PAIN KILLER [DISCONTINUED]

008. REEFER RICK

008.

――― CHAPTER EIGHT ―――

REEFER RICK

FEBRUARY 3RD, 1986

📍REEFER RICK'S BOATHOUSE

5:33 PM

"HERE WE ARE," Eddie says as we turn a corner, revealing a boathouse overlooking Lovers Lake. I've been here a fair few times— usually to swim or cliff jump with The Party— or my new friends. I've seen this boathouse several times— but the last time I saw it, easily a few months ago now, it was in decent condition. Now, it's falling apart, half covered in icicles and hail.

"So...how long will this take?" I bite my thumbnail in worry as Eddie parks the car.

"Not long. I know where he hides his stash of these. They're pretty popular."

"He's not home?" I pause for a moment, thinking through everything. "Wait, are we breaking in?"

"No—No," He says, chuckling at my foolishness. "This is all perfectly legal."

"Right," I say, my voice wavering more than I'd intended it to.

He pulls the key out from the ignition and the guttural noise of the car stops. He looks at me and then I go stiff when he grabs my hand. It's just how I remember it— rough, calloused, but warm.

"Hey," he says softly, as he stares at me straight in the eye. "You don't have to do this. We can turn back around right now and I can drive you back home."

I swallow. Go home, Dahlia.

"No, it's okay, let's—" Go home, Dahlia.

I shut my eyes, wincing as if it's going to stop my train of thought.

"Headache again?" Eddie asks. I nod, lying through me teeth. "Well," he begins, "These will definitely help."

"Yeah," I say, nodding my head although I'm still unsure if I should do this or not. "Okay. Let's go."

We both get out of the car and he jogs up to the door. He turns the knob— and to my surprise, it's completely open. I dig my hands into my jacket pockets tighter as I walk in.

As soon as I walk into the boathouse, I'm met with the strong smell of weed. Eddie noticed my nose wrinkling. "Sorry," he says. "People smoke joints or cigs here often."

"It's okay," I mutter. I walk slowly, and carefully, barely making out the silhouette of objects in the room.

"Where's the light switch? It's so dark in here," I say, shivering despite my varsity jacket.

He flips the switch and I squint at the white light. "There you go. Better?"

I nod. "What did you say this guys' name was again?"

"I didn't," he says. "His name is Rick. Most people call him Reefer Rick. No clue what the hell his last name is. Most people in town get their stock from him— or me, of course."