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Us and Them

By @ZoeAmber

Adrian

Saturday / October 26th / 11:37 PM

The bass of the music is so loud, I can feel it pump through my chest and stomach as I make my way up to the stunning, million dollar home at the end of the driveway.

With each person I pass with my backpack and my burner phone, another label is slapped onto my back like a “Kick Me!” sign.

Who’s got two thumbs and a backpack full of drugs? This guy! By the way I see some kids look at me, I already know I have some prospective customers.

Hayden is still basically on lock down at this point, so sneaking out was even more impossible than usual.

I’m here a little late, but at least I’m here. Any more messages from Simon that I ‘accidentally’ miss on purpose, and he’d already have broken two of my ribs by now.

This is Cameron Peabody’s house. A douchy senior who is supposed to be laying low after he “forgot” a girl he slept with last year was a freshman and under age. Cameron’s parties are always out of control and Simon and his pushers are usually to blame. Cameron and Simon grew up together through elementary school, so you can guess that most of his s**t is pumping around undocumented tonight.

I spot Freddy, the friend that jumped me in, in the crowd and navigate my way to him. He looks stressed, which can’t be a good sign. When I tap him, he jumps like he’s in a Scream movie. I involuntarily let out a sigh of irritation. Judging by the white powder in the corner of his nose, I can see that he’s f****d up right now.

If you can believe it, I’ve actually never done any of the s**t I sell. S**t, I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. That’s where I draw the line. Maybe it comes from the way I feel from seeing my Mom at her worst, but apart from the casual beer, I’ve been sober my entire life.

Freddy, on the other hand, is tweaking.

Hard.

“Where is he?” I ask, annoyed, hoping he can spit something out. He doesn’t, but he points to a room upstairs with a shaky hand. I thank him and head for it.

When I make it to the guest room, it’s vacant. But in the room is a large toolbox with a huge, expensive-looking bike lock on it. The kind that uses 5 letters as the pass-code. With no sign of anyone I leave the room and look out unto the huge open concept home from the top of the stairs’ landing.

There’s a DJ over by the living area pounding out house music where over 50 people have seemed to form a make-shift dance floor. One of the bouncers starts cutting through the crowd and hands out glow sticks and suspicious baggies of single blue tablets. Before I can roll my eyes, two girls approach me and start batting their lashes, assuming I’ll take the bait. I stare blankly at them as if to say ‘nice try.’

“What’ll it be ladies?” I say, giving them a faint smile.

Most amateur pushers feel like they need to throw you a sales pitch. But it’s unnecessary. Drugs sell themselves. That way you don’t have to.

“Surprise me.” She says, biting her lip. These girls are barely clothed and already on something. I don’t want to be the cause of someone’s trip to the hospital, so I pull out some unmarked gummy edibles and place the tiny baggies on her open palm.

She hands me a twenty and I accept it like she’s being stingy. Re-packaging commercial (and weak as hell) edibles in clear bags makes the s**t look homemade and more likely to get you f****d up. I don’t want to swindle people like this, and I hate myself for doing it, but it’s the only way I keep myself from getting sent to the hospital on a weekly basis.

The girls giggle and stumble away like they just got away with robbing me, and I lean back against the rail and look around.

I spot a couple of my friends and give them a nod. But I freeze when one of them looks at me with wide eyes like l’m about to jump. I furrow my brow and give him a look like I don’t understand. He presses his lips together and nods toward a VIP-like table with leather sofas and a ton of liquor and contraband all over it.

I’m confused and check my burner phone again and see no new messages.

I look over to the table again and suddenly it feels like a cold knife through one of my lungs as I see Simon sitting at the table. He’s dressed in grey suit and has a frosty Rolex on his wrist, his face twisted into a smirk talking to, and pouring his eyes over the girl that’s sitting next to him.

The worst part is, that I know that girl. I would know those long, caramel-coloured locks from anywhere.

Melanie Mason.

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  1. Kathleen Fazio

    Feb 2, 2022

    omg I love it so much! you are an amazing writer.

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    0 Replies Feb 2, 2022
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