3 Grams: An Addictive Novella

by Krihstin Zink

  They continuously nagged me about how I misused their money and my time . . . to only become a disc jockey. Somehow I managed to graduate with a bachelor’s in digital media, but did I use it? No.

  You know what weed did to me? Instead of seeking a traditional life, I confirmed with a get-by job because blunts and getting high had become all that mattered. Fuck’em, quickly became my attitude towards their traditionalist standards. Over a decade of smoking, and I continued to puff-puff-pass.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about you being in a different city. The Santos and Tomas families have lived in Ft. Worth for ages . . . Dallas just seems too far.” With tears in her eyes, my mother’s face had creased with endless wrinkles that I had caused.

  Memories of their contempt plagued my thoughts, and I needed the negativity to stop. I rubbed my temple as I inhaled another peaceful-puff. Being the misunderstood outcast did significant harm: to me and my family. I had no choice but to move from Ft. Worth to Dallas, Texas—because it gave me a chance to find and be myself. I finally felt free from my stuck-up family who had constantly judged me and effed up my vibe.

  I smoked and lived as I pleased, without judgement from their continuous, uptight questions. “Why can’t you just be like your sisters? Where did I go wrong, Ophelia?” My father’s tears had become quite the show. Why did it have to be about me embarrassing him? Why couldn’t they just be happy for me?

  I puffed-and-puffed, until Lena glanced over and said, “O—let me hit it one more time, we’re almost there.” My cell phone buzzed, and I glanced down to see the last text I’d wanted to see.

  The Nagger: Message me and tell me you’re alive, Ophelia. Thank you.

  My mom sure knew how to get my attention. Text and emails to check on me quickly became painful reminders of how I would always be the family failure, unlike my sisters who had been married with children.

  “Babe, snap out of it! You’re burning your fingers—do you not feel that?” Lena swerved the car and I jerked my attention to my singed fingers.

  “The numbness must have set in.” I cracked the window open and flicked out my blunt-roach.

  “Babe, are you all right?” Lena gripped my hand as a pout wrinkled at her lips and eyes.

  “All. Is. Swell.” I exhaled as I leaned back and enjoyed our freedom from our judgmental parents.

  Twenty-minutes ticked by, and at last, we pulled into The Clubhouse’s parking lot. I stared in a daze at the simple beige building with a green tin roof. Even though the outside lacked glitz, TCH’s interior had been known as a sinner’s fortress.

  “You ready?” Lena buzzed with excitement as she stepped out of the car. She loved to dance, and had earned a scholarship to UT Dallas’s dance program. She would have made a killer ballerina, but a group of stuck-up, rich bitches had bullied her until she dropped out.

  Ceiling-lined neon lights greeted us as we walked into TCH; and several spotlights illuminated the music and dance stages. The aerial-dance ropes had become TCH’s most entertaining area: I’d watched the dancers for hours, twirling and yo-yo-ing up-and-down those ropes.

  “What-up, y’all?” TCH’s manager, Klyde, nodded his head as he strut past us. His black nut-huggers and skin-tight V-neck clung to every formed muscle.

  TCH’s staff consisted of mostly party people who wanted to get paid to be wild. Social-clicks had formed, however, Lena and I had been excluded: we worked, received our earnings, and left as quickly as possible.

  Most of the girls hadn’t lasted long, especially when they never made the money they wanted. But then again, how could they when FZG: Fiona, Zara, and Gia commanded everyone’s attention. FZG had been TCH’s triple treat: they had formed the band Sticky-and-Sweet, had a mesmerizing aerial show, and had become an exotic attraction. FZG’s faces had been plastered all over TCH’s social media pages, which had earned their TCH recognition. Of course, other’s continuously hated the favoritism.

  FZG could have been triplets: they had thick, sable-colored hair with yellowish amber-tinted eyes; and their smooth-butterscotch skin had a lovely comparison to the other fake-baked dancers.

  “Sup, bitches. You ready to play my music, O?” Fiona, the loud one, hollered as she twirled on her favorite pole. Zara and Gia flocked toward Lena and me. Z helped with my equipment while G and Lena cleared my work area. We hustled; and within ten minutes, I blared Lady Gaga’s Alejandro through TCH’s speakers. FZG practiced their acts while everyone else prepared for our 2PM opening.

