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“Hello, um, well it’s not really an emergency, but there’s this guy that’s harassing me,” I begin, feeling stupid for how I’m describing this situation. Maybe I should’ve gone into the station and filed a report instead of calling like it’s an emergency.
“Are you in danger right now?” the operator asks.
I slow down, trying to focus on what I’m saying. “No, but I probably was a few minutes ago.”
“And you said someone was harassing you? Was he armed?”
“I’m not sure. He was last time,” I reply. “He was… um, he was just blocking me from getting to my car. I know his name, if that helps.”
“It certainly would, ma’am,” she says, sounding a little annoyed now.
“Pasha… Chazov. That’s his name.”
The pause that follows is so long that I think I’ve been hung up on.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Have a nice day, ma’am,” the woman replies, and then she hangs up.
What the hell? Did she think I was joking or something? Maybe the name Pasha gave me wasn’t serious.
I groan, pulling into the parking lot at work and turning the car off. Using my phone, I search up Pasha’s full name, and there’s a surprising number of results.
I narrow my eyes at the screen as I scroll with my thumb. There are so many results for his name, more than any regular person would have. No social media, though. That’s probably the weirdest part. It’s all just real estate listings and a couple of car dealerships.
But when I reach the second page, I find something more interesting, and much more revealing.
It’s an article about a recent arrest.
Real estate mogul, club owner, and suspected crime lord Pasha Chazov, arrested for felony possession of cocaine. Charges dropped the next day.
Weird. You’d think there would be some sort of investigation into something so severe before they let him go, but that’s not the case.
Andcocaine. That’s my drug of choice and something I should stay far away from. It just confirms beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can’t continue associating with Pasha. The cocaine at the house party was probably his, and if I’m around him, I’ll keep having access to it.
He claims he can give me the world, but I suspect falling for him will take away what little I have left to live for. I promised Julia I wouldn’t go down this road. I promised her I’d stay sober.
I grip the emerald around my neck and say a silent prayer. I should be apologizing for repeatedly failing to keep my promise, but I’m still alive, and there’s always tomorrow.
Because it won’t be today. There’s no way it can be. When I’m busy and stressed out, I turn to my demons to help me, and there’s one in my purse right now. It’s broken up into a fine white powder, wrapped tightly in a little piece of plastic to keep it from spilling.
I retrieve my little demon, feeling a surge of dopamine just knowing I’m going to be high in a few minutes. I hate this part of me, but I feel like it’s the only reason I’m still alive.
My phone screen serves as my plate, and I ditch the straw, taking it straight to my nose before flipping down the mirror in front of me to check that I’m clean. I rub my nose, reveling in the flood of endorphins as the coke hits me.
Better than sex.
I rub my nose a few times, making sure there’s nothing remaining as I fold the mirror back and grab my keys. Time to be the hot mess I’ve always been most comfortable being. This time, it’ll be in the tiniest lingerie I can legally wear.
You don’t own me, Pasha.
You never will.
I pop my door open, stepping out onto the pavement with a new sense of optimism. It’s only the drugs talking, of course, but I’ll take a nice lie over the bitter truth. I’m done being realistic.
The first step feels like I’m already walking the runway, but that illusion shatters as a large black van rolls into the parking lot, blocking the door to work. Another one drives in, followed by two more, and I’m surrounded.
My heart leaps into my throat as all the van doors open simultaneously. My mind was already racing, but now it’s whirling around in my head like a tornado, unsure where to go. I freeze, and this time it’s the worst thing I could do.
