Author's Note - About the Spanish parts - I speak Spanish about as well as Kit does, which is to say pretty poorly. I did my best with the grammar, but please forgive any clumsy sentences.
Trigger warnings - discussions of domestic violence (not perpetrated by any main character), self harm, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, negative self talk, and mental illness. I try to handle these topics with care, but please remember that these are characters talking about themselves. They are not always going to be as careful with their language as I would be talking about mental illness in any other context. If you find any of it too hard to read, please click off and know I have no hard feelings <3
If you are or someone you know is struggling call or text 988 for the Suicide Lifeline in the US. For other countries, dial your local emergency number for local resources. Take care of yourselves!
8
Teddy
Ben called me the minute my shift was over. That wasn't like him. Ben avoided phone calls at all costs.
"Hey, everything ok?" I answered.
"Ted, can you come by the shop and talk Kit into going home?" Ben said quietly.
"Is she ok?" My stomach had dropped somewhere below my boots.
"Um, she says she is, but she almost passed out twice now and I'm pretty sure she's been throwing up," Ben told me. "Look, it's not my business, but is she pregnant?"
"No," I told him firmly. I knew exactly what was going on. Kit had agreed to try medication and it was, so far, not going well. "It's a medical thing she's figuring out. I'll come talk to her. Just, uh, see if you can get her to sit down until I get there."
I got to Steamed and found it very quiet. A few regulars were at the usual tables. The skinny, tall kid who sprayed art around downtown nodded to me from the patio as I passed. Ben jerked his head at the stockroom but didn't walk away from the short line he was attending to.
I found Kit on the floor with her head on her knees. She jerked up when I opened the door and tried to jump to her feet, but I had to catch her when she stumbled. She leaned into my chest and buried her face in my sweaty tee shirt.
"Hey, let me take you home," I said gently. She shook her head and shuddered against me.
"I want to work," she whimpered quietly.
"You can work tomorrow. Come on. You want to come stay with me?" I offered. Truthfully, I didn't want to leave her alone. Ben's description of her nearly passing out and the way her legs folded under her when she jumped up had me worried.
"What is the point of any of this? I feel worse than ever, only now I can't do anything about it," she said. The defeat in her voice felt sharp and cold, like a razor blade.
"It will get better, beautiful," I tried, but she just shook against me and released a tiny, strangled sob. "Your shift is almost over. Ben has it handled. Come on, I'll make you whatever you want for dinner."
"I can't keep anything down," she said miserably.
"I'll get you some saltines and ginger ale?" I offered. "That's what my white grandma always gave me."
"What did your Mexican grandma give you?" she asked. I took the hint of curiosity from her and ran with it.
"Menudo or pozole," I answered. "I love both of them, but your mileage may vary on menudo. It's soup with tripe."
"Tripe, like, um," Kit looked up at me. Her eyes were bloodshot with heavy dark circles under them, "stomach, right? I like trying new things, but maybe another time. Saltines and ginger ale are the traditional sick foods of my people. But I still want to finish my shift."
"Ben wants you to go home," I pointed out.
"I hate being useless," she said and pushed her face back to my chest.
"You aren't useless. You're just sick. Come on, we can take your car," I said.
"I walked here," she mumbled into my chest.
"You walked here? Like this?"
"Seemed safer than driving," she shrugged.
"Can you ride on the back of my bike like this?" I asked doubtfully.
"Sure, but first I'm going to finish putting this shit away," she said and pointed behind her at the box of supplies she had apparently been putting away.
"Ok," I said and let her go. I leaned against the doorframe and watched her slowly moving items from the box to the shelves.
"Are you just going to watch me? Go get a coffee. I'll be done in a bit," she said with a laugh.
"Yeah, no. I'm not leaving you in here to pass out and hit your head. I already caught you once," I said. Kit rolled her eyes.
Ben stuck his head in a few minutes later and gave me a questioning look. I gestured to Kit and shrugged helplessly.
"Kit? Why don't you go home? Take tomorrow off if you need it," he said.
"I need this job, Ben," she said quietly. She had one hand locked on the shelf in front of her with her knuckles white with the intense pressure of her grip.
"You have this job. Go home until you feel better," he urged her.
"I don't know when that will be and I can't live on part time hours," she said stubbornly. "This is, I, uh fuck. It's complicated."
"Then do what you can and take the out when I offer it. We'll figure it out while you figure it out," Ben said pointedly. "This is my coffee shop and you make the best coffee by far. I'm not going to fire you."
"I can't do this anymore," she mumbled. "Teddy, I have to stop. I can't lose everything just to hope this will help."
Ben looked at me with his eyes wide. I gritted my teeth and sighed.
"Kit, can I just tell Ben what's going on?" I asked her quietly. She sat on the floor again and pulled her knees up to lower her head before she nodded. "She's trying to work out some medication changes."
"Oh," Ben said. He relaxed and shook his head at the drama of it all. "Yeah, that shit sucks. I switched out my SSRI last year and was on my ass for a few weeks. Kit, take two weeks. I'll put you on paid sick leave."
"I don't have two weeks of sick leave," she mumbled.
"Yeah, ok, I'm the boss. I'll give it to you," Ben said and rolled his eyes. "I'll work opens alone like I used to for a minute. It's fine."
Kit looked up from the floor and squinted at Ben. I knew that look. She had no flight in her fight or flight. She was trying to decide if he was pitying her or just being a good friend.
"Or don't take it and pass out in the middle of the shop. I'd rather send you home until you get this sorted out than pay worker's comp and lose my best barista to a brain injury, but I guess it's your decision," Ben scoffed at her suspicious glare.
"Ok," Kit sighed. "I'll be back in two weeks."
...