  By 2AM, our last customer had stepped out of The Clubhouse’s front doors. It had turned out to be an epic 4th of July celebration. Our senior crew of long-term workers had ranked in tips galore, but most of the new employees had sulked out the door with envious and bitter creased faces.

  My iPhone chimed. “It’s 2:30AM, already?” Lena squeaked while we silently packed-up my deejay equipment. Klyde and Tandy carried-on a whispered discussion while they closed-out TCH’s registers.

  Juk, The Clubhouse’s janitor and bouncer, bobbed his head along to his earbuds’ tunes as he swiveled his cloth broom throughout TCH. I stared in awe as Fiona spun up-and-down her aerial ropes while Zara and Gia helped Juk clean the dancing stages.

  “All right, y’all—we had another fantastic night. Y’all be safe now.” Tandy’s bejeweled hand gripped at her hip, creasing her designer pants. Her wide smile spread across her fake lips, which matched her yearly modified body. Her high-heels clinked as she led us out of the building.

  “Y’all keep it tight and sexy.” Klyde smirked and then ambled towards his white Corvette. Def Leopard blared from his car’s speaker as he roared out of TCH’s lot. Tandy, in her Audi sedan, and Juk, in his beat-up truck, drove away before we could say goodbye.

  FZG nagged until they convinced Lena and me to join them for breakfast. “Come on, y’all are like an old couple. Y’all too good to have breakfast with us?” Fiona puckered up her lips and gave us a glare that had more humor than anger.

  “Fiiine.” I threw my hands up as we strolled towards our ride.

  Lena minded the speed limit while we followed FZG’s Lexus until we parked and faced Denny’s yellow and red business sign. As we stepped out of our cars, a dark star-less July sky loomed above us.

  Denny’s had been packed with an array of night-owl workers: exotic dancers, mixologist, servers, bouncers, and club deejays. We’d frequent that Denny’s so often that an uproar of cat-calls greeted us as we swaggered through the front door.

  “Hey, sexy-kitty,” Fi’s stalker said from a corner of Denny’s. His small group of fellow male strippers pounded their fists together like Neanderthals.

  Milla, the hostess on shift, rolled her eyes and laughed before she greeted us with her charming bright smile. “I’d give y’all your usual table but as you can see, it’s packed with snakes.” We glanced in the direction of the sleazy catcallers in the corner before she rushed us towards our new booth.

  A buzz of laughter and excited energy surrounded us while we settled into our seats. Besides the table directly next to us, every damn table had been stuffed with groups of party people.

  FZG and Lena clattered on about some move a newbie failed to execute, “I told her she wasn’t ready, but did she listen to me? No. That’s why I didn’t feel bad when she fell flat on her face. Those newbies need to stop trying to be like me.” Fiona rolled her amber eyes and smacked her matted red lips, as she flicked stray tresses over her shoulder. She’d never had any remorse about her narcissistic ways.

  “They can’t all be as perfect as you, Fi,” I teased because no one else had the vag to do it. Lena shoved my arm and gave me a hush-it stare.

  “Don’t start with me, O. What the fuck was up with those songs tonight? You were on a total emo train—that shit wasn’t right. It was a celebration, not a fucking wake.” Fi’s amber eyes burned hate in my direction. When I didn’t respond, her eyebrows furrowed up in distaste. Only Lena had known about Kendra, and I had planne
d to keep it that way.

  I puckered up my lips and blew Fi a sarcastic fuck-you kiss, and then asked Lena, “Babe, order my usual tuna melt—will ya?”

  Cheerful grins greeted me as I made my way towards the front door. When I stepped out, a humid summer drift swirled against my bare legs and through my pretty-boy haircut. I smoothed out my strays and tucked my long bangs behind my ear; then I slipped my hands into my pockets and strolled towards a darkened corner.

  A quick glance around the perimeter confirmed my solitude. The shadows concealed and accepted my date with the bitch who loved me best. I retrieved my sacred tin that held a freshly rolled blunt, then removed and placed the perfect bud cigar in between my lips. Once lit, each inhale of my bubble-berry bud blunt . . . mellowed my snarky mind. My skin pulsated while waves of happiness vibrated from my aura.

