Forever: Beautiful Series, book two

by Anderson, Lilliana

  He takes the glass of water off me and places it on the coffee table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wad of cards and starts flipping through them.

  “So which one of these are you? Linda? Erica? Peyton?... there’s more. What did you do? Rob every girl who looks remotely like to you take her ID?”

  I reach out to snatch them back, but he pulls the cards out of my reach. “Give them back.”

  “Maybe I should. I can write these girls a nice letter and tell them I found the girl who stole from them. I’m guessing she’s this girl right here,” he says waiving my own ID at me. “Paige Larsen. A seventeen-year-old runaway from where? Jamisontown? Where’s that?”

  “I’m not from Jamisontown. It’s just where I was living when I got my learners permit,” I tell him, reaching out again to try to take my ID.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, moving them away from me again.

  “What do you want from me? I don’t have any money, and I’m too sober to sleep with you.”

  “Well, I did have something else in mind for you. But after seeing your skills, I think you can help us both out.”

  “What kind of skills are you talking about?”

  “The ones that help you survive my dear, Paige.”

  “That’s not a skill. It’s called a pussy.”

  He laughs. “Not your pussy, sweetheart. I’m talking about how you got your hands on all these IDs. There’s a lot of money in selling them because they’re too hard to counterfeit without the right machine.”

  “So you want me to bag snatch for you?”

  “I prefer to call it ‘acquiring stock’, but yes.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  “Well, you’d be doing me a slight favour in helping me change career paths. In return, since you seem to be lacking a permanent place to stay, you’ll have the use of my couch, and we’ll split the money from the sales, fifty-fifty.”

  “That seems a little unfair. I’m taking all the risk, and you’re getting all the gain.”

  “Believe me sweetheart, there’s plenty of risk in what I’m doing. The guy I’ll sell to is into a hell of a lot of shit, and if I get caught, I’ll be charged with more than just theft. I’m not a good boy.”

  “And I’m not a good girl.”

  “I know. It’s why I already love you.”

  Looking around the room, I take in my surroundings. It looks like we’re in a studio apartment. There’s one of those tri-fold room dividers separating a bed from the rest of the room, and a small kitchenette off to the side. The walls are a bare red brick, and the floors are a grey concrete with rugs dotted about the furniture. There’s only one door, so I assume there must be a communal bathroom somewhere.

  Sleeping here and actually making some money would be a nice change of pace. All the men are starting to look the same, and I’m getting sick of being a hole to fuck. I have no idea how prostitutes do it as an actual job.

  “All right. As long as I don’t have to sleep with you, it’s a deal.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I like my dick too much to put it in the likes of you.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t have anything. I always use protection.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s OK. I’m joking. But you won’t have to worry. I don’t want sleep with you. I just want to make lots of money with you.” He grins. “Are you in?”

  “Fine. I’m in,” I concede, with a roll of my eyes.

  Clapping his hands together, he rises from his seat. “I think this new business venture of ours calls for a little celebration. Care to chase the dragon with me?”

  “The what?”

  “You can’t be serious. You don’t know what I’m talking about?” He gets up and walks over to his kitchen.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Well then, let me show you.”

  He opens a drawer and pulls out a roll of foil and tears pieces off. He folds them into neat rectangles and sets them aside. He then takes a baggie of small irregular shaped crystals and adds one to the end of each bit of foil.

  “Is that ice?” I ask, wondering what he’s doing with it.

  “Heroine,” he replies, pulling out a funnelled tube and a lighter.

  As I watch him heat the foil, the crystal starts to smoke. Using the funnel, he breathes in the vapour like he’s inhaling from a bong.

  “You try,” he says, handing it to me.

  I have a bit of trouble holding everything together, so he holds the lighter and the foil and I just hold the funnel. The burning crystal gives off a strange smell of chemicals mixed with caramel. It’s sickly sweet, but not terribly offensive.

  It doesn’t take long before the buzz hits me. I’m deliriously happy, and this shitty world is once again a wonderful place.

  “I like this dragon,” I say, my eyes heavy after we’ve smoked the crystal down.

  “It’s my favourite,” he says, lying back on the couch. We collapse next to each other and just enjoy the high.

  “You don’t even know my name,” he says after a while.

  “Yes I do. It’s on your name tag,” I tell him, my mouth moving sluggishly around the words.

  “Braden,” he says in reply.

  “I know. I told you I know.”

  He finds this really funny and chuckles to himself.

  I think that maybe I say something else, but I’m not sure I do. My eyes open and close slowly. I’m just so… blissful.

  Twenty-Four

  18 years old. 3 years since the note. 2 since Jeff. 1 since Ed and Matthew. 271 days ho-free. Zero days since I stole my last purse.

  “Stop drawing me,” I complain when I notice Braden sketching me as I sit on the bench top, shaving my legs into the sink.

  “I’m an artist, sweetheart. I see beauty, and I draw it. Simple as that,” Braden says from his position on the couch that also doubles as my bed.

  “Me shaving my legs is beautiful?” I laugh as I continue my quest of hair removal.

  “Well, yeah. In a way. It’s the light. The angle you’re sitting. And you, of course. I like drawing you.”

