Page 2 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

Two.

One.

I hit the final combination perfectly. I had one more section. One more minute. You can do this! I told myself. Saturday was supposed to be my filming day.

Normally, my mom, Amelia, came over in the morning and took my son Malik out for a few hours while I locked myself in the studio. Today, though, she had a weekend trip she’d planned weeks ago, and her text the night before reminded me of this. I’d told her not to worry, and I’d meant it even if I was still mentally trying to figure out how I would get this video recorded in time for it to go to publishing.

I had promised myself I would get this one finished before lunch, because if I didn’t, I’d be filming after Malik went to bed, and there wasn’t enough concealer in the world to hide that kind of exhaustion on camera.

The music pushed into the final chorus. I bounced into the next move.

“That’s it! Give me everything you’ve got!”

I gave it right along with them. My arms went up. My hips rolled. I stepped back⁠—

BANG.

I turned so fast my sneaker squeaked against the floor. Malik’s wheelchair had slammed into the studio door. For one awful second, all I could see was the chair crooked against the frame and Malik sitting stiffly in it, his hands gripping the wheels.

“Malik!”

I crossed the room in seconds, dropping the bright smile I’d been wearing for the camera as I crouched beside him.

“Baby, are you okay?”

His eyes were wide. I reached for his shoulder, then his head, checking every spot on him, rubbing and gripping to see if anything hurt.

“Did you hit your head?”

He just stared at me, then proceeded to clap his hands. I exhaled. He was fine.

“Okay.” I rubbed my palm over his shoulder. “Okay, good.”

The music was still going. It was time for me to count through the final eight-count, but I was kneeling beside my son in a puddle of my own sweat. I glanced toward the camera. The red recording light stared back at me, and I closed my eyes for half a second. There went that take.

I looked back at Malik. All that mattered was he was fine. Still, a tiny, exhausted part of me wanted to lay my forehead against the floor and stay there for the next five minutes.

Instead, I smiled at him.

“Come on,” I said, pushing myself upright. “Let’s get you out of here before your mother loses her mind.”

I reached for the wheelchair handles.

Behind me, the music finally ended.

I could do one more take, but that would have to come later.

2

elijah

10:42 A.M.

Monday

The human brain was the most intricate thing in the world to me.

One careless movement could steal a memory, take away a person’s ability to speak, or leave an arm hanging uselessly at their side. There was no room for restless hands inside an open skull, and no room for doubt.