The Drug Dealers Handbook

Chapter Twenty-Three

By the time Monday rolled around, I thought that I was going to blow my brains. I was going insane from just sitting and waiting, because no activity could distract me long enough to forget that James was in jail.

I volunteered to help Mariah and Ben leave the hospital and help her get situated once they were home, even though they insisted they didn't need my help. Mariah's mom was there when I showed up and it made me feel even more out of place, though I was greatful that they all acted completely natural while I was there. But even doing that only took a few hours before I was left with my thoughts again. 

And with my thoughts came the reminder of how much I hated Nat, how much I admired Spencer, and how much I blamed myself for James being arrested. 

It was my fault that Nat was around us so much; not that I ever thought she would do something like this. It was my fault that only he got in trouble and not I. It didn't seem right that I got off without so much as community service hours. If James were here he would tell me that I was an idiot if I thought that I was responsible for any of this. At least, I thought that's what he would say, but after him not calling me the entire day, I started to worry. 

Spencer had texted me earlier to tell me that James was out and had his hearing (thirty hours of community service). I'd called him right after, but he never answered and never called back. So why was he ignoring me? It was hard not to take it personally, even though I understood if he wanted time to himself. 

So that night, feeling defeated and upset, I headed to the park. It was the only place that I knew would be able to calm me down. It was the same place I had denounced my past and accepted my future. However, if I had known then that my future would cause me more heartbreak than the past, I probably wouldn't have gone through with the dramatics of burning my stuff. 

But either way, past or present, the park was still the only place that felt like it was mine. 

I spread a blanket down on the ground-- a big patchwork quilt my grandma made me before she passed away a few years back. My past. I opened up a big, industrial size back of Sour Patch Kids and thought of James telling me I was going to get fat off of them as I took a huge handful. I layed down and closed my eyes, hoping that if I actually closed myself off from the world, nothing in it could get to me. 

That was a joke even I didn't believe. Even so, it was enough to make me doze off. 

I wasn't sure how long I layed there. Or how I had even drifted off in the first place. I still had the sour gummies in my hand, sticky and no longer good. I threw them on the ground and wiped my hands on my jeans as I sat up. I wrapped my arms around my knees and looked around at the deserted playground. Despite the fact that it had been standing for years, the playground was in nearly perfect condition with no peeling paint. It was a reflection of the fact that no one else had been around here in years. That is, except for me. 

The loneliness of the playground only reminded me of how I sat alone. Not deserted, but secluded. My present. 

And as if on cue, a contradiction to the previous statement, my phone rang. 

"Hello?" I answered. 

"I have a message from James," Weston announced without a greeting. 

"What?" I perked up at the sound of his name. 

He gave me a pause for dramatics, one that was long enough to make me want to miraculously jump through my phone and pull out his nails one by one. I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't have been as painful as the silence he was giving me, and the silence James had been giving me all day. 

"What is your take on orange jumpsuits? And prison tatoos? Are you against James being someones bitch?" he said as if he were reading for the part of an infomercial voice-over.