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She nods, forcing her fake smile on as she heads over to the other side of the room.
Precious, one of the older girls, comes over to me.
Her eyes are dark and sweat beads down her neck.
She might be in her mid-thirties, is a box-dye blonde, and is petite. I think that’s why she makes a lot of cash here. A lot of guys have a fantasy of being with a tiny woman.
She licks her lips and looks around the room, making sure no one is paying attention.
Precious flashes me a small, clear baggie with a good bit of cocaine in it.
I’m gonna guess it’s around an eighth. “Want any?”
I’m not even finished counting my cash tonight . . . but I’m running low.
I look right into her piercing blue eyes. “How much?”
She smirks, “Selling to the clients for two-fifty, but I’ll let you have it for two hundred.”
I nod, count out the cash, and slip it to her.
Precious discreetly passes the bag to me, and I slip it into the pocket of my jeans.
I continue counting out my cash, finishing the night around eight hundred after I bought the blow. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I pack my duffel bag, slide my cash in, and head to the nearby bathroom.
Once I have the door shut and locked, I pull out the keys to my car and fish out the baggy.
Opening the bag, I get a bump on my car key and lick my lips.
I know this is a bad habit, but it helps me get through the days.
Ever since the shooting, I haven’t been able to get through it without some blow.
The memories come rushing in faster than I can handle them, and the cocaine distracts me completely.
It takes me out of that negative place in the back of my mind, forcing me to go somewhere happier.
I line my nose up over the key, press one of my nostrils down, and breathe in hard.
A familiar rush of euphoria washes over me, forcing the demons in my mind to go back to their cages.
It’s a battle to keep them at bay, but at least I have an outlet.
I give myself a once over, making sure my eyeliner isn’t smeared and that everything is perfect.
For good measure, I lift my head up and look up my nose, making sure there isn’t any residual residue.
There’s a smidge of white powder, so I wipe it away.
Okay, I’m good.
My heart hammers in my chest, and sweat forms in my palms.
I don’t know why I’m so fucking nervous, but I am.
This could be a huge disaster, or it could be a dose of fun I desperately need.
