"Thought you guys weren't doing this shit anymore," Antonio takes a good sized baggie from under the register. "Its only for emergencies," I assure him, slipping him a hundred dollar bill. Unable to resist the money, he slides the baggie beneath his hand, making sure nothing is viewable on the security footage. Relief floods my synapses as I feel the baggie slide up the sleeve of the black hoodie I've started wearing. Pointing to it, Antonio wears a look of mild confusion. "Little warm for a sweatshirt, ain't it?" Avoiding his eyes, I brush it off. "My hairs growing in all awkward; I like the hood." Antonio isnt stupid; guilt clouds his features, but I give him a quick peck on the cheek and tell him I'll see him my next shift.
Collin's waiting in the parking lot. Hopping into the passenger seat, I tell him to drive to the abandoned theater in the next shopping complex, then reach into the dash board and pull out my jewelry box. Inside is an assortment of paraphernalia; small baggies, medium baggies, tinfoil, straws, syringes, spoons, q-tips, even a mini scale. I take out a medium baggie and dump half of the drugs into it. "This one is gonna stay hidden in our room and ONLY used for an emergency," I remind him. Nodding, he turns into the empty lot and parks in a spot closest to the overgrown shrubbery. Killing the engine, the only sound is that of me preparing a spoonful of heroin to be sucked up into two syringes. The entire thing is a process; every second feels like the longest build up and I know Collin is starting to get hard. Once the H is ready, I fill up his rig then my own as he ties a belt around his arm. "Ima need you to hit me," he confesses, leaning his arm over the center console for me. "It took me like half an hour just to find a spot last time." My heart jumps to my throat.
"I fucking hate doing that, Collin," I whine, knowing damn well I'm going to. Putting my needle down on the dashboard, I take his from his hand, find a vein, stick the needle in it, draw back a tiny bit, then plunge it all in. Collin's head rolls back and his eyes flutter shut. I can feel my brain buzzing and I know it's good shit. Antsy to feel the same, i roll up my sleeve and dont even bother to tie myself off; we've gradually been doing this method more often and it shows...
"Antonio's getting worried," I tell Collin, my head resting on the seat. "Yeah, well, a sweater in the summer is kinda suspicious," Collin's voice is heavy with the effects of the drug. Unable to articulate, I rest everything for just a minute. A blanket of comfort envelopes me and it's not worth the conversation to disturb this moment. Afternoon becomes evening before we come down enough for Collin to drive. "Dont forget," I start. "We gotta stash this one." I lift the baggie and Collin just nods. "I know, babe, I know. Emergency stash." He kills the headlights and we head inside.
Led Zepplin plays in the background as I bury the heroin deep in our underwear drawer. "Super obvious," Collin calls from the bed. "I'm not trynna lose it, dumbass!" I laugh. "Just... outta sight, outta mind," picking up the pack of smokes, I toss one to Collin then plop onto the bed next to him. Collin itches his face, a scab forming on the tip of his nose. "Stop it," I swat his hand. "You're fucking your face up." Snorting, he holds up the drug crusted mirror to my face. "Have you seen yourself?" It takes me a minute to recognize the face staring back at me. Dark circles surround my eyes; my cheeks are sunken in and covered in open sores from scratching absentmindedly; my hair is long enough that it's starting to curl and I'm as pale as Collin. "Oh fuck," I whisper. "Yeah," Collin drops the mirror. We sit in silence, the only sounds coming from the scratch of the razor on the mirror, the snorting of the powder up our noses, and the gulp as we swallow the drip. Finally, Collin clears his throat, "We just gotta get outta here babe; leave everything, pack a bag, get a hotel room and sleep it off. Take a break from it all. Don't bring shit with us except for some weed. Grab some booze along the way to help us sleep." Mulling it over, I look over at him with pride. "You're fucking BRILLIANT, baby! What time is it?!"
"What, now?"
"YES, NOW!" I scramble to find my phone. "Its 8:30; we set up a shot, put it in our box, drive to the hotel, check in, take the shot so that were set for the night, relax a little, sleep it off and just smoke weed in the morning for the withdrawal! It wont be so bad!" Optimism laces my words and my memory glosses over the last time I withdrew from the shit. "Yeah..." Collin plays with the tear in his jeans. "Fuck it, let's go! We need a break; but leave all the heroin here." Nodding adamantly in agreement, I jump up from the bed, pull on a pair of black sweatpants, a clean tank top, and a black hoodie. "Let's go!"
"Why did we leave the fucking heroin?" Collin sits in the edge of the bed, his hands covering his face. "Cause we were high," I groan, pressing my cheeks onto the coolness of the toilet. "We gotta go back," he groans, placing his head entirely between his knees. Retching into the toilet, I wipe my mouth and say, "Your dad took Iggy out; Mandy is probably at the Gallagher's..."