  “Hmmm,” is all I say in reply.

  “Just why are you doing that there, anyway? You know there’s a bathroom down the hall.”

  “Yes. But that weird girl from number twenty-eight is in there. She sings all the time and asks me super happy questions. She kind of freaks me out.”

  “Which girl? Oh, Valerie? Geez Paige, she’s completely harmless. I’m sure she’s just trying to be friendly.”

  “I feel like she’s trying to force me to join her super-happy-hyper-girl cult.” I shudder, bouncy girls really do freak me out.

  “Sweetheart, it’s not a cult. It’s called cheerleading. She loves that shit.”

  “Well fine for her. But she needs to leave me out of it.” I rinse off my legs and apply some lotion.

  “Fair enough.” He focuses intently on his drawing, rubbing at the page with his finger to smudge the pencil.

  “How many pictures do you have of me in there, anyway?” I ask, as I slide off the bench.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “A few.”

  I move over to him and lean on the back of the couch to look over his shoulder. “Exactly how many is ‘a few’?”

  He just shrugs again and closes his book so I can’t see, sliding his pencil behind his ear as he moves to stand up. He never lets me see what he’s drawing.

  “Oh no. You’re not getting out of it that easy.” Reaching over the back of the couch, I snatch the sketch pad out of his hands. “I’ve been here for months and you’re always drawing in that thing. I want to see it.”

  “Give it back, Paige,” he warns.

  I move around the studio, dodging him as I leaf through the pages.

  “Close it, Paige. That’s private!”

  “Wow, Braden. You’re really good,” I admit. There are drawings of everything in here, from people to animals, trees and vehicles. Basically, what
ever has caught his eye, has been recorded in such vivid detail it actually looks real.

  I’m so focused on the drawings I forget to move out of his way. Although, my reactions are quick enough that I tighten my grip on the pages as he pulls on the binding.

  “Give it back.”

  “No. I’m looking. Let go, Braden. You’re going to make me tear it,” I tell him calmly. He narrows his eyes at me and releases his hand. Grinning triumphantly, I continue to leaf through his drawings.

  The visual arts diary he uses is one of those thick bound ones with a hard black cover. More than half of it is filled with his sketches.

  Slowly I flick through all the pages, marvelling at his work. “You can tell when I moved in,” I smile, glancing up at him.

  Suddenly, there are pages and pages of me. Sitting watching television, brushing my hair… “You drew me sleeping?” I ask, turning the book to him and tapping on the paper.

  “I like drawing you. So sue me,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking surly.

  “Well… you’re very talented,” I compliment, as I shut the book and hand it back to his eager hands.

  “You’re not weirded out?” he asks, taking it back and folding his arms over it protectively.

  “Why would I be? I’ve seen you drawing me. I just wanted to see them.”

  “They don’t mean I’m obsessed with you or anything,” he assures me.

  “I know.” I smile. Moving towards him and giving him a light kiss on the cheek. “You just think I’m beautiful.”

  “You’re damn right I do.” He grins back. “Now get that gorgeous arse of yours out there and get me some more stock. I have a delivery to make this afternoon, and we might as well get all the money we can.”

  Once a week, Braden goes out on his own to take all the IDs I’ve managed to get my hands on to whoever it is he sells them to. Our income level varies from week to week, but it’s more money than I’ve ever had. More than enough to get by and procure some entertainment for ourselves on the side.

  During the week, we stay clean because we need to focus. Braden is studying art and design at uni as well as working a few nights at Planetary, and I have purses that require my attention. I need to have my wits about me, or I’ll be caught. That’s the last thing I want.

  “Get moving, woman!” he says as I’m preparing to leave. Saluting him, I finish collecting my things.

  “You want to run interference for me?” I ask as I lace up my shoes. Sometimes Braden comes out and distracts my targets with a question about directions: the time, or whatever else he can come up with.

  “Sure. I’ll help you for a while. Then I can go and get our money.”

  “Good, I want to go shopping for something new to wear this weekend.”

  “Me too. I want to look irresistible this weekend. Did you see that guy I was talking to last Saturday? He said he’d be at Compound this weekend. So that’s where we’re going,” he sing-songs.

  “Yes. I did see that guy. And then I saw him go home with his girlfriend. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one.” I laugh.

  “No. I could tell. Just watch what happens.” He grins, standing at the door, ready to leave.

  Weekends are our party time. It’s when we really let loose and enjoy the fruits of our labour. I haven’t completely given up my old ways. As much as I thought I was sick of sleeping with random guys, I still have a libido. Except now I go home with guys that I actually want to fuck. I can afford to be choosy.

  Braden’s not as bad at picking up as he originally made out, although he’s better at picking up women than men. From the looks of it, I think he’s attracted to straight men which is obviously where his problem finding a man arises from. Sometimes he scores though, and that’s when he’s happiest.

  We have a rule that we don’t bring people back to the studio because it’s not fair to the other person. We always go home with the guy or girl. The studio is just for us.

  Before he met me, Braden was only into ‘chasing the dragon’—as he likes to call it—and speed—which he calls ‘go-ie’. It’s like he can’t call a spade a spade. But I’ve convinced him that coke is far superior to his ‘go-ie’, and after trying it with me, he’s inclined to agree.

