Win or lose and everything in between

"Best dad ever"

I have lost my moral compass. I have come to realize that in recent years. Maybe I haven't lost it. Maybe I just don't care. Either way, when it comes to my personal morale I tend to put it aside. As long as I don't harm others then what's the problem. Maybe that's why I'm in a motel room with a random drug dealer and I only have a towel on and I need money and drugs are a very good source of income. Or maybe I just gave up on being good like everyone else. Or, trying to be good and having people think I'm bad.
I've never been one to do off the wall things and everyone knows that. They'd come more likely to believing I've been kidnapped and murdered than believing I've run away. Mother would be so disappointed if she knew the dangerous situations I've put myself in. But when isn't she disappointed. "Saint" is staring at me directly in my eyes And has been for a good five minutes. "Saint" is pretentious in an un-ironic way. "Saint" doesn't seem the least bit surprised.
"Are you from around here?"
"No."
"Why are you here."
"Personal reasons."
"I see." Saint says, lightly gnawing on his bottom lip.
"Where are you from?"
I debate answering his question. I debate it for awhile.
"Kentucky."
His eyes narrow at my answer.
"Makes sense."
"What does that mean?"
"It means it makes sense."
"How?"
"I know things."
"Of course you do."
"What does that mean?"
"It means of course you do."
He nods his head. I can't help but notice the scars around the inside of his elbow; right where they draw blood when you go to the doctor. Around the scars there's a tattooed picture frame and below it a small caption saying "Worlds best dad."
"Why do you want to sell drugs?"
"Nothing else to do." That was true, but I also needed money. Desperately. This is just gonna be a part-time gig.
He clicks his tongue.
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Where's your folks at anyway?"
"Back in Kentucky."
He nods his head.
"Where are yours?"
"On a little piece of land behind Cincinnati Baptist church. Or should I say below it."
It takes a moment to register what he said.
"Why do you sell drugs?"
"Nothing else to do."
I nod my head. I stalk back into the bathroom to put my clothes on. When I come back out "Saint" Is organizing a pile of needles, viles, and pills on the desk I was once sitting at.
"Woah, I said I'd sell the drugs not do them."
"So you're okay with selling them but not using them?"
"Exactly."
"Me too," He continues to organize the illegal contraband. "I'm just checking our stocks."
"Oh." I reply.
He lights up what appears to be a blunt.
"I thought you didn't do them."
"What, this?" He takes another drag. "This isn't a drug."
"Then what is it."
"Medication."
I nod my head.
"You smoke medical weed?"
"Yes."
"What doctor prescribed that for you."
"I did."
"So you're a doctor?" Sarcasm dripping off my words.
"By some peoples definitions," he looked up at me. "By my clients definitions, at least."
I remain silent, staring at his hair; so black it was almost blue. He pushed it out of his muddy green eyes and looked at me.
"Is either of your parents a cop?"
"No, Why."
He shrugs his shoulders.
"It just seemed right."
"What do you mean."
"Kids of cops are my main customers."
"I told you I don't do drugs."
"I know," he seems to be surveying my whole body. "What are your parents then?"
"Like what they do for a living?"
"Yeah."
"My mother stays at home."
"And your dad?"
"My dads an asshole."
"Is that a full time job?"
"Absolutely."
He laughed. I made the drug dealer laugh.
"Yeah my dad was the same. Before he and my mom kicked the bucket.
"How'd your parents die?"
"My dad killed my mom then himself.
"I'm sorry." See, this is why I don't talk.
"It's ok," he said genuinely. "My dad was an ass and my mom was a whore. What else were we supposed to expect?" He smiled. It was a weird time to smile. But I felt like he was trying to make me feel better for bringing it up. So I smiled back.
"When did you start selling drugs?"
"Right after they buried mom and dad. It was his business to began with and I needed money and his clients aren't ones I want to have bad blood with."
"Makes sense."
"So how old were you then?"
"13."
Fuuuuuuuck
"That's young."
"Yeah, but it gave me a head start."
"Don't you go to school?"
He laughed.
"Yeah me neither."
"Obviously."
"What does that mean?"
"You're in Ohio. I doubt you came here for more educational opportunities."
"Fair enough."
"Do you look more like your mom or dad?"
"Most people say my mom, but I never saw it."
He nods.
"Why?"
"No reason."