Vein Fire

by Adams, Lucia

  They drove the few blocks to Matt’s house and he instructed Hannah to park in the back. After he unlocked his door for her, he returned to the car, and removed the drugs. Skye happily ran around the house, smelling things before settling on Hannah’s lap.

  Matt came back in with his purchases, dumped them onto the coffee table, and motioned with his fingers for Hannah to give him the Percocets. She pulled them from her bra and handed them to Matt. He emptied them out of his sock, onto the table, and put his sock back onto his bare foot.

  “Can you count these for me?” he pointed to the pile of yellow pills. Hannah knew them well; she had bottles of them in her bathroom. She picked her prescription up every month, but rarely took them. In fact, Bob and Donna took them more often than she did. She knelt on the floor and began counting them into piles of ten.

  “These are worth money?”

  “Yeah—I’ll sell them for about five bucks a pill. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” Hannah decided not to tell Matt about her stash.

  When she finished, Hannah took the bricks of heroin apart and Matt weighed marijuana into sandwich baggies. The bricks were wrapped in pages ripped from porno magazines. Cocks rammed holes and ridiculous expressions decorated painted faces. Inside were tiny wax paper stamps filled with a small amount of brownish powder. Hannah counted them into buns—groups of ten, and placed a rubber band around them.

  “Be careful with them—they’re small and easy to lose.”

  “I will.”

  “I should make you strip down to your underwear like they do with the putas in trailers where they bag this shit up.”

  “Why do they do that?”

  “To make sure they don’t steal anything.”

  “Why would I steal something I bought?”

  Matt smiled, “I was trying to get you down to your panties.”

  Hannah laughed and kept counting. Skye trotted over to Matt and he picked the dog up. “Hannah, you know this isn’t a puppy, don’t you?”

  “No, it’s a puppy.”

  “No, it’s a fucking Pomeranian. They don’t get any bigger than this.”

  “Oh,” Hannah said quietly.

  “So where’d you get the mutt?”

  “Jared got her for me.”

  “Jared?” Matt put Skye down and cocked his head sideways at Hannah. “Jared gave you a dog?”

  “Yeah, he said his sister’s friend had puppies and they were going to kill the runt if they didn’t find it a home. He brought it to me.”

  Matt’s head cocked even further. “His sister?”

  Hannah continued to count stamps and didn’t look at Matt. “It was his sister’s friend’s dog who had puppies.”

  “Hannah, Jared doesn’t have a sister.”

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  Matt stood up and grabbd a piece of paper off of the top of his television. He read it for a second, picked Skye up, and examined her. “Did she come with this collar?”

  Hannah briefly raised her eyes and looked at Skye. “Yes.”

  Matt handed the paper to Hannah, but she hesitated to take it. “Some old lady came around today passing those flyers out. It seems as though she’s missing her Pomeranian named Bebe.”

  Skye barked. Hannah read the paper and set it down. “I don’t care where she came from; I’m not giving her back.”

  “When did he bring the dog to you?”

  “Sunday afternoon.” Hannah was reluctant to give any of the details out. She kept counting the stamps and didn’t look up.

  “Hannah, for fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me you let him in.”

  “Yeah, I let him in. So what? Big fucking evil that he is just brought me a puppy, watched a movie, and left.”

  “You watched a movie with him?”

  “Yeah, Pet Semetary.”

  “Pet Semetary? Nice choice for a first date.” Matt spit the words out.

  “It wasn’t a date. He’s your friend, remember?”

  “Hannah, stop your fucking counting.” Hannah looked up at him. “Jared’s fucking nuts. He’ll hurt you, if not kill you, so you need to stay away from him.”

  “You keep saying that, but he seems pretty fucking harmless to me.”

  “He’s already killed two people. Do you want to be number three?”

  Hannah looked at the drugs on the table and then met Matt’s eyes, “No.”

  “Then you have to listen to me. Jared stole some old lady’s dog and brought it to you because he figured I’d tell you to stay away from him.”

