by Belle Aurora
Running a hand over my face, I tell him, “It’s Lexi. Ling let her have two fuckin’ lines last night. I left her to shower and came back to find her sitting on the tiles under freezing water. So I don’t know if she’s sick, or just having a reaction to the coke. She’s…not good.”
His voice softens, “Let me handle it, man. Go sit with her. We’ll be there soon.”
I say, “Thanks, bro.” What I don’t say is, “I owe you one.”
But we both know that’s a given.
The doctor looks over Lexi’s unconscious and sweating body, now covered in one of my tees, umming and ahhing for close to ten minutes. Feeling her glands, peering into her eyes with a light, taking her temperature four times over the course of minutes. It’s safe to say, I’m panicked.
If it were anyone else but her…
Pushing the thought out of my head, I watch him closely. I don’t like his hands on her. All over her. This is how ridiculous I am. I know he’s a doctor. I know he’s here to help. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to take his head off at the sight of his hands on her body.
On my body. She is mine. She belongs to me.
For a second, I worry myself with thoughts that I’ve taken things with Lexi too far. For a second, I tell myself to break all ties with her. For a second, I wonder if I’m in too deep here.
For a second.
The doctor, a tall and fit middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, comes to stand by my side. Squirting hand sanitizer into his palm, he rubs his hands together. “So you say she’s never done drugs before, then decided to do weed and cocaine all in one night?” His brow furrows. He doesn’t believe a word I say.
Steeling my jaw, I explain, “I asked her to have a smoke with me and she did,” looking him in the eye, I state, “willingly.” He nods in a duly noted way and I add, “But I think the weed impaired her judgement enough to do the blow. I wasn’t around, and when I came back, she was wasted. She was worried about the weed in her system, so I don’t know why she would’ve…” I shrug. The rest is self-explanatory.
The doctor watches me closely, eyes narrowing. The motherfucker is making me sweat and he knows it. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, “It looks viral to me. The drug use may have amplified her body’s reaction to the virus, but as far as I can tell, she’s just severely dehydrated. Hence the drip.”
I look at the IV hooked up to the top of Lexi’s hand. Actually, I stare.
Can I really go through with hurting her, when I can’t stand to see a fucking needle in her?
I’ll never tell the fucker, but Happy was right. I’ve never been fine. Not a day in my life. My mind is…is…ruined. And I know the exact point it went from bad to worse.
Doc speaks on, “I’ll have to stay here until she wakes. The drip will take another four hours to empty. So if you have a spare bed for me, I’ll gladly take it. Preferably one close to the girl.”
It takes everything I have in me not to bring this guy down. I don’t like the way he said the girl. He said it like she was a junkie or a fuckin’ prostitute or something. Little does he know the type of work she does, or how fuckin’ lucky the government is to have someone as passionate as her on their side. But then, I am paying this guy a fuckload to avoid the question of identities.
“So,” I continue watching Lexi, my angel, “she’ll be fine, right?”
Picking up his carry bag, he states, “I can’t confirm or deny that. I’ll need to see her when she wakes.”
A forgotten Happy emerges from the doorway and motions for the doc to follow him. And I’m left with the girl who is destined to hate me. The girl I lov—
Whoa. What the fuck?
My body tenses. Glaring down at Lexi, I shake my head as if to clear it.
I don’t like what she’s doing to me.
My go-to emotion for anything I don’t like or don’t understand is anger. And I’m suddenly angry at her.
Scowling, I turn on my heel and stalk out the room.
Never should’ve brought her here.
My heavy lids try to open, but the weight of them forces me to stop. A cool breeze wafts over my hot body, providing little relief, but still feeling good nonetheless. A pinching on my hand makes my brows knit. It feels like I’m being stung by a bee.
Willing my arms to lift, I manage to slowly reach for the sore area on top of my hand to feel bumpy plastic. My brow furrows more. That’s when I hear someone speak by my bedside, “She’s waking up. Yeah. I don’t know. Okay.”
Opening one eye to peek out at my visitor, I see Happy watching me through a cautious gaze.
The effort to open that eye seems to have taken all my energy with it. Closing my eye and ceasing all movement, I mumble, “Sick.”
I feel Happy lean closer and brush the hair stuck to my forehead, “I know, doll. You’re better some. Not so feverish. So that’s good.”
Swallowing hard, I whisper, “Twitch.”
Happy hesitates a moment before leaning even closer and whispering, “He’ll be home soon. ‘Kay?”
My body heavy, I don’t respond. Even a nod of my head would be too much.
I want Twitch.
Sitting up in bed, the doc looks over me. He goes over the motions and I look at the digital clock on the nightstand.
4:56pm.
I’ve been awake an hour. I’ve been told that I was dehydrated and needed two IV drip infusions. I have to admit after I managed to ignore the pinching, the IV was doing its job. I feel better already.
But one thing is missing.
Or I should say, one person.
The room dimly lit by lamplight, I turn to see Happy watching TV in the chair beside the bed.
