Lainey's Story

27

Running out of dope sucked as it was but there was nothing worse than running out when you have no money to your name. We had run out on a Tuesday and spent that afternoon pleading with our moms for money, I rummaged through the few belongings we had for something we could pawn or trade for some shit while Krist scraped the stem of our already scraped pipes, trying to melt down things that weren't there.

I had to physically take a pipe from him, leading to a small physical fight and him yelling "You're so fucked up for that, Lainey!" as he watched me wrap the three glass pieces we had in a paper towel and stomp on them.

"There's nothing there, babe!" I told him, "It's literally just fucking condensation from you breathing in it."

Krist stomped outside to go smoke with his little gang of douchebag friends and I continued to sort through my belongings. When he came back, he spent the next hour looking through his contacts for someone who would front us but nobody was willing to and the people who would have were either dry or locked up. And after what Krist pulled on Versace, we sure the fuck couldn't ask him.

"I should just rob his ass," Krist said half-jokingly, "Michelle would probably just call the cops on me though," he chuckled.

"What if we sold plasma? Madison does that sometimes, they give you like fifty bucks a pop," I said in a moment of aha!

He stroked his thin facial hair thoughtfully, "I hate needles but that's a good idea," he agreed with a nod.

We went down to the plasma center the following morning, waiting in the lobby with all the other addicts, drunks, bums and the struggling to get by lower-middle-class people.

"What if they don't let us?" I asked Krist tightening the laces on my hoody so I resembled Kenny from South Park.

Krist clicked his tongue at me, "Why wouldn't they?"

"Because we do drugs?" I whispered.

He looked at me and then at several other people in the lobby, a few of them stinking and nodding in tattered clothes, "I don't think that's gonna be a big deal," he said, scrolling through Facebook, his ankle bouncing against the leg of my chair.

I kicked at him, "Stop it," I hissed, slouching down in my chair, Krist scowled, scooting his chair loudly away from mine, "Asshole!" He rolled his eyes and threw his hood up, his little signal that meant "Don't talk to me." Whatever Krist.

The sound of rattling cans caught my attention, and then I smelt her. She was probably in her forties but looked older and she decided to take a seat right next to me despite there being plenty of open chairs elsewhere.

"You been waiting here for a while?" She asked me.

I glanced in her direction, fighting back the wave of nausea that hit me. She reeked of dirty clothes, piss, and beer sweat, not to mention the fact that her bag of cans reeked like a mother fucker.

"Not long, maybe twenty minutes?" I said, turning away but this stanky-ass broad kept talking to me. Asking if it was my first time coming here, was worried about the needle. The smell of her was so overpowering that I began to feel hot bile rising in my throat, my salivary glands working triple time.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I told Krist who scowled at me in response.

I hurried to the bathroom, it was clean but still smelt somehow like lemon disinfectant and...cat box. I made it to the bathroom, dry heaving and retching until my stomach hurt. When the spasms stopped, I stood upright, catching my breath, tears rolling down my cheeks the way they always did when I got sick. I took a handful of water from the sink, rinsing my mouth and spitting it out before returning to the lobby.