Memoirs Aren't Fairytales (7 page)

I checked my pockets and purse. Both were empty. What had I done with the bag of dope when Mark came into the bathroom? I called Renee and asked her to look for it. She put me on hold and when she came back to the phone, she said it wasn't in any of the stalls and hung up. Mark must have swiped it when he reached for my arm.

“It was a full bag,” I said.

Money was too tight. I had to get it back. “Can you distract Mark while I search his office?”

Eric reached for my pipe, and when our fingers touched his eyes scanned my face. “You sure you want to do this?”

My dope was somewhere in his office, and he kept his door unlocked. I just had to get in and out without being seen.

I looked around our hotel room. The few clothes I owned were on the floor. There was trash covering the top of the dresser. On the nightstand were burnt foils and spoons and empty packets of heroin. This was who I was now. And I needed my dope back.

We waited until midnight to go to the bar. There was a line by the front door that wrapped halfway around the block, and Big Dan was checking IDs. We went to the side entrance, and I punched my code into the lock. Once we were inside, Eric went to find Mark. Mark and Eric were bar buddies, so we figured Mark would think it was just like any other night. I just hoped Eric could keep their conversation flowing with the bar this packed.

From the employee entrance, it was a straight shot down a long hallway to Mark's office. I kept my back against the wall and looked both ways after each step. When I was halfway down the hallway, I ran the final stretch before anyone had a chance to spot me and closed the door after I got inside.

His office light was on. Had he forgotten to turn it off or was he coming right back? It didn't matter, I still had to hurry.

I sat down in his chair and scooted close to the desk. My hands were shaking like I had drunk a pot of coffee, and every few seconds my eyes darted to the door.

I couldn't find anything in the drawers but office supplies. I needed it. Where the hell was it?

I found a first aid kit, and I pulled the lid off, rummaging through all the medical stuff. My hand grazed over a pair of latex gloves, but stopped when I touched something hard and rectangular inside the glove. Through the latex, I saw the packet of heroin.

It was all there, every little speck of powder I hadn't smoked sealed inside the pouch.

There was a reason Mark hadn't flushed my dope. What was it? Did he want to try it? He did look like a partier, one of those eighties rock stars with his long hair and a dangly left earring.

A plan started to come together in my brain. Mark would need me, he just didn't know it yet. And I'd never have to worry about losing my job again.

I poured half the powder into an envelope and put that in my pocket. The rest of the dope went back in the glove, just like I found it. There was enough there to turn him on and have him coming back to me for more. I knew after a taste he'd be hooked.

I pushed the chair under the desk and backed out of the office, closing the door quietly.

“What do you think you're doing?” Mark asked from behind me.

I turned and faced him. He towered over me by at least a foot, and when I moved to the side, he moved with me.

Where the hell was Eric? He was supposed to call my cell phone if Mark headed towards his office.

“Don't worry, I left you a taste.”

“That's not why I kept it.” His palms landed on the door behind me. I was trapped in a Mark cage. “Let me help you.”

His mouth was searching for mine. One of his hands touched my waist and lifted the bottom of my shirt. He caressed my stomach, running his fingers from my bellybutton to the wire of my bra.

“Get off me,” I said, trying to wiggle his hand away.

He found my nipple and squeezed like his fingers were a pair of pliers. His lips brushed my neck.

“You want to keep your job, don't you?” He clamped my earlobe between his teeth.

I thought of that mound of powder in my pocket, how it would feel to have its smoke fill my lungs and the rush that would enter my body. Without my job, we wouldn't have enough money. Without money, my cravings would go unfulfilled, my nightmares would return, and I'd be left with nothing but the sickness of withdrawal.

“How bad do you want it?” he asked.

I wanted it worse than anything. In the back of my throat, I could still taste the hit from a few hours ago. If I could make him come real quick, I'd be able to taste it again in twenty minutes, thirty tops.

I opened my mouth and it was filled with Mark's tongue before I had the chance to respond. His lips were hungry. His saliva tasted like cigarettes and beer.