I feel much better now. I’m no longer dehydrated and have eaten. The doc gave me parting instructions, which he said he would write down for me. He shot me a glare as he handed me the folded paper. Then he was gone.
As soon as he left, I opened the note and read. The top of the paper had printed Doctor’s recommendation to patient. Underneath that was scrawled:
Don’t do cocaine.
My face flamed. I don’t exactly remember what happened last night, but I do remember enough to cringe and wince at my actions. My heart races. There’s no way around it. I’m going to lose my job. I won’t pass this year’s random drug test.
And I blame Twitch.
His mess of a life has become my mess.
Turning to the digital clock on the nightstand, I stare at the display.
22:45pm and he’s still not home.
Fucking coward.
Hugging myself around the knees, I say quietly, “I’d like to go home now.”
I feel Happy’s eyes on me. He sighs, “You don’t have to, Lex. You can stay—”
I cut him off. “I’d like to go home. If you can arrange a car, good. If you can’t, I’ll catch a taxi.”
He scoffs, “Don’t even think about it, girl. I’ll drive you myself.”
Within ten minutes, my miserable ass is driving away from the man I thought could change.
Would change.
I guess I was wrong.
One week later…
To say I’m jumpy is an understatement.
It’s been a week since I saw Twitch. A week since I was sick. A week since I took cocaine for the first time.
Sitting behind my desk, I listen to Charlie without really listening to him. Small bits of the conversation drift in and out of my consciousness. “Yearly drug test… Every six months… Randomly… Tomorrow afternoon… Compulsory… Will result in immediate termination… Nothing to worry about.”
My heart sinks.
Time to face the facts.
Tomorrow is the day I lose my job. A job I worked my ass off to get. A job I love with all my heart.
Charlie searches my face. He frowns, “Lex, I know we’re not supposed to get personal at work, but I…” He sighs. “…I just want to ask if everything’s okay. You haven’t been yourself lately. I rarely see you
smile anymore. I’m worried about you.”
Standing abruptly, I wipe my sweaty palms on the front of my skirt. Putting on my brightest smile, I tell him, “I’m fine. Really. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. I have a lot on my mind.”
Charlie throws me a sympathetic smile. “Okay. Well, you know you can talk to me anytime.”
Standing, he takes his leave and I stand behind my desk, brain blank.
The past week has been shitty. Shitty because I felt ill most days, and shitty because Twitch decided he is sick of playing with me.
But didn’t have the guts to tell me himself. I’ve been waiting a week for him to show up in my room or text me. I haven’t even felt him watching me. He’s just…gone.
I realize the cocaine thing was bad and I shouldn’t have done that, but in all seriousness, I don’t even remember doing it.
I mean, me? Doing cocaine? I-I don’t know what happened.
That’s just not like me.
I’ve avoided Nikki and Dave as much as humanly possible. They’ve been calling every day asking if we can get together, but I’ve told them that I haven’t been well and didn’t want to pass my bug on. Dave seemed mollified. Nikki? Not so much.
She knows. She always knows when something’s happened.
And that asshole. That fucking asshole.
Ditching me like yesterday’s trash.
I tell myself that I don’t care and that it’s much better this way. Cutting ties without leaving a mess. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cut me deep.
I seem to be going through the stages of grief.
I’ve already been through the first step, denial and isolation, and have moved up to stage two, anger. And I’m angry right now.
How dare he? Who does he think he is? I don’t need him.
Maybe if you just call him…?
Oh hell. I’m already on the verge of step three. Bargaining.
I don’t care who he is, I’m not calling him. I haven’t done anything wrong!
Sitting back down behind my desk, I text Nikki and Dave, asking them to meet me tonight.
I need a girl’s night.
“So what you’re saying is that he just stopped calling?”
Well, technically, Twitch doesn’t call, but… “Yeah. That’s about right,” I tell Nikki.
Dave looks over at me through sad eyes. “Maybe you should call him. He could just be busy.”
Rolling my eyes, I state, “You don’t even like him! Why are you sticking up for him?”
Dave places his hands up in an I surrender gesture, “I may not like him, but I know you do, which means he’s gotta have some redeeming qualities or you wouldn’t want him.”
Does Twitch have any redeeming qualities? I’ll have to ponder this question later.
Nikki asks, “You don’t think he’s just giving you some time to yourself after getting sick at his place? Maybe he thinks you’re embarrassed about it and will come to him when you’re ready.”
Yeah. That’s right. I’m officially a lying sack of shit.
I couldn’t tell my friends that I had willingly taken drugs. They’d be so disappointed in me. Dave and Nikki aren’t against the use of drugs, but they know what I do for a living. They know what happens if I take drugs. They know…they know I’ll lose my job.
And tomorrow it’ll all come out.
But I’ll wait until then.
Throwing some potato chips into my mouth, I chew loudly, sigh, then let out a garbled, “Life sucks.”
The woman who swabbed my inner cheek was young and plump, with short black hair and tattoos.
