The alarm drags on for fifteen minutes as I lay in bed and slowly begin to drag myself out. My skin is damp with sweat which makes my room feel cold when I push the blanket off me. I run to my dresser and pull out a random pair of pants, and underwear. I run to the bathroom and turn on the hot water. As the water heats up I run my fingers under it till it is comfortable. I strip down and pull the curtain closed. The water pulsing on my skin feels like I am being stabbed repeatedly by one million tiny needles. I bear my shower and run back to my room wrapped in a towel. I rub the blanket across my body trying to shake off the cold as I get dressed. Once I have my comfortable clothes on I get ready to go and walk out the door. The air is crisp and cool. I have to pull my hoodie tighter around me when the airs' sharp edge cuts through it. Faces pass me just like everyday. Now that I think about it, they could be the same people passing everyday. I just don't notice other people anymore. I just have to get to the park. I have gotten very good at bobbing in-between people without looking at them. I stop at an Arabian corner store and spend my last few dollars on a bottle of mountain dew and a pack of cheap cigarettes. Now that I am out of money I better really get to the park. Or I might miss my chance at money. I got to pay rent this month. The park is coming up on my left so I dart across the road then jog into the park. Standing near the pavilion nearest the high school I spot what, or should I say, who, I am looking for. She stands on the corner rapping to high school kids. Selling heroine nonchalantly behind her back. When I get there her rap is done and she is secretly exchanging money left and right for drugs while she shakes there hands and they all walk away together. That is only one reason why what I do is so dangerous. Trish is easily caught by police. Which is why I have to be so careful.
"Johnny! Got that doe? I need food and shit too mother-fucker! ya know?" She slurred as I approached her. "Step into my office." She says; stepping off to the side, too stoned to realize we are the only people here. I grab a wad of bills I keep tucked into my shorts. This is the money I owe Trish. I owe a lot of people money, which is why I have to deal the dirty juice. Trish's face lights up when she hears the crinkle of paper and finds the roll in my hand. I slowly and hesitantly hand over the money. It's all the money I have so if she decided to fuck me over; she could. A smile spreads across her bright and shiny (mostly with sweat) face. I clear my throat sensing that she is already off into her own world of catching that high and following it where ever it took her. She is so hard to find sometimes. Even when she is here. Minus all of the dirty, sweat, and odor on Trish she is not bad looking. She could definitely use a bath or two, or ten, but if she cleaned herself up she could find a decent guy that could take care of her. She has men that call her daily, but it's not the same. That is how I got into dealing in the first place. She was a wreck and on a five day cocaine binge. That week of her with-drawls was terrible. She just shook constantly for a week straight. When it finally stopped she was so weak she could only sleep. And she could not walk for almost a week. She still gets that bad something. I still have to help.
She still hasn't came back to reality so I give her a little nudge. Her left eye twitches a little then she comes back. I have noticed her eyes twitching uncontrollably for a few weeks but I kept telling myself she is sick, or there is something in her eye, like the sun or something. Anything but the obvious answer. "So you got the juice?" I ask nervously itching my arm. She pulls a plastic pouch out of her bra. The juice doesn't come in liquid form but you could get it like that if you want. Not from Trish though. It would tempt her too much and she would shoot it all herself. Then none of the high-school kids would have a supply anymore. That would suck to be them. I have hook ups all around town. I just haven't decided if that is good or bad or not. She hands over the plastic and I quickly shove it in my shoe before anyone, a cop, saw. And, that's all there is to our meetings. I pass the money she passes the powder and we go our separate ways for one more week. I run back to my house and jump under the old comforter on my bed. My big toe slides into a hole that's been there for years. It makes me think of my childhood. Then that subject pushes itself out the door. I think about Trish for a minute. Never seen her in a house, or anywhere warm for that matter. Only at the park three times a month do I see her or attempt to. I don't even know if she has a place to live. Part of me is screaming; I don't care. The other half feels sorry for her and that I am obligated to help her, but she doesn't want it. That's what she said to me. "I don't need your help and I don't want it either". So I don't think about it much. In my line of work you can't be depressed or you'll scare away all of your customers, and I need all of those I can get. It's harder to find customers that aren't still in school, but it can be done. I have a few regulars myself, and they pretty much cover all of my money needs. I don't have to live in luxury. Life is life. You're born, you grow up, you have kids, watch them grown up, then you die and your kids repeat your cycle. I don't see the point in it. Maybe no one really does and everyone just follows along with what everyone else thinks because they are afraid to be individual. I don't know' but I think people should be able to do whatever they want. They are going to die someday anyway.
