the streetlight. Granted, one of them probably knew where to score some coke or heroin. All she had to do was ask. She set off in the direction of the hipster on his cell, an ache pounding in her temples and her tongue practically drooling for the chemical aftertaste that came with getting high.
The heat from the day lingered and sweat trickled down Yael's back. Memories of dirty alleys and dirtier men surfaced, of waking up sore and confused. The young guy looked up and furrowed his brows.
"Are you okay, ma'am?"
"F-fine." She shook her head, finally breaking free of the spell she'd been under the last ten minutes. Shaken, she spun and sank onto an iron bench and covered her face with her hands.
What had she almost done?
Swallowing her tears, she fumbled for her phone, barely able to type in the commands to find an NA meeting. Nothing, dammit. Not for another hour and thirty-nine minutes. Yael bit her lip, thinking. Baking obviously hadn't helped. She sure as hell didn't want Miriam or Wendy to see her so weak. Casey? No, no way would she ever let him witness this side of her. The office. She'd go to Malkah Enterprises and bury herself in paperwork, maybe seek refuge in her dad's office. It was her only option. She did not trust herself to be alone in the apartment right now.
During the cab ride, still mired in the past, she recalled the time she drove into the heart of Compton looking for a hit. She'd talked to a guy, followed him into his house, and woke up hours later in an abandoned park, bruised and battered, sore between her legs. Chills erupted across her body and she buried the nightmare where it belonged. She was not going back there, no matter how bad the hunger got.