  “Smells like some good bud.” My heart rate accelerated as I searched for the gruff, male voice. Although they should have, ages ago, Texas hadn’t legalized bud. Hence, I had totally lacked the interest to add to my criminal record.

  “Over here.” A rough-skinned hand connected to a muscular arm waved at me from a pearlized-black Camaro.

  “Niiice ride, yo,” I managed to remark through my pacified lips. I’d had a mighty buzz.

  A light beamed and shined on his whitened grin. My heart raced and I felt the strange anticipation of bad mojo, especially since that year had become the summer of the missing women . . . whose naked bodies had been discovered throughout the city. Thus, speaking to lurky strangers had been announced as a danger to all women ages 18-30.

  For a moment, my mind overwhelmed with paranoia and my heart rate chocked at my throat. I pressed my palms to my face and then slid them down to rub at my neck. After work I had changed from sweat-drenched jeans and sports-bra, to grey cargo slacks and a blue tank top paired with my comfy red Toms. I didn’t feel attractive, so the rando, who lurked in the shadows of his Camaro, had me on edge.

  “The names Hendrix—what’s yours?” He gloomed as a dark shadow, hiding in his car as he totally fucked up my high.

  “Look, brah—I’m not interested.” I shrugged at him, and marched straight to Denny’s entrance.

  The handle felt cold as I yanked it open, then I stumbled and barged into a group of fine-ass, male dancers who saved my ass before I tumbled and embarrassed myself.

  “Damn, baby. Watch yourself.” A stacked piece of lean, chocolate gripped my arm while I found my footing.

  “Thanks, brah.” I released my arm and then offered him a fist bump before he exited the restaurant. I steadied my balance, and convinced myself to plan each step, until I finally reached the girls. With a wide grin on my face, I slid in while my high buzzed from my skin.

  “Fuck, babe—you stank.” Lena teased as she fanned her hand in front of her nose. The other girls giggled at her exaggerated expression until . . . the voice from outside boomed from behind me, “There you are.”

  His lack of recognition that I had blown him off had me ill. “Look, brah—” I stood to tell him off, but quickly bounced off of his stone-like chest. He smelled of a fresh-spring shower, and I could practically taste his body wash in my mouth. My gaze slowly drifted from his pierced nipples, that poked through his v-neck tank, to his vintage-sailor tat-covered neck . . . and then up to his finely combed beard that begged for my fingers to scratch it.

  Fuck. I had a sudden need to roam my hands all over his gym-built bod. With hesitation, my eyes lingered to his jade-colored eyes; and eventually, his sensual-snake eyes left me in a trance. Before Lena, I had slept with whomever I wanted—but it had been years since I had felt aroused by a man.

  “Don’t bother with her, sexy. She’s not into male flavors.” Gia’s southern sassiness, nudged her way in between me and Hendrix.

  I continued to fixate on his jade, snake-like eyes, until I noticed his wild mane that hung low and grazed against his shoulders. A hand tugged at my arm, and I turned to gaze down at Lena’s intense, fawn-colored stare.

  “What’s up?” she mumbled, but her anger blazed from her squinted-eyes and puckered-up lips. She resembled one of those mothers who wanted to give her hyper-kid a public smack-down. Lena tried to keep her cool; but I noticed it in her eyes and lips, her jealousy had surged through her aura. Of course, I couldn’t help but laugh like a teenager, trying to conceal my high. Her serious bitch-face always turned me on because I had a thing for the strong-female types.

  Then my nose saved me from Lena’s drama, since a fresh-and-hot tuna melt enticed me with its luring aroma. “Excuse me, the munchies are taking over.” I wiggled out of Lena’s grip and floated in adoration towards my sandwich.

  “Imma have an afterparty—y’all interested?” Hendrix spoke to the table, but my tuna melt had become the center of my universe. Perfectly melted cheese clung to the buttery, crisp bread.

  “Ab-so-lutely—mouthwatering,” I mumbled as I finished over half my sandwich. Fresh and lightly seasoned tuna tickled at my taste buds. My mouth watered as a food-orgasm vibrated from my throat.

  “Damn, girl—save it for the party,” Hendrix teased, but I had no fucks to offer. In that moment, only my tuna melt mattered.

