REM

Chapter 12- The hook up

Mrs. Grant stomped on the breaks, her car screeching to a halt. Her focus had been on the song on the radio and not on the road. She had almost missed where she was supposed to stop.

She put the car in park, and climbed out quickly, she didn't like to be in the neighborhood longer than she had to. It made her nervous, and she caught too many glares from strangers. And too many people asking her for her number, the hardest part about that? Answering that she was a married woman. But was she really? She had no husband to speak of. Eventually, she needed to get around to getting to the courthouse to get an official divorce, but it pained her greatly to even think of it.

She had always prided herself on being a trophy wife. She was a good cook, kept the house spotless, and maintained a part time job (which had since become full time), all while homeschooling their daughter. She was the only one willing to cook recipes for thirty during neighborhood  gatherings, other than Mrs. Nest, of course. So why? Why would he just leave her by herself?

Was she not a good enough person? Was she actually a bad wife? If she was, why wouldn't he have told her?

The frail woman let out a sigh. She hadn't realized that she was so entrapped in thought, and didn't notice how awkwardly she was standing next to her car. Her small clutch purse held tightly in her arms. The faded design still somewhat fashionable with her light pink jumpsuit, and heavily complimented  the pearls the woman donned on her neck and ears.

She started walking toward the tall brick building that was her destination. Her high heels clicking against the asphalt that made up the cracked, broken roads.

She approached the door of the building, it was white. Or at least it used to be, but it was splattered with some sort of a dirty brown substance, though it didn't look like dirt. There were a few barely noticeable bullet holes at the top. Mrs. Grant almost felt uncomfortable  knocking on the door, but seeing as how she'd  knocked on that door many, many times since Mr. Grant left, it was beginning to not be a problem.

She daintily rapped on the door with her petite knuckles, if you weren't on the inside specifically listening, you probably wouldn't have heard it at all.

But he was always ready. The door swung open almost immediately  "Aye shawty, knew you was coming."

Mrs. Grant's nose crinkled at the moniker. 'Shawty', so distasteful. A short, nervous laugh escaped her carefully lined red lips. "Hmm, yes. Hello to you too, Jeromy. So, I assume you know the reason for my presence?"

"Sho' thang Mrs. G, come on in," he turned his back, walking in, leaving Mrs. Grant to close the door after herself. Which she did, of course.

The building reeked of several different stenches. The most dominant of them being marijuana, which seemed to be poorly masked with air freshener. The walls were yellowed at the bases, and random splatters were riddled along the panels. The occasional insect skittered its was across the floor, finding home in one of the many piles of clutter.

Once up the set of stairs, Mrs. Grant made sure to keep an eye out for the one that caved in, she sat patiently in the bedroom. She really didn't want to, she didn't know what kind of vermin inhabited that bed, but Jeromy was very insistent with it. And with those types of people, the ones who have guns sticking out of their underwear, it was always smart to pay close attention to what they said.

"I'm assumin' ya want tha usual?"

"Yes, Jeromy. But add a bottle. Things have been rough lately." She dug in her purse, grabbing a handful of twenty dollar bills.

"Are you sure? That means it's going to be a hunned and sixty dollars," Jeromy tilted his head, raising a brow. Even drug dealers had morals, he was more than a little worried for her safety.

"Did I ask you how much it costs? I'm quite capable of adding fourty dollars to my usual order. Just prepare it so I can be on my way."

After some rustling in a few different drawers, Jeromy handed her a black plastic bag. "That'll be-"

"One hundred and eighty dollars." She stood, giving him the money. "And now I'll be be on my way," she waved. Walking away, she noticed how low his pants were, you could see all of his rear end in his faded blue boxers. "Jeromy, you must pull your pants up. You look like a thug," the sheer stupidity of what she had said hit her immediately after she spoke the words. "Never mind, carry on."

Mrs. Grant, once outside and resting comfortably in her car, popped one of the child locked bottles. "Come to mama," she whispered popping three of the high dosed pills. Almost immediately, she began to feel better, her mind clearing. She was whisked to some sort of serene state, her vision becoming more vivid and colorful.

"I don't know what I would do without you guys," she cooed, depositing the rest of the bottles into her glovebox for later use. And with that she started her journey home, every now and then a song would come on the radio that she knew and she would belt it out as loud as she  could.

Even behind the cloak of the pills, though, she was dealing with turmoil. Every now and then she would throw an ad-lib in. "I fucking hate your face, yeah, yeah!" It was amazing how it fit so perfectly with the song, it almost made her laugh. But for some reason, she couldn't contort her face enough to perform that action.

Once at home, she felt a bit better than she had the past day or two. She knew she would be better when she got paid, she just needed her fix. "Hey, Amaya," she walked over and sat by the young girl watching television. "Honey, I love you, okay, never forget that. None of any of this is your fault."

Authors note: hey! I haven't left a note in a while, how do you feel about what's going on? Is mrs grant helping herself, or is she just testing the waters until she inevitably falls in?

Please remember to vote and comment if you enjoy! ❤