Loves Me Not

FIFTY FIVE

BEFORE
CATALAINA KITTRIDGE

I've always believed that I have a knack for certain things that other people don't. If I'm being completely honest with you, I know that that's not necessarily the case, but that is how I feel. That I have this superiority to me, that no one can touch me. That I think of things that others don't, and that I can outsmart anyone. I try to be creative and innovative. I try to live my life accordingly, try to be successful, try to do things right. But I don't always succeed.

The more drugs that I sold, the more arrogant I became. I thought I knew what I was doing, simply because things had been going well for me thus far. I followed Tony's instructions and did exactly what he told me. However, there came a point where I got daring when I shouldn't have and thought I could outsmart him.

I abided by his rules like the bible. He set the prices and that was what I sold them for. But I'd often find my mind wandering, thinking about how much more I could get for a certain product. I decided to try it out once. Not too much more that it would be obvious or drastic, but enough that I could make a bit more of a profit from it.

I couldn't do it with repeat clients, of course. They'd know for sure something was up. Unless I told them that Tony upped his prices, but I highly doubted they'd believe that. So I waited until he sent someone new my way.

It was a guy named Jerry. The only reason I chose him as my initial experiment was because of how timid and self-conscious he was. I could tell by the way he carried himself, the way he spoke. I feigned confidence and told him that the cocaine was ninety dollars rather than Tony's price of seventy.

It worked. He handed over the cash without question and I got away with it.

I continued doing this for the next couple of days, anxious each time I said a higher price than I was supposed to, but relieved every time that the buyer didn't question it. At the end of the week, I had an extra $200 to myself that I didn't have to hand over to Tony. It was marvelous.

Only thing I had to worry about was that word didn't get back to Tony.

______

It was the second last weekend in April. Easter was on Sunday – as well as something else that I was trying to avoid thinking about – and Ben had festivities planned for us all weekend. I could list them off on my fingers: Drinks with our friends Friday night, brunch with his parent's Saturday morning, dinner at my parent's house Sunday evening. I was going to have to put the side business on hold the weekend to focus on family time. However, I had two transactions scheduled for Saturday. I figured I could do brunch in the morning and still have time to sneak off and meet people without arising suspicion from Ben. So that's exactly what I did.

We left brunch just after one o'clock. I was set to meet some guy downtown at two. I took my time, driving across the city and waiting in my car for him to arrive. He got in the passenger seat, I gave him the Percocet's, he handed me the cash.

The next one was at two-thirty on the other side of town. I drove through traffic and worried that I wouldn't make it in time. But sure enough, I made it there just after two-thirty. It was a couple I had dealt with once before. They bought blow off me my very first week in training. I remembered them because they were one of the rare set of clients that actually fulfilled the stereotype. They were grungy and indecorous and left my car smelling of stale McDonald's. But hey – a client's a client. I pulled to the side of the road and waited as they approached and got in the back of my car.

I turned around to face them and brought out the dime-bag from my purse. The woman's eyes were wide and she kept them glued to the bag until it was safely in her hands. She shoved it in her pocket quickly and turned away, looking out the window. I waited a moment, staring at her, thinking she was going to hand me the cash like last time. But she didn't move. I turned my head to face the man, and that's when I saw it. He was pulling a gun out from his jeans and in the blink of an eye, it was being pointed directly at me.

I froze, wanting to scream and run simultaneously, but I couldn't move a muscle. Deer in the headlights. I guess that's what they mean when they say fight of flight. I obviously had no experience in the first category, but I couldn't seem to find the courage for the latter. So I froze, staring at him, wondering if this was how my life would come to an end. In my own car, on the other side of town, selling drugs to these two junkies. How did I let it come to this...

"Give me the cash," he said hastily.
I hesitated. Then the words found their way to my mouth. "What?"
"The cash. Whatever cash you have on you," he said, and when I didn't move, added, "Now."
I started at his words and reached into my purse, pulling out the wad of cash I had stored in there. It was almost five hundred dollars. I'm not even sure why I had so much on me. Cockiness, I guess? And stupidity. I was still stashing the money in my bookshelf at home and was slowly running out of room. So in the meantime, I was left carrying this on me.

I barely had it out of my purse when he reached forward and snatched it from my hands. I recoiled and clung as close to my seat as I possibly could, as if it could bring me some sort of safety.

I stared at him in silence as he quickly counted through the bills. Once he was satisfied, he looked up and met my eyes. He didn't say a word. Just shoved the cash in his pocket and got out of my car.

That was the last I saw of them. And my money.