  “Will there be more sexiness like you?” Fi perked up as if to purposely showcase her ample cleavage.

  “Fl-irt . . . mu-ch?” I winked and continued to chew on my sandwich. Karma could be a bitch, since I giggled and embarrassed myself with a little spit-up.

  “Sure.” The devilish grin that spread across Hendrix’s lips should have been an omen of what would come: but no one cared to notice because of all the swooning over his outlaw-style.

  Frankly, I felt it too. However, my tuna melt wore down my buzz until I could view the situation rationally.

  “It’s almost 4AM, we should leave,” Lena whispered as she tugged at my arm. She’d never felt comfortable around unfamiliar men. As long as I’d known her, Lena had never had a sexual relationship with a man: but who could blame her with all the touchy stepdads.

  “But we shouldn’t leave FZG with a stranger; you know all the dead women and shit,” I protested into Lena’s ear.

  She puckered up her lips into a pout and then replied, “True.”

  Lena sighed; and with round, worried eyes, she snuggled up tight against my arm. I tried to calm her qualms by fluttering kisses across her temple.

  My buzz had kept me calm because I had no idea what awaited us.

  FZG had been hooked with Hendrix’s first word, but Lena and I needed convincing. Yet, we should have protested more and convinced the girls to leave with us.

  “Come on, ya old hags, let’s have some fucking fun!” Gia, the usually submissive one, nagged us to tag along—until we finally followed Hendrix out of Denny’s. Once in the parking lot, we agreed to caravan towards his home.

  “Oh. Em. Gee! O—look at this place.” Lena carried on like a star-struck groupie while we cruised in an area of Dallas we had rarely visited.

  White Rock Lake glimmered while the wake splashed softly against the shore. The view had been stunning at dusk: a full moon and Dallas’s light pollution created a ghost-like effect on the lake’s surface; and cicadas chimed from outside Lena’s car while we inhaled the pollution free air.

  “Fuck. It’s so different out here.” I grinned at Lena.

  “Yeah, it lacks all of Dallas’s highway-pollution.” A soft smile spread across her lips, but it failed to reach her dim eyes.

  Once we parked and exited our cars, FZG huddled up in a buzz of enthusiasm as we wandered from Hendrix’s car and then towards an exaggerated driveway, which led to his two-story, stone-faced mansion.

  “Ladies first,” Hendrix offered before he pushed open a French-style door that slid across a marble-slab floor.

  “Whoa. I never assumed you’d live here,” Zora admitted as we stepped into a crystal-and-stone decorated foyer.

  “It’s like an episode of Secret Lives of the Super Rich,
” Lena whispered and then tightly gripped at my hand.

  “Bro, I’m back,” Hendrix’s voice echoed in his barely decorated home.

  Cramps, from an unsettling knot, formed in the pit of my stomach when I noticed the lack of family photos. Anything that would have made his house feel like a home . . . had been absent. His home’s exterior had a pristine style, but the inside screamed frugal.

  Lena hugged at my arm until I glanced at her and witnessed her worrisome eyes and mouth, which hung lower on her face. “We’ll be fine,” I asserted in an attempt to calm her python-hug that had reduced the circulation to my fingers.

  FZG and Lena froze in their spots and my pulse stopped when we heard a male raucous voice scoff out, “Ha. Who told you that?” My mother had always advised to never trust strangers. As an adult, I should have continued with that notion. Heavy booted men stomped in our direction—until their rough hands pulled as they ambushed us. They swarmed and attacked the five of us females, leaving us as feeble victims to an unforeseen mob of abusers.

  We trembled, like scared piglets at the whim of a pack of big-bad wolves. The cold sage-colored wall felt deathly against my palms, like a premonition of the mortuary table I would inevitably meet.

  “Stop! Don’t touch me . . . What are you doing?” Lena screamed while she failed to hide behind me.

  “Whiiieee?” FZG repeated in unison, as if their triple-treat cuteness would have saved us.

  My attempts to fight back had been stupid, especially since the swarm of masked, musk-infused, camo-dressed males overpowered the five of us.

  I searched the room for Hendrix and found him shaking hands with a bald, dark-eyed male who peered with such hate through a ceramic demonic mask. His silk robe barely covered any of his nakedness.