Chapter 30
<Jasper Coven>
The high wears off much sooner than I would've liked. I feel my fists clench as I roll down the windows and pull away from the curb. I bet that bastard cut it. I think to myself as I begin to drive through the empty town. The new light of dawn is peeling through the clouds, putting a spotlight on each person I pass. They shouldn't be awake. No one in this town wakes up before 10 A.M. if they can help it.
I continue to drive until I'm out of the heart of town and back on the two-lane road and the empty green fields that lead to my house. I slam my foot down on the accelerator, so I can get to a place where I can shove another needle in my arm and forget about the world. I crave the feeling of the tattered blanket and the quilted pillows my late grandmother had made for my mother that caress me as I nod off into oblivion.
The phantom smell of vinegar burns sharply in my nose as I think about the baggie in my center console. My mind is focused on that fine white powder, on the way it turns clear under the flame, on the way it enter my bloodstream and arrests my body, the tension releasing with each slow breath.
I hang a sharp left into the dirt patch in front of my house and brake quickly before pulling the keys out of the ignition. I grab my baggie and jump down, a cloud of dust obscuring my vision for a few seconds. Once it settles, I look up and see Abigail sitting on the top step of the front porch, brown paper grocery bags piled up next to her.
"You moving in or something?" I ask sarcastically as I walk up the steps, not even bothering to look at her.
"No, you're moving out." Abigail says in a blunt tone.
"You don't get to make that decision." I say as I try to insert my key in the lock. Why won't it fit?
"Funny what you can do when your brother is an on-call locksmith." Abigail looks out at the trees, her hand sitting protectively on her purse.
I can feel my anger engulfing me, the smell of vinegar reaching a sharp burn in my nose. I begin to pick at my fresh injection sight, itching to reinject the high, to make myself feel better just for a few minutes. I want to hit Abigail for standing in my way, for changing the locks and keeping me out of my own home. I want to hit her for taking away my solace, my quilted pillow and tattered blanket fort. But most of all, I want to hit her for sitting there all serenely, taking pleasure in watching me incinerate with rage.
"You don't get to decide whether I can go into my house." I hiss and run at the door, trying to use my shoulder to splinter the wood. My attempt does nothing but cause my shoulder to pop almost out of its socket.
"A steady diet of heroin and Jack Daniel's will pretty much guarantee that you can't ram that door down." Abigail stands up, her arms crossed over her chest. "The only way you're getting in there is if I feel nice enough to give you the keys."
"Give me the keys, you nosy bitch."
"Tsk, tsk," Abigail shakes her head like a disappointed mother. "That's no way to get what you want."
"Quit playing with me," I yell and lunge for her.
She grabs my torso and flips me so that I'm lying on the wood of the porch on my back.
"I'm not playing, Jasper." She hisses, her hands firmly on my wrists. "I didn't make my brother change all the locks to mess with you. There is something seriously wrong with you."
"What's new?" I huff, trying to wriggle my wrists free from her grip.
"Addiction isn't a joke. You need help and you're not going to get it if you stay locked up in your house all day."
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A Girl Named Callie
Spiritual*sequel to A Boy Named Jasper* ~~~~~ When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?" (John 5:6) ~~~~~~ Jasper has been in L.A. for almost five years. Not a day w...