Tattoos that immediately reminded me of a certain someone I’d rather not think about.
She said, “You can wait here for the results,” as she went to process my positive result.
Unable to sit there knowing what would be happening in a few minutes, I all but ran back to my office, and flustered, began looking through my drawers.
So here I am, waiting for someone to knock at the door and tell me my inevitable fate.
The knock sounds and I jump.
“Come in,” I call out weakly.
Charlie strides into my office with a white sheet of paper in his hands. Placing the paper on my desk, he glares at me. “Results are in.”
Oh shit. This is it.
Confusion washes over me as his face breaks out into a huge smile, then winks, “Passed. As per usual.”
The office door shuts behind him. I stare at it dumbfounded. I don’t understand. I was preparing to lose my job.
Maybe they made a mistake.
How could they? There’s very little mistake margin in those tests.
It had to have been a mistake. A happy mistake.
I still don’t understand.
What just happened?
My phone pings, scaring the life out of me.
Blinking, I look down at the display and my heart races.
Twitch: You’re welcome.
Oh.
That’s what happened.
Not a second passes when my phone pings a second time.
And this message makes my heart stop.
Twitch: For the record…you owe me, Angel.
I have no idea what that means, but I know this is not a good thing.
Sitting in complete silence, my chest aches.
What have I gotten myself into?
Going cold turkey when you’re trying to break an addiction can be painful. More like excruciating.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen Lexi. And I’m starting to sweat.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like the hold she has on me. I don’t like how affected I am by not seeing her.
You could call my avoidance of her a test of sorts.
I needed to know how deeply I’m rooted into this…this…would you call what we have a relationship?
Personally, I’d call it give and take.
She gives and I take.
Watching her on the sly is driving me crazy. The stupid woman went to work the day after she left my bed sick. A day. I had to watch from a distance as she slowly walked up the steps to the building, hands shaking, weak posture, and pale-faced.
I could’ve spanked her ass for that.
There’s something about a strong woman, though. Something that makes you watch her with pride.
Lexi lets nothing stand in her way.
Making a few calls to the right people, and finding out her mandatory drug test would be happening sooner than I thought, I knew I had to get involved.
Paying off the testee to swab her own mouth and replace Lexi’s with it was easier than I thought. Well worth the five hundred big ones.
Just like any addiction, my excuse to use again was too strong to fight. Lexi being the addiction, I text her. As soon as I did, I set my phone down on my desk and closed my eyes tight.
It was official.
I was never letting her go.
Walking over to the storage cupboard to get myself another printer cartridge, I stop dead in my tracks when I hear muffled talking coming from the inside.
My brow furrows. I step closer to listen in.
“Was this your first time?” Ling.
No answer.
She pries, “It’s okay if it was. You did great.”
Then, “It wasn’t my first time.” Michael. He says this much too defensively.
My rage spikes.
Ling starts, “Mickey, baby, it’s not a big deal. Really, it’s—”
The door opens and I’m met with Michael’s mussed hair and half-unbuttoned shirt.
I’m furious.
“Get back to work, knucklehead!” Michael jumps to attention.
Eyeing an annoyed Ling, I keep a threat in my voice when I point my finger at her and say, “You and I are going to talk about this.”
Walking away from the enraging scene, I hear Michael follow close behind. He stutters, “B-b-but you haven’t given me anything to do yet.” He quickly
adds, “Sir.”
As we approach my office, I realize I’m not angry anymore. Just tired. I ask, “You need me to tell you what to do? Get a pen and notebook from the cupboard, just there.” I point to the left side of the room and he scuttles over there, trying to be quick as he can.
Sitting myself down at my desk, I watch him approach wide-eyed and I state, “Number one on your not to do list...”
His face bunches and he questions, “Not to do list?”
Ignoring him, I play with the letter opener that usually resides on my desk, “Number one: Do not have sex with Ling.”
Finally looking up at him, I watch his face flame. He explains quietly, “Sh-she said you’d be angry if I didn’t.”
Oh man. I want to punish her for manipulating this kid the way she has. No doubt he was a virgin too. She really is a sick fuck.
Not that I can talk.
The look on my face must convey my thought about Ling at this moment because Michael panics, “Is she in trouble?”
Disregarding him, I state, “Number two on your not to do list: Do not piss me off.”
But he remains focused on Ling. “You won’t…” He swallows hard. “You won’t hurt her, right?”
Scoffing, I lift my hand high and bring down the letter opener down to my desk with a dull thud. The dagger stands upright, piercing my monstrosity of a desk and I point at him, giving my final instruction. “Number three on your not do to list: Do not – and I mean ever, Michael – do not ever question me.”
He blinks a moment before nodding his understanding and jotting down his directions. I see so much of myself in this kid that I feel something for him. Something almost paternal.
Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Kid, the only time I’d ever put my hands to a woman,” I smirk at his sudden look of interest, “is if she begged me to.”
Stepping closer, he looks behind him at the open door before leaning closer and whispering, “D-does that happen a lot?”
