Lucky sat up just in time to retch over the toilet. She produced long, guttural croaks that seemed to come from the deepest part of her belly. Her body shook violently as she dry-heaved some more. Bonnie winced; it hurt just listening to her. Lucky crawled away from the bowl and sat back against the low tub, wiping a tendril of saliva from her mouth. Her hands were trembling.
“Nothing left in me,” she said between shallow gasps.
Bonnie swallowed, trying to keep her voice even and unemotional.
“That should stop soon. How many times have you thrown up this morning?”
Lucky rested the back of her neck against the curved lip of the tub and closed her eyes.
“A million.” She rubbed a hand roughly over her face. “And I haven’t shit in three days. Can you type that in too?”
“Sure.” Bonnie did another search, but it just took her to more tips from rehabs. “Could you eat something?”
Lucky shook her head without opening her eyes.
“What else does it say?”
Bonnie scanned the list.
“Take a cold shower.”
Lucky winced as though the icy droplets were already hitting her skin.
“Just let me rest here,” she said. “Can I do that?”
Was it right to push her? Bonnie didn’t know. She hated making Lucky do anything she didn’t want to do, but was that only “enabling” her, as Avery would say? She kept reading down the list on the rehab’s website until she got to the final point. If there is one thing to remember when going through withdrawal it is this: Lean in. When pain presents itself, don’t allow yourself to numb the pain and make it go away. Lean in and take a stand against your addiction.
Bonnie nodded slowly as she read. Leaning into pain, that she knew how to do. Surely, if anyone was going to help Lucky through this, it should be her, who had made a life out of pushing past physical limits. She took a deep breath and knelt in front of Lucky, scooping her up under each of her arms, like she used to when Lucky was a baby. She lifted her tall, bony sister with ease.
“What are you doing?” wailed Lucky.
Bonnie pinned Lucky’s body to her chest so she wouldn’t slump back down. She felt sharp and breakable as glass.
“You’re taking a shower,” she said. “And you’re going to eat something.”
Lucky pulled back to look at her, so her face was inches from Bonnie’s. Her breath was sour and her lower lip trembled, just as it used to when she was a little girl on the verge of tears.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can,” said Bonnie. “I’m going to help you.”
Bonnie undressed her youngest sister with the greatest care. She thought of a painting she had once seen being installed at the Met, how the handlers had worn white cotton gloves to unwrap the padded casing, their fingers skimming the surface of the gilt frame with a tenderness that felt reverential. That was how cautiously she tried to handle Lucky, like she was the most precious piece at the Met. She gently peeled her T-shirt over her head, ignoring the tang of sweat that wafted from it.
“Sorry if I stink.”
Lucky offered her a self-conscious smile. Bonnie dismissed this with a wave.
“You should smell the guys at the gym.”
She knelt to shimmy Lucky out of her jeans. It felt like something devotional, like a prayer. Lucky rested her hands on her shoulder to step out of the fabric scrunched at her feet. Her legs were milk-white and bruised. Once she was in her underwear, Lucky tapped Bonnie softly.
“I can take it from here.”
Bonnie stepped outside to give her some privacy, waiting on the other side of the door until she heard the burst of shower water. She headed to the kitchen to see what they had to eat that Lucky could keep down. Fortunately, she had stocked up on electrolyte drinks, eggs, fruit, protein bars, and big plastic buckets of spinach before Lucky arrived, food well suited for bulking up and, it turned out, drying out. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. If she could just get Lucky settled, she’d still have time to eat something quickly, then head back to the gym. She picked up a Gatorade—the blue flavor, Lucky’s favorite—and snapped a banana from the bunch.
In the bathroom, Lucky was standing in a towel, her teeth chattering. Bonnie still wasn’t used to her sister’s new bleached pixie cut. Her own dirty-blond hair turned dark when damp, but Lucky’s remained unchanged by the water, hanging from her head in wet peroxide-white spikes. She glared when Bonnie came in.
“I’m freezing,” she said between chatters.
“Here, get started on this.”
She handed Lucky the Gatorade and banana, grabbed the hairdryer from under the sink, and led Lucky to the main bedroom. There were only two bedrooms in the apartment; the larger one, which had originally been Bonnie and Avery’s but later became Nicky’s, and the smaller, which had previously belonged to the younger two. This room had a queen bed and vanity; its bobbly cream carpet was stained from years of use. The other still housed the bunk beds all four of them had slept in at some point during their childhood, along with a dusty workout bike and Bonnie’s first punching bag. Bonnie plugged in the hairdryer and sat down on the bed, motioning for Lucky to sit between her feet. The dryer roared to life in her hand as she ran it over Lucky’s head, rubbing her scalp with her fingertips to loosen the wet clumps.
“Keep sipping that Gatorade,” she called over the wail of hot air.
Lucky dutifully cracked the lid and tilted her head back to swallow a mouthful of synthetic blue liquid, then took a small bite of banana. Bonnie fumbled around her head like a bear pawing at a beehive. As it dried, Lucky’s hair turned soft as dandelion seeds in her palms. Once she felt satisfied that Lucky would no longer catch a chill, Bonnie turned off the dryer and restored the room to silence. She cupped her sister’s skull in her hands and awkwardly kissed the top of her head.
“All done. Shall we get you into bed?”
She helped Lucky into a large T-shirt and pair of sweatpants from her messy duffel bag, then pulled the covers up to her chin. Only her pale narrow face was visible, tiny amid the mounds of pillows and bedsheets. Bonnie tucked her in and watched as Lucky’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Sorry for being a pussy-ass bitch about all this,” Lucky said, her eyes still closed.
Bonnie snorted softly.
“I didn’t expect to feel so bad,” Lucky added.
“Yeah, you must have been…” Bonnie tried to think of the right words. “Hitting it pretty hard?” she landed on, immediately feeling like a loser.