"So what?" his voice is testy but I know it's just the withdrawal.
"So nobody would fucking see us like this! Let's go back and get our fucking dope before I vomit out my intestines!"
"I cant drive," he says, defeated. Irritated, I force myself up from the hotel bathroom tile. Leaning over the tub, I draw a bath. "Here, pussy," I head over to the night stand where we placed the spoon with the bit of q-tip still in it. Adding a tiny bit of water from me finger, I rehydrate the swab, pull out the coke, mix it in, the grab one of the syringes. "Its not a lot," I take his arm from his face and find his vein. "But itll get you thru til I'm back." "The fuck are you going?" He grumbles. I repeat the procedure for myself. Once the stimulant hits, I'm alert and miserable; rubbing his shoulder, I point my chin to the tub. "Go take a bath. Chill out. This shit sucks, but I'll grab us some more and be right back." Kissing him on the forehead, I pick up the coke, stick a fingernail in, sniff it, grab the keys, then head out.
The door is slightly ajar when I pull up. "Fucking Mandy," I bitch. Wiping my nose, I get out of the car and head towards the house. Up the stairs, two at a time, I hear the dope calling to me and I heed it. The door creaks as I open it wider. Walking past the living room, I catch a motion from out of my peripherals. Instinctively, I reach into the waistband of my sweatpants and draw out my gun. Horror grips me as a see a pistol pointed at my face; the horror turns to confusion as I see who's behind it. "Fucking Terry? Jesus christ man, you scared me!" Chuckling, I lower my gun, pausing when I see that his is still aimed at me. "What the fu-" another movement draws my attention. Slowly, I turn towards the living room. Sitting across from each other, bloodied and only wearing boxers, are Mickey and Ian. Terror paints their features; I see their chests rising and lowering from their labored breathing. Mickey and I make eye contact and he begs me, silently, fearfully. Raising my gun again, slowly, I turn back to Terry. There's an evilness behind his eyes, a fury like I've never seen. "Get outta here, Jagger," he growls, pistol steady in his hand. Swallowing, I enunciate every syllable: "Terry. I have to grab something out of my room." Unfazed, he moves his gun closer to the bridge of my nose. Raising mine even more, I stand my ground. "Jagger, I'm telling you once; GET THE FUCK OUT!" Spit splatters my face, but I refuse to flinch. Tension stains the air, making it heavy to breathe. A familiar nausea begins, and my mind is dead set on not reliving this again. Exhaling slowly, I choose my words carefully again. "Terry. Let me go to my fucking room. I don't give a fuck right now about whatever fucking game you're playing. But do know that if ANY of the three of us standing on the other end of your fucking pistol winds up dead, every single fucking Wop in this entire fucking city will be pounding on your doorstep, ready to break every fucking bone in your body." My words hang in the air. A flash of fear crosses thru Terry's eyes and he lowers his gun. "Go get your fucking dope, you worthless junkie," he steps aside, spitting on the ground as he speaks. "You and that worthless son of mine will be dead from an OD soon enough as it is." I push past him, my gun still raised. Glancing around the room, I shoot Ian and Mickey an apologetic look, darting into my room before Terry changes his mind. Rifling thru the drawer, my heart pumps the blood into my ears and I cant hear anything except for it. Sweating, I wipe my forehead off with my sleeve. "Fuck, yes!" I manage to find the baggie, and exhale a breathe I didnt even know I was holding; the relief is short lived, because as soon as I turn to leave the room, I'm back on edge, gun raised and ready. The living room remains just as silent as when I left it. One hand clutches my gun, the other the band of my sweatpants so that they dont slide off. Terry glares at me as I walk the entirety of his hallway. "Say one word about this-" he starts, but I cut him off.
"Shut the fuck up, Terry." Ian and Mickey's eyes widen, and they exchange a brief glance. "The fuck did you say to me?" Terry grits his teeth. Lifting my gun directly in between his eyes, I say nothing; I know that I'm pushing my luck, but the lack of dopamine in my system and the anger at what hes doing to the boys fuels me. A rage I've buried so deep I forgot it exists threatens to overtake me. I remain silent. Terry mistakes this for weakness and let's out a disgusting snort. "Ha! Not so brave without my son here to back you up, huh, Jagger? Big, bad drug dealer who cant even function without getting high off her own supply. Don't think that I'm stupid, girl." He points his gun at my sleeves. "You're not fooling anyone." Snapping my jaw shut, I feel my teeth grind together. My finger twitches on the trigger and I know I've gotta leave. My throat is dry and my voice cracks, but my sentiment is the same: "Remember what I said, Terry. ANYONE in this fucking living room ends up dead, the Family is after your meth head ass."