  Now we have a ritual. When we get ready to go out, we set up our lines and snort them just before we leave so we’re feeling wonderful by the time we get to the clubs or parties. When we get back to the apartment we smoke heroine to come down. It’s a beautiful combination. I even find myself leaving the beds of the men I go home with so I can get back for a smoke. I’m having trouble coming down without it.

  Twenty-Five

  When Braden gets back from his meeting, he’s in s foul mood. “The boss wants to meet you,” he says as he counts off my money and places it in my hand a little too rough.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know. I was trying to keep you out of the official side of things. But there's a party next weekend. We've been invited."

  “A party? Well that doesn’t sound too scary. What are you worried about?"

  He blows out a breath and runs his hand back and forth through his hair. "I didn't want them to find out about you."

  Taking his hands in mine, I hold them between us and give them a reassuring squeeze. “Well, they have now. I've been around dealers plenty of times. We'll be OK. I'll make a good impression. I promise.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s them.”

  “Are they going to kill me?”

  He rolls his eyes. “No.”

  “Beat me up?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s your worry?”

  He blows out his breath. "Nothing. Let’s just go shopping. I want to buy you a new dress. You need to look super hot for this.”

  “Ah.” I smile. “Now you’ve got me excited.”

  Flicking fiercely through the clothes racks in Myer, he scrutinises a few dresses before shaking his head and putting them back. I hold up a gorgeous looking, royal blue mini dress with a tiny ruffle around the hem that makes it look fun and flirty. “How about this one?”

  “No. That’s no good.” He frowns and goes back to his rummaging. “You need to look gorgeous. Absolutely ravishing. It’s important that we’re really fun and friendly because these people supply our cash and they supply our ‘fun’. We can’t disappoint. Here,” he says, holding up a tiny red sparkling dress.

  I take it and hold it against my body, admiring it in the mirror. It looks like the clothing version of Dorothy’s ruby slippers. I love it.

  “It’s perfect,” I tell his smiling face as we head for the shoes. “I wasn’t aware our buyer and supplier were the same people. What else are they into?”

  “Oh, this and that. It doesn’t really have much to do with me,” he says, taking the dress from my hands. His eyes dart around, and he appears slightly agitated for a moment. “Red or black shoes?”

  “Black,” I say.

  When the night of the party rolls around, I have to admit I look amazing in the dress. I barely have an ounce of fat on me these days, but I still have all my curves, and my hair is almost halfway down my back. I look like the goddess Braden always calls me.

  As we get ready, Braden reiterates the importance of meeting our ‘bosses’. “Sweetheart, I need you to make a good impression. Reggie needs to meet you and if he doesn’t like you, I’ll be in big trouble.”

  “How does he even know about me?”

  “Well, I let it slip that I’m not the sticky-fingered wonder who gets him his merchandise, and he doesn’t like that I wasn’t honest with him. He was very insistent that he needed to meet you before we could go any further.” Braden wipes sweat from his upper lip, causing me to frown. He’s not his usual confident self. He won’t hold my gaze for more than a couple of seconds. What am I about to walk into?

  My heart thuds double-time in my chest and I’m only too happy to sniff some powdered courag
e before we catch a cab to Double Bay to meet this ‘Reggie’.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I breathe as the cab pulls into the circular drive of the largest house I’ve ever seen. “You actually know someone who lives here?”

  “I don’t know. The boss just told me there was a party and to bring you here,” Braden says.

  “God. How do I even behave in a place like this?” I think I stop breathing as nerves swirl through my stomach.

  Braden squeezes my hand. “It’ll be fun, relax.”

  We pay the cabbie and get out at the security gate. Braden presses the intercom. It beeps a couple of times before it’s answered by a gruff voice, demanding to know who we are.

  Once our identities are confirmed, we’re allowed to move through. We walk up the pathway arm in arm, the sounds of the party growing louder with each step. I pause for a moment, pulling on Braden’s arm.

  “I think I need another hit. I’m too nervous.” I reach in my purse to search for the little snuff bottle I have to top myself up throughout the night.

  “Wait til we get inside,” he says, putting his hand over mine and halting my movement. “I swear to you, there will be the purest shit you have ever tried inside. You’ll be flying all night.” My nerves turn to excitement as I wonder what a pure high would be like.

  I hang my bag back over my shoulder, and we continue up the path. The driveway is littered with parked cars, and we can hear music and laughter going on inside as we approach the door.

  “Are we late?” I ask as Braden raises his hand to knock.

  The door opens immediately, and a man with dark, stylishly messy hair, opens his arms wide and welcomes us enthusiastically. He appears to be well into his thirties and has straight, perfectly even teeth and bronzed skin.

  “Come in,” he booms, taking my hand and bringing it to his mouth. “Braden, I can see why you were hiding her.” He smiles, his eyes locked with mine as he presses his lips to my knuckles.

  “Can you blame me?” Braden laughs uneasily. I can hear a slight tinge of nervousness in his voice as he introduces us. “Paige, this is Reggie. Reggie, meet Paige.”