Initially, it was the alcohol that made the uneasiness grow. Then, it was the women.
The hookers that would bring in small packets of drugs strapped to their thighs as they cradled Oliver like he was the last man alive- like he was God. They cooed in his ear, straddling him, filling a void that many events had left.
Bottles of beer were left strewn about, the house reeking of a sweet stench, both caused by lube and sex.
Emma and Alex would come home from school, the house trashed with their father being asleep on the couch, snoring with a half-drunken beer bottle in his hand. Alex was still young at heart, though Emma was now getting older exponentially.
Sometimes, Oliver wouldn't be able to get up to make them dinner, leaving Emma to learn so they wouldn't go to bed hungry. Alex would eat while Emma stared at her unemployed father as he lay on the couch, hiccuping and murmuring to himself.
She began to fantasize about her mother coming back and swooping them up. A savior to them when Oliver trapped them in the house. Though, Emma knew that Alex could run. Alex could run for miles and Oliver wouldn't notice until he'd be halfway to the farthest city in the state. Emma was sure Alex would figure it out. He'd flee and come back with help. She was sure of it.
Most days, Emma stayed later, missing the buses back to her house because she never wanted to walk through the door and back into that toxically sweet stench. It made her head hurt, even more so when their father would collapse onto the floor and hiccup ramblings that made zero sense.
She saw him as a man that was living in her home. A random man who would, on occasion, mistake her for her mother. Emma knew of his temper, knew of how he would hit Willow when she disobeyed or anything else. She never wanted to feel that kind of pain, so she complied with his drunken slurs of flirtations in her ear. Emma never wanted to get hit, so she dealt with the different kind of pain.
One day, Alex pulled Emma into the bathroom. Then, he gave something to her. A packet. It was heavy despite the powder inside looking like sand. It was small, yet compact.
"What is this?" Emma asked, looking up at Alex who simply shrugged, appearing careless as he looked at it. It looked like colored sand, dancing around in its plastic confinement. She pressed her finger into the middle, faintly feeling the grainy texture inside.
"Where did you find this?" Emma asked.
"It was on the floor, swept underneath the couch." Emma nodded at Alex's explanation. She put it in her pocket.
She made dinner that night, watching her father, who was asleep on the couch. Since the divorce, Oliver had been a mess. Even messier than before. Emma began to wonder if her mother meant that much to him, that to lose her caused him to slip into a depression. A low where he lost his job and his work ethic plummeted. If what Alex found was drugs, Emma imagined that he used his new incoming allowance money to buy it. Or the hookers he brought into the house were leaving their goods for his children to find.
Emma and Alex ate dinner quickly, leaving their father asleep and useless in the living room. She snuck into Oliver's office, logging into his computer. Emma began to search up the characteristics of this powder, wondering what exactly it was. What came up both fascinated and terrified her.
This unnatural looking sand was a powerful drug. Even small doses were lethal, according the site Emma was reading off of. It terrified her, reading articles that described what this drug could do in great detail.
Mood swings were the main deal, driving a user practically insane with irrational thinking and paranoia. The maximum sentence for handling such a drug was only 2 years in prison. Emma recoiled in shock, her face twisting into a scowl.
It should be more than that-
She began to look through the images. News article clippings began to pop up, showing detailed photos of death. Emma covered her mouth, staring at the poor victims who decided to take too much of this killer drug in hopes of extra hours of euphoria.
Inside their mouth seemed to sparkle with a indigo color, small crystals seemingly painting the roof of their mouth. Bruises were erupting in the points where needle injections were locating. Emma scrolled through the description, reading the cause of death. An intense overdose of a young man. This drug, this killer, had the ability to take the life of healthy individuals with just a couple grams.
Emma stared at the words surrounding the pictures that were showing up. Then, she glanced at the packet pinched in between her fingers. She understood how this looked beautiful. An alluring colorful sand that seemed to promise powerful hallucinations. It was a pretty sight to see, even shining in the dim lighting of the computer's screen. Emma set it down, glancing back at the articles that were popping up.
Each and every case was proving how dangerous this drug was. Every article spelt out its name, and what it was called out on the street. It seemed like a pretty thing to mess around with.
Pentacefalexin... Emma whispered to herself, scrolling through more. On the streets this drug, exchanged between felons and people down on their luck, was called Purple Blood Dust. Otherwise known as PBD.
That's a stupid name. Emma muttered, rolling her eyes. Just then, a creak was heard. Emma grabbed the packet and turned the monitor off. She was still in the darkness, looking at the door as it slowly creaked open. A hand waved in, up and down two times. Emma let a breath go; it was Alex.
He thrusted his head in, whispering gently.
"He's awake." Emma nodded, quickly making her way for the door. Alex was the watcher whilst they searched places to cure their curiosity or their boredom. She was quick to slip out of the small crack Alex left for her in the door. The thought of the killer drug was still fresh on her mind, even after she slipped quietly into her room, watching as Alex quickly dove into his. They were avoiding Oliver as he groggily made his way up the stairs.
She inspected him, gaze glancing up and down his figure as if she were looking for the needle holes she saw in the pictures. Oliver seemed hungover, burping from eating something and dragging his feet from intoxication. Emma was comparing his symptoms to the ones she read about. Every case involved the user becoming increasingly violent and irrational, dumbing them down to an animal that couldn't do anything but attack and attempt to kill.
He passed by her door, unbothered by her quiet breathing. He slowly walked into his room and flopped onto his bed, barely shutting his door.
Alex thrusted his head outside of his room, nodding to Emma when she looked at him. She looked down the hall, noticing that her father was still moving around in the darkness. Emma quickly put her hand out, her motion telling him to wait. Alex hesitated, stopping midway through his step. Everything went quiet and still.
Then, Emma couldn't see him moving any more. She could faintly hear him snoring. Motioning for Alex to follow her, the two quietly snuck up the hallway, past their father's room, and into his office.
YOU ARE READING
The Grean Household
Romance"It was a mistake..." She told her mother, folding her hands into each other. "Marrying him..." Her mother said nothing, she simply sat there as her only daughter stood across from her, on the verge of collapsing from bruised ribs and cracked shins...
