I was ashamed to say that I lunged for the glove box to retrieve my poison of choice, only to frown when my eyes landed on some serious bullshit.
“Weed, Shane?” Furious, I tossed the bag back into the glove box and ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
“There’s been a situation with my carrier,” he explained calmly. “A temporary delay in delivery.”
“Fine,” I bit out, feeling jittery at the prospect of not getting what I’d come for – what I fucking needed. “Got any oxy? Or hydro? A few benzos? Come on, Shane, don’t throw me under the bus like this.”
“Like I said, kid, there’s been an issue with my supplier.” Sparking up a cigarette, he inhaled a deep drag and then tossed both the box and my cash on my lap. “Which means it’s going to be a while before I have your usual.”
“How long are you talking?” I bit out, sparking up a cigarette, as I shakily tucked my cash back in my pocket. “A couple of days? A week? Because I’m fucking drowning here, lad. I can’t wait.“
“Relax, Lynchy,” he interrupted, tone coaxing. “I know you’re in a bad way.”
“Yeah,” I seethed, chest heaving now. “I am.”
There was no point in denying it.
Shane had known me since I was a child.
He could read me like a book.
Nodding in understanding, he reached into his pocket. “Which is why this is on me,” he added, sliding the small paper fold over to me. “No strings.”
Unfolding the neatly wrapped paper, I stared down at the off-white-colored powder in my hands. “That’s not coke, is it?
He shook his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
My pulse skyrocketed. “Shane.”
Keeping his eyes trained on the windscreen in front of him, he said, “Gear guaranteed to give the desired effect.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I told you before that I don’t want heroin!“
“I know, I know,” he coaxed, holding his hands up. “But this shit just hits on a different level. It’s cheaper, too, kid.”
“How cheap?”
“What you’ve been paying for one flush of your usual will keep you good for a week in smack.”
“No. No goddamn way. I don’t do needles,” I snapped, running a hand through my hair. “I’m not a fucking junkie.“
“You don’t have to,” he was quick to explain. “You’re watching too much television. That’s brown sugar. What I’m offering you is pure. The good stuff. You can smoke it or snort it. Whatever you like, lad. It’ll make everything else feel like smarties, kid. Take my word for it.”
“I can’t,” I strangled out, staring down at the temptation in my hands. “It’s too fucking risky.“
“Not when it’s used safely,” he encouraged. “Come on, kid. Do you think I’d fuck you over like that? We’re from the same terrace. I’ve known you since you were in nappies.”
“Listen, Shane, I just need something to help me get by,” I heard myself argue, and I wasn’t sure who I was arguing with; him or me. “I’m so fucking fucked in the head here. I don’t need anything that’s going to make my life worse.”
“I get it,” he said, giving me an understanding nod. “Those GAA trainers are breathing down your neck, you have teachers giving you shit, and that little ride of yours has you strung up by the bollocks. You’re under pressure, kid, and need a little release. I get that. They might not understand, but I do. Don’t feel bad for needing a little help to get you through that bullshit you have to take from your old man.” I glared at him, and he held his hands up. “Your old man’s a scumbag, kid. It’s common knowledge. I’m not judging you for needing a reprieve from a bastard like that.”
That was the problem; I did need that reprieve.
I needed it so damn badly that I heard myself relent and say, “Fine, but only until your supplier comes good with my usual.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed enthusiastically. “Have at it, kid.”
“Fuck.” Shaking my head, I stared down at the contents of the fold and muttered, “You said I can snort it, yeah?”
“Here.“ Reaching across the seat, he took the fold from me and quickly went to work on splitting it. “This is enough at a time to get you fucked,” he explained, handing me a CD case with a small amount of powder. “Snort it like you would any other line and feel yourself relax, kid.”
“The hell am I doing?” I grumbled, as I looked around the empty carpark before taking the rolled-up fiver from his hand and leaned in close. Disgusted with myself for my weakness, I pressed the make-shift straw to my nose and inhaled deeply.
STRUNG OUT
SEPTEMBER 1ST 2004
AOIFE
Joey didn’t follow me into class.
In fact, he didn’t show up until the class before big lunch.
“What the hell, asshole?” I whisper-hissed when he sank into the chair alongside mine during Business. “Where have you been?”
“I had to go home,” he explained quietly, as he withdrew his textbook and pencil case from his bag. “I, uh…”
“You what?” I asked, waiting for his answer.
Jerking, he shook his head, and mashed a hand against his cheek. “Must be out of credit.”
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes. “Are you high?”
“No.”
“Joey.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’ve been crying?” I whispered, as concern rose inside of me at a rapid pace.
His nose was red, his eyes were bloodshot and watering.
“I don’t cry.” Joey released a shaky breath and retrieved a wad of tissue from his pocket. “I’m just…” He completely spaced out for several long beats before adding, “coming down with something.”
“Oh my god, Joe, you’re bleeding,” I strangled out, when the white tissue he used to dab his nose came back a crimson red. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“I am?” He stared down at the blood-stained tissue in an almost trancelike motion. Blood continued to trickle down his face, but he made no move to intervene. “Ah shit.”
“Joey,” I snapped, grabbing the tissue from his hand and pressing it to his nose. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” With one hand cupping the back of his head, I used the other to hold the tissue to his face. “Bullshit. What did he give you?”
“Nothing,” he whispered, hands falling limply to his sides, as he watched me watch him. “It’s all good, Molloy.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “You’re completely strung out.”
“I’m not lying.” My heart plummeted out of my ass and on to the floor, where he then kicked it by saying, “I swear.”
“You’re such a liar.”
Furious, I quickly pulled him to his feet, and reeled off some spiel to the teacher before ushering him out of the classroom, ignoring the stares and whispers as we went.