  “Well I’m not giving the fucking dog back.” Hannah picked Skye up and put her on her lap, petting her.

  “No, you don’t have to give the dog back, but let’s buy her a new collar…maybe get her fur shaved so she looks different, okay?”

  “Like a lion.”

  “What?”

  “I want to get her shaved like a lion.”

  “Yeah, like a lion.” Matt placed a hand on Hannah’s face and smoothed her hair back.

  “She’ll look cute as a lion,” Hannah said.

  “I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

  Hannah nodded and stopped petting Skye. Matt moved closer to her, and she thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t. He leaned back and Hannah resumed counting.

  “I’m gonna roll us a joint, then we can stop counting until tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Matt broke the buds of the weed up, and removed the stems and seeds. The rolling paper was thin, and creased easily between Matt’s fingers. He sprinkled the marijuana on the paper, carefully rolled it, and licked it to seal it.

  “Fuck, this shit is sticky with keef. Here, suck it off of my fingers.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, no sense in wasting it.”

  Hannah moved closer to Matt until her mouth met his outstretched fingers. She sucked the sticky keef from them with her eyes closed.

  “Now that’s a beautiful sight.”

  Hannah opened her eyes and moved back to where she was sitting. She smiled at Matt, but looked down quickly.

  “Maybe later, eh?” he chuckled and resumed rolling the joint.

  They smoked the joint as they cleaned the drugs off of the table, and then Matt took them upstairs to his safe. He came back down and Hannah could see his gun shoved into the back of his pants.

  “You have a gun?”

  “Yeah, I had it with me when we went to Pittsburgh. Listen, don’t be pissed. I didn’t want to risk losing your money.”

  The gun frightened Hannah, but Matt had been so nice to her all night. She just smiled. He threw a small tied up balloon on the coffee table.

  “We gotta try this.”

  “Try it? What is it?”

  “It’s tar heroin. I bought us a little bit for tonight.”

  “You mean we’re going to shoot it up?”

  “Nah, that’s for junkies. We’re gonna smoke it.”

  “You can smoke it?”

  “You can smoke anything, but we’re going to chase a dragon.”

  Matt went into the kitchen and came back carrying a few things. He took out his pocket knife, carefully slit the balloon open, and put some of the black tar onto a square of aluminum foil. He rolled a subscription card from inside of a magazine into a funnel and handed it to Hannah. “You first?”

  Hannah smiled. “Wait. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll light this until it cooks and then you suck up all of the smoke that you can through that funnel. Okay? Ready?”

  Hannah nodded her head, but wasn’t sure if she was ready. She sat next to Matt and when he held his lighter under the foil, she tried sucking up as much of the smoke as her lungs could swallow. She didn’t want to disappoint Matt.

  *

  The carpet felt like moss under her body. Hannah moved her arms and legs, “Look, I’m making snow angels.”

  “But there’s no snow, Angel.”

  “Look, I’m making carpet angels.” />
  “Yes, you are.”

  Hannah giggled and closed her eyes. The carpet was swallowing her into a sea of glowing jelly fish, and then spitting her back out to Matt. Spit and swallow, swallow and spit. She didn’t know how, or when she had lost all of her clothes; she only knew she felt like heaven.

  “You grew up pretty,” Matt breathed into her ear. She smiled.

  CHAPTER 11

  Paisleys

  In her life, she lived lucky days and good days, but Hannah never experienced ones like those that Matt gave her. The weekend rolled and she felt like clothes tossing in a dryer—round and round, in and out, like jelly beans and belly buttons.

  Customers came and the paper stacked until Matt said they were even. Soon, the paper stacks were bundled and he said they were making profit. Hannah told him he was a prophet. He kissed her for it.

  It was usually men who bought the drugs. Some would stay and indulge while others would take their stuff and leave. If they were smoking, sometimes they’d share with Hannah, but it made no difference because Matt always had plenty for her. Hannah passed out easily. Matt only let her have little rations of the stash because he said the drugs would eventually make her skin itch if she didn’t have them.

