The Sponsor

Fred

The first thing that he did when he got up was rush to the toilet and vomit. He felt groggy and confused, his mouth was dry and his skin was itchy. He went to the bathroom, he wanted to have a shower. He tried the door and when it did not open he banged it with his fist and cursed.

It was dark outside. He had not eaten the whole day yet he did not feel hungry. He got under the covers again to catch some sleep till morning but he couldn't sleep, he tossed and turned and tossed and turned. He needed a hit of the powder. There was nothing on the paper.

"Who took it, shit, to hell with them," he cursed like a whore in the streets.

He was anxious now. He got out of his room and went to the kitchen to look for panadol and bumped into Wairimu.

"Where is mom, where is dad?"

"Don't know, don't care."

Wairimu was too scared of the wrath of her dad to notice the stench on his brother, his dry lips, his blood shoot eyes and that he appeared to be on edge. He thought Fred was just another boy reading from the  toxic masculinity handbook.

"Shit, shit what kind of a house is this with no panadol," she had him scream from the kitchen as she turned the lock to her room.

Fred got out of the kitchen and went back to his room. One minute a dog was barking in his face and he was covering his ears to muffle the noise. The next minute floods were rushing towards him and he was running from his room into the balcony.

He was breathing heavily now. He opened the door and it was all clear and he breathed a sigh but before he could take in air a heavily built man tackled him to the floor, he got up in a daze. His back hurt and there was a pain on his head. He was suffering he needed to stop it.

He reached for his phone and dialed Josh. He picked on the second ring.

"Josh, I need some more of that powder," he panted into his phone.

"I told you that shit was magic."

"I need it now, can you give me the same deal you gave me if I buy the same amount of weed?"

"No Freddie boy, this time it's going to cost you."

"How much?"

"10K a bag."

He did the math. He had bought the weed for a thousand bob and remained with forty nine thousand bob, money that he had planned to pay for his music classes with.

"That's too much," he said and kicked his reading desk in anger.

"Okay, suit yourself," Josh said and hanged up the phone.

After a minute Fred was dialing him again.

"I'll take it," he cried. "Can you deliver it to my place?"

"Yes but it will cost you."

"How much?"

"An extra three thousand."

"Bring it, just bring it. I'll pay."