My head smacked against the door. My face got slapped with the back of a fist. There was someone hitting Mark from behind, and he turned to defend himself. I couldn't see who it was. My jaw was throbbing. My head was cloudy from hitting it against the door, and arms were flying in my direction, so I slid to the side, shielding myself from the wrestling bodies.

“What gives you the right to fucking touch her like that,” Eric shouted.

Eric?

Eric landed a punch to his nose, and Mark's head jerked backwards. He fell to the ground, and Eric kicked him in the gut over and over.

“We've got to get out of here,” Eric said, grabbing my hand.

I was frozen, unable to move, and my eyes wouldn't leave Mark's face. Blood was dripping from his nose, and his eyes were swelling.

What did all of this mean? Was Mark going to blame me?

Eric pulled me to his side, walking me down the hallway.

“Don't ever come back,” Mark said. His voice was quiet and sharp. “Or I'll call the cops.”

Who was he talking to?

I looked over my shoulder. Mark was on his knees with his hands around his stomach. The look he gave me was the answer I needed. My job here was done.

I ran back into the office.

“Where are you going?” Eric yelled.

I yanked open the desk drawer, but I pulled too hard and it came all the way out and fell to the ground. The first aid kit tumbled out, and I opened the lid, grabbing the latex glove. I shoved it in my pocket and rejoined Eric. We stopped at the end of the hallway, looking towards the bar. It was so swarmed with customers I couldn't even see Renee. I begged Eric to go get her.

“She'll be fine, I'm worried about you,” he said and opened the employee entrance. He picked me up in his arms and carried me through the door.

We didn't talk on the way to the hotel or when we got inside our room. He set me on the bed and cooked up the heroin from my pocket. He even held the foil for me. His hands were trembling, and the foil was bouncing, making it difficult to get a good hit.

His eyes avoided mine, and knowing Eric, that meant he was too ashamed to look at me. I dropped the pipe, placing my hands on each side of his face. “It wasn't your fault,” I said.

“If I had gotten there sooner, he wouldn't have laid a finger on you.” He took the pipe and placed it between my lips.

“But nothing happened, you stopped it in time.”

I wanted to tell him that his timing didn't matter because I would have done anything for him and Renee, even if that meant having sex with Mark. Eric was trying to protect me, but what happened wasn't anything like the rape. Then, I'd been drugged and double-teamed and then those fuckers left me to die, alone and freezing in the snow. Mark had given me a choice, and I was going to say yes. But the more I thought about that decision, the more I realized what it truly meant. I'd become that person who would sell my body for smack.

Now, heroin controlled my body. And since it had been violated, did it really have any value to me anymore? No. I could whore out all I wanted. I could screw ten guys for a hundred bucks. As long as dope was inside me, I didn't care if a man was too.

Eric was still holding the foil, and I sucked the smoke through the pipe as hard as I could. I couldn't get the dope in fast enough. The taste I had dreamed of in the hallway with Mark was finally filling my lungs, and with it came total silence.

Renee was an hour late coming home. She walked through the door acting as if she'd found a purse full of cash on the sidewalk. She was smiling and all giddy, bouncing through the room like there were springs on the bottom of her shoes. Usually after work, she was bitchy and short-tempered and we had to avoid talking to her until she took her first hit.

She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a bottle of water, taking a seat in front of me on the bed. “Guess what I got,” she said.

Eric shrugged his shoulders. He was just as confused as I was. Why wasn't she saying anything about the fight? Mark would have told all the employees after the bar closed, wasn't that why she was so late coming home?

She reached inside the apron tied around her waist and pulled out three syringes bundled in plastic. “I picked them up after work, aren't they pretty?”

“How much did they cost?” I asked.

Que had a hard time getting fresh needles. They went quick and he charged a lot. We'd never been able to afford them, plus Eric had this weird thing about needles. He'd been scared of them since he was young. Que wasn't the only hook-up, though. There was also a needle exchange program, but we'd heard bad things about it like how cops would hide out around the building and arrest people for possession after they re-upped on rigs. Renee didn't want to get arrested, so she must have gotten them from Que.