  After her first shower, she realized she hadn’t brought clothes with her, so she wore one of Matt’s long t-shirts and a pair of his sweat pants. He said she looked cute in them and liked how they were easy to take off. They hadn’t had sex yet while she was awake, but she was almost sure all of the days on her calendar would need red x’s.

  Hannah called in sick on Monday, and Tuesday, and then she dared to call off on Wednesday. She wasn’t eager to see Donna, and staying with Matt was too much like a dream she once had of things she thought she’d never do.

  Matt had the tolerance of a horse. He smoked, snorted, and popped pills, but he could always function. Unlike Hannah, he went to work every day. Hannah slept on the couch when he was at work and she never answered the door. Tweakers would knock for what seemed a mouthful of minutes, but she ignored them. Matt was right—she couldn’t protect herself, and he didn’t want robbed. The gun was kept on the coffee table while he was gone. Hannah never touched it, but it was there if she needed it. She thought she heard someone calling her name and Skye’s name once, but she went back to sleep and ignored the knocking.

  Marcus was a friend of Matt’s who bought in bulk to sell on his own. Because of this, Matt said he gave him a discount. Marcus didn’t sell out of Matt’s house—it was Matt’s territory. Since he was a good customer, Matt didn’t mind that he hung out a lot, shooting heroin up his veins, and then spending an hour afterwards with his head doing a drug nod as he stared at the television.

  Hannah knew Marcus was waiting on Matt’s porch, but she didn’t bother to let him in. Matt got off of work early on Wednesday and when he arrived home, Hannah heard him unlock all three locks before they entered the house. She was lying on the couch, half-asleep, her arm dangling down and resting on top of Skye. Skye jumped up to greet them, but Hannah didn’t move.

  Matt took the gun, went upstairs, and brought down a few buns. Marcus took them and held up a needle, “Do you mind, man?”

  “No, go right ahead. I’m all sweaty from work. I’m gonna go upstairs to shower and then I’ll be down.”

  Matt bound up the steps, two at a time, with Skye running behind him. Hannah opened her eyes and saw Marcus cooking his heroin in a spoon. She longed to inhale the fumes.

  He saw her watching and he nodded towards her, “You wanna hit?”

  Hannah nodded her head, but didn’t move. As he methodically prepared the heroin for injecting, Hannah watched Marcus; it was the closest he’d ever come to her. The scent of his deep cologne traveled up her nose and she smiled. His skin was a lovely cocoa color and she noticed his impressive arm muscles. After he pulled the plunger back to suck up the heroin, he plinked the side of the syringe so he could force the air out. She nearly said, “Please don’t,” but knew the tiny air bubble wouldn’t have killed her anyway.

  Marcus removed his belt and tightened it around Hannah’s calf. He pulled her sweat pants up and smacked a blue vein on the side of her ankle. She held her breath, terrified he’d raise her pant leg higher and see her scars.

  The beveled end slid into her skin; a lightning strike of red flashed into the barrel and with a flick of his thumb, he pushed the heroin into Hannah’s vein.

  She felt it—a sticky warmth massaged her cells. Marcus took the tourniquet off and it swam through her body in a flutter. Hannah was in a waterfall of orange welding sparks again.

  Sitting on the floor, Marcus hit himself, but in a large bulging vein in the crook of his arm. His body fell back against the couch, his head rested on Hannah’s abdomen, and he closed his eyes for a few minutes.

  The shower started and the rhythm sounded like rain. Marcus peeled the blanket off of Hannah in slow motion and crept a hand between the waistband of her sweatpants and her skin. Hannah was still swimming. She didn’t care who was touching her because everything felt like cotton candy.

  Marcus explored her and pressed his lips to the small mound beneath her belly button. Hannah smiled. Somewhere, behind closed eyes, she was floating on a little raft on a stream, surrounded by veil-tail goldfish. The rain stopped, and so did the touches and kisses. She wouldn’t tell Matt. She had come to expect this sort of thing when he left her alone with one of his customers. She wasn’t sure if it was part of his plan, or if they were all just opportunists doing things opportunists did.