In mid thought a knock sounds on my door. It must be Andrew, he is always the first person to knock on my door when he knows I've just seen Trish. I suck in a breath and hold it for a second before letting it out leaving me cold and empty inside once more. I get out of bed and go to my door. I look through the peep hole and don't see anyone standing there. That means it can only be Andrew or some kid; or the cops. "Who is it?" I ask still looking through the peep hole. Andrew doesn't answer, but covers the peep hole with his palm. This is how I know its him. He never says his name in my building. I fling open the door and he quickly enters it and slams it shut. I put my finger up to my lips to quiet the door. He looks older still since the last time I've seen him. Only three weeks ago I saw him. Though now he has greyer hair and even more wrinkles on his forehead. The skin of his arms hang lower than they did. He is a user who doesn't care who knows about it. I suspect he doesn't have a family, but I'll never know for sure. I don't want to get wrapped up into my customers lives outside of my apartment. It's not good for business. All I need to know is they aren't a kid, and they aren't a cop. Getting intertwined with personal lives just creates problems in the trade, and that is not business. I need business like I need air. I need juice like my neck needs a noose.
Andrew sits on my bed and gets a needle out. "How many times have I told you. Not here! You want to get inebriated, go home!" I yelled at him while throwing him a smaller bag of powder. He drops a fifty on the bed and stands. Our eyes lock for a moment and he nods his head in understanding. It's nothing personal. It's just for safety measures. I can't have a guy passed out and cracked out on heroin on my bed in my apartment. It wouldn't be a good idea. He looks up at me with the type of eyes you'd expect a six year old girl to possess. "You don't have anymore white caps do you?" He asks smiling. "No I ran out of those Friday man, sorry." I say walking over to him to grab his arm. we make an awkward forearm grab handshake and he leaves. I can finally get back to bed. Until Olivia decides to show up. She is always late. White caps aren't the best mushroom you can get but they're fun I guess. I lay back down in my blanket curl up. It feels warm, sturdy, but nothing is really sturdy. Eventually everything breaks. My eyes start to feel heavy and warm. My limbs get heavy and frozen like a block of wood. Tossing sleep and nightmares fill my head.
I wake up a few hours later freezing again. I sit in a tub of warm water that tingles across my skin. When i'm done I jump out of the tub, dry myself and put my clothes back on. I walk to my living room. I stop and jump back; holding in a gasp. Olivia is passed out on my floor. Right in front of the t.v. on the floor. She's breathing though. That's good. I inch closer till I stand beside her and nudge her shoulder with my foot. She grunts and squirms on the floor. She rolls over and I can see the deep purple bruise on her cheek. Yellow swells around it. It certainly does look like it hurt. I nudge her again until I see her eyes peel open. She jumps up off the floor and starts to apologize. "I'm so sorry, but my boyfriend hit me and I didn't know where else to go". She says starting to sob. "We don't cry here". I say harshly. Not to sound like a dick, but this is her problem. Not mine. If she is with an abusive guy and can't see her way out or even try to see it then it's her fault she got hit. "Oh" She says standing up. She wipes her face. She winces when she touches her bruise. She starts to smile; laughing even. "Can you believe this?" She asks pointing at the bruise. "It's huge aint it?" She acts smiling trying to break my silence. "How much do you want?" I ask. Might as well get this over with and send her out. who knows how long she's been here for anyway. She pulls crinckled bills from her faux fur coat pockets. As she unfirls them I see her mouth move with anticipation. I wonder where she got the money. It's hard to believe that anyone who comes to me has a job. "There's, 19 dollars here. Maybe I can find some change. Can I come back?" She asks with puppy eyes. Normally I'd assume she was just trying to get a free buzz, but since she's only a dollar off a twenty. I guess it's ok. I go to my sock drawer and pull out a twenty bag. I walk back to the living room and take her money. I sit the bag on her lap and smile at her. "Can I chill here for a little bit?" She asks innocently. I have known her the longest out of all my clients. Even dated her in high school, but I really shouldn't let any of my clients hang around my house long. Then again; who knows how long she has been here? Maybe since I first fell asleep. She might have already been here longer than my limit. So I guess she can stay a little longer. "For a little bit.". I say avoiding her eyes. This is why I don't look into the past too often. Nothing good comes from it. Only hurt. "I need to eat". I say getting off the couch and going to the kitchen. I look in the fridge. There's not much in it. Enough for a sandwhich. I make a sandwhich and eat it in the kitchen. I don't know when the last time Olivia ate, but I don't want to rub my luxurious life in her face.