“Doesn't matter, I did good tonight,” she said.

“It does matter Renee, shit, I got fired.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mark didn't tell you?” Eric said.

Renee said that after she saw Mark and Eric talking at the bar, she didn't see Mark again. She had stopped by his office on her way out, but the door was locked and he didn't answer.

I told her the story, and when I got to the part where Eric found us, he took over from there. When Eric spoke, I watched Renee. Her face was like a fucking statue.

“He felt you up and stuck his tongue down your throat?” she asked.

What? There were so many other questions she could have asked, like how could you be dumb enough to lose your job, what are we going to do for money, what are we going to do when we get kicked out of the hotel? But all she cared about was Mark sticking his tongue down my throat.

She didn't wait for me to answer. She dumped the powder onto a spoon and heated it with a lighter. When all three syringes were filled, she laid them on the bed. “Who's first?”

If she didn't want to talk about our money situation, then I didn't either. Mark didn't know we lived together, so her job wasn't at risk. I had to find a way to contribute to our family and it was up to me, not her.

Eric went first. I held his hand, and while Renee found a vein and stuck it, he looked at me. I squeezed his fingers and smiled. I didn't know if he saw my grin or felt my touch because he nodded out immediately.

I'd been around needles my whole life because my dad was a diabetic. He kept a box of syringes in the pantry, and I'd watch him take his insulin every morning before school. He said if he didn't take his medicine, he would die. He used needles to keep him healthy, and the syringe in Renee's hand was about to do the same thing for me.

Renee tied her belt around my bicep and slapped my arm for a vein. “I didn't know Mark liked you…like that,” she said and pricked my skin with the tip.

She pulled back on the plunger. My blood came through the chamber, looking like a head of broccoli before mixing with the clear liquid. When she pushed the heroin into my vein, she gave me a look—jealousy, maybe, with a touch of resentment. Her expression lasted about a second because my eyes closed and my head dropped.

Smoking heroin was like an appetizer. It satisfied my hunger cravings, but when you ate the same thing every day, like tuna and noodles, your taste buds wanted something more flavorful. My body got so used to smoking dope, the high was nothing like the first time I had tried it.

If basing was like an alcoholic drinking only one Bud Light, shooting heroin was like drinking a gallon of vodka. The rush was like an orgasm. The dreams were like an acid trip. Bright colors swirled together and formed scenes like in action movies. I was jumping over rooftops and parasailing over the Atlantic. The warmth that spread over my body was like the sun beating down, inches above my skin. It was magic.

I felt my stomach churn, and bile poured from my mouth. I couldn't get to the bathroom. I couldn't even move. Puke was all over the bed, and me, I think. If felt good to throw up. The heaving made my throat tingle like it was being tickled with a feather.

A second swish of sparks shot up my spine. My nose touched something soft. The blanket, maybe? The skin on the sides of my fingers turned hot. Really hot. Was my cigarette burning my flesh? I wasn't sure, and I didn't care because it felt good too.

Besides Eric and Renee, there were only two things that mattered, the dope that ran through my veins and the needle that pricked my skin. Fuck Mark and my job, and the customers who left me shitty tips. I'd find something better.

CHAPTER SIX

I'd stopped freebasing after that night when everything went down with Mark and only mainlined after that. The high from the needle was more intense than basing, and it lasted longer too. Eric based at the club, Renee snorted at the bar, and they both shot up when they were home. They called shooting up their treat after a long day on the job like it was a piece of pie or something. If that was true, I had a wicked sweet tooth.

In our family of three, we not only used our heroin differently, but we each had a separate role too. Renee did most of the drug runs because she had a thing for Que. Eric was our moneyman. He collected the cash we made each day and budgeted enough for heroin and needles. Our needles had to be replaced every few days because they got dull. We didn't share needles either. Maybe they did, but I didn't. After each shot there was leftover blood in the chamber and at the tip of the rig, and if their blood touched mine, all sorts of shit could happen. I didn't keep tabs on who they slept with, and for all I knew they could have HIV or Hep C.