  Hannah kept secrets from Matt—things she should have told him. Marcus left and she didn’t mention the hit he’d injected into her. The prick was on her ankle and he’d never notice it. He brought out the last of the tar and smoked it with Hannah, who was still high from what Marcus had given her.

  Hannah sucked the smoke up like a good girl. When Matt told her to take her shirt off, she did that too. When someone knocked at the door and he laid her down and covered her with the blanket, she was still. When he let Jared into the house and argued with him in the next room, Hannah pretended she was asleep.

  Hannah was under a tree with paisleys for leaves. They were fall colors and spring colors. They were delicate, and they were elaborate. In her mind, it wasn’t winter—she didn’t have to wear long sleeves or tights under her clothes. She lay under the tree and it shed its paisleys on her like cupcake sprinkles. She rolled around in them, inhaled their scent, and moved her arms and legs back and forth.

  Between the paisleys were words. The words fell from a cloud hanging over the tree and were either purple, or blue, depending on whether it was Jared or Matt who spoke them: Murder. Blame. Institution. Fuck. Need. Want. Secret. Refuse. Permit. Hannah. Fly.

  In the scatter of paisleys, the words didn’t make sense to her, but she knew they were important.

  Sometime later, her eyes flickered open. Matt and Jared sat on a couch, watching her contemplatively. She closed her eyes and remained still until she opened them and it was just Matt sitting on the couch. Something had changed. She could feel it.

  “Hannah, I need you to sober up.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Coffee or grape juice?”

  “Grape juice.”

  “I think you need coffee.”

  “Okay, coffee.”

  Matt stood up and walked into the kitchen. Hannah swung her legs over the side of the couch and sat up. Her head was heavy. Matt returned with the coffee and handed it to her.

  “What happened?” Hannah’s voice cracked and she took a sip of the juice.

  “You passed out, I guess.”

  She smiled, “Hmm…it was nice. Was Jared here?”

  “No.” Matt’s lips tightened.

  “Funny. I thought I heard and saw him.”

  “You were really fucked up.” Matt turned the television on.

  The alarm that never s
eemed to sound in her, chimed like church bells. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Listen, I have to cook some of that coke into crack and it’s best if you aren’t here.”

  “You’re cooking it into crack?”

  “What I don’t step on, I’m cooking.”

  “What do you mean, step on?”

  “That means dilute it with baby laxatives. I’ll make more money off of it that way.”

  “Why do I have to leave?”

  “Hannah…” Matt hung his head and shook it from side to side, laughing. “This house is going to smell really bad and everyone in it is going to be high as fuck; you can’t stay while I cook the crack.”

  “Okay, when do you want me to leave?”

  “I don’t want you to leave, you just need to.” Matt looked at Hannah. She shivered in his clothes and starting to tear up. “You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

  “No,” she said as tears eased from the corners of her eyes.

  “Don’t cry. You can come back; you just shouldn’t be here for a while. Listen, let me cook it up and I’ll come stay at your house.”

  “You will?” She perked up.

  “Yeah. Hannah, you need to go back to work anyway. I talked to Bob today; Donna’s starting to get suspicious.

  “Donna’s suspicious? About what?” She perked up and could feel the obviously guilty look on her face.

  “Yeah, you’ve missed a lot of work this week. She’s worried about you. Go back to work, and it’ll be no big deal.”

  “Okay, when I think I can drive, I’ll leave.”

  “If you want me to drive you home and then walk back here, I will.”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Okay, just wait until after eleven.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  Hannah didn’t wait until she was sober. After a half of an hour of watching TV in silence, she picked her purse up, grabbed Skye, murmured a slight goodbye, and went home.

  The apartment was still and smelled stale. It was as though it slept and died in her absence. She showered and made neat red x’s on her calendar before she went to bed. Facing Donna wasn’t something she looked forward to.