2 Timers

by Amaleka McCall

  “I said get the fuck out of here. I’m fine,” she snarled. It was bad enough she had to act crazy, kicking the seat and banging the windows to get them to drive her to Harlem from Brooklyn in the first place.

  The man sank back down in his seat and closed his door. Still, the vehicle didn’t move. Even with the blacked-out windows, Lyric could tell Melody’s goons were still watching her.

  “Suit yourselves and sit out here like assholes.” Lyric turned her back on them and walked up to the building. It was hard for her to imagine herself being back in her old stomping grounds after her drug overdose, failed stint in rehab, and the horrors of reliving the past during her reunion with her sisters.

  Lyric still smiled. It felt damned good to be free though. Now she knew how all her rich friends felt when they got released from drug rehab or what they called—rich-bitch prison.

  Lyric shook her arms at her sides, trying to ward off the jitters that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a skyscraper about to fall off. Her beer buzz was long gone, and she felt unexplainably nervous. She was home and lucky to be back, but that didn’t change the eerie feeling creeping up and down her spine.

  She finally walked up to the front door and pounded on it. There was no sense in trying the bell; it hadn’t worked in years.

  “Who?” a male voice boomed from behind.

  Lyric didn’t recognize the voice, and apparently she didn’t answer fast enough.

  “Who the fuck is it?” the voice shot again.

  “It’s me, Lyric,” she called out, leaning her face closer to the door. “Where’s Rebel?”

  Lyric shoved her shaky hands deep into her pockets, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for the door to open. Her stomach fluttered at the sound of the locks clicking. She wasn’t nervous about seeing Rebel; she was nervous about why she’d come to see him. She had practiced ten ways to beg him to take her back, although he was the one who had left her. She needed him now more than ever. He had always been her escape. Rebel knew what to do to make Lyric forget her pain.

  “Hey, Lyric,” Drew, one of Rebel’s stoner friends, opened the door and said. He blocked the doorway with his body.

  Lyric smiled. “Oh, shit, Drew. I haven’t seen your dope-fiend ass in a minute,” she chimed. She had gotten some of her best highs from dope Drew had copped. She rushed forward and hugged him tightly.

  Drew didn’t return the embrace.

  “Um, listen, Lyric . . .” Drew stammered, looking over his shoulder, and then back at her.

  “What? Why you acting like you don’t know me and shit? This is my home,” Lyric said, her smile fading.

  “I . . . just don’t want any problems,” Drew replied, hanging his head.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she snapped, craning her neck to look past him. “Problems? What problems?”

  “May . . . maybe I should . . . tell . . . um . . . Rebel that you’re here first,” Drew said hesitantly.

  “Oh, hell no. Fuck you, man. Where is Rebel?” Lyric growled, pushing past him and storming inside. “I don’t need to be announced. I’m the fucking lady of this house.”

  Lyric stumbled down the long, dimly lit hallway to the door that led to the home she once shared with Rebel.

  Once she crossed the doorsill, Lyric felt like the breath had been snatched from her body. Dumbfounded, she stared at the newly laid dark ebony hardwood floors, the plush Italian leather sofas, the chrome bar stools, modern artwork on the walls, and the large flat-screen television.

  “Who did this?” Lyric asked through her teeth, rounding on Drew with fire in her eyes.

  “Who the fuck decorated this place?”

  Instinctually, Lyric knew that a woman had been responsible for the upgrades. Rebel was a pig and didn’t care one bit about fancy furnishings or artsy designs. There was no trace of him in the room—gone were the liquor and beer bottles, old food wrappers, and used drug paraphernalia that usually littered the place.

  Lyric glared at Drew. “Where the fuck is Rebel? I want to see him, now.”

  Drew shrugged and looked away. Lyric saw the guilt wash over his expression. Her heart sped up, and her nostrils opened and closed like a bull ready to charge.

  A few seconds of silence passed before Lyric started screaming. “Rebel! Rebel! Where the fuck are you?” she stomped through the house.

  Drew put his hands up in front of him and stood aside. She started to pass the first door on her right and heard music playing within. Lyric paused and listened at the door, eyebrows dipping low on her face.

  “Why the fuck is he blasting love songs?” Lyric could hear the crooning voice of Trey Songz. It wasn’t Rebel’s choice of music; he was a hardcore hip-hop head. Lyric swallowed hard, her stomach in knots. This did not bode well.

  “Rebel!” she called out, jiggling the doorknob. “Unlock this damn door!” Her hands were shaking. She was certain he had female company inside. Then she heard it.

  A woman called out Rebel’s name in ecstasy—it was clear, even over the music. Lyric felt things around her begin to spin. A flash of anger rose from her feet and climbed up to her chest. Enraged, she rammed her body into the door, sending it crashing open.

  The woman screeched and scrambled off of Rebel. “What the fuck?” she gasped, pulling the sheet in an attempt to cover herself.

  Lyric shook her head, tears immediately filling her eyes.

  “Ki . . . Kim?” she gasped, clutching at her chest, the pain nearly unbearable. Kim had been Lyric’s friend for six years. Tears streamed down her face. Kim had been with her and supplied her the drugs the night she had overdosed, but this was beyond unforgivable. All of Kim’s words that night, the whole horrifying scene—everything replayed in Lyric’s head . . .

  * * *

  Lyric had held her left nostril closed as she used her right nostril to inhale the small mound of white powder laid out on a pocket mirror in front of her.

  “Whew.” She flinched as the drugs hit her system. Her eyes snapped shut by themselves, and her body went limp for a few seconds. Then she slumped over, nearly kissing the floor.

  “Hey. Hey, be easy on this shit, girl,” Kim said, grabbing Lyric before she face planted.

  “Damn,” Lyric huffed. “That is the shit!”

  “I told you,” Kim laughed. “This is premium. Not that stepped-on shit you and Rebel are used to. Now be easy, because this is not to be messed with,” Kim said, as she stepped between the little mountain of white powder and Lyric.

  “I’m a pro,” Lyric waved her off. “Let me hit that again. That shit is better than sex and chocolate and chocolate and sex.” She laughed and pranced around.

  Opening her eyes, she looked in the mirror. She finally liked what she saw. Lyric flipped the long side of her hair and rubbed the lipstick off of her teeth. “I’m ready for the next one.” Lyric loved how she felt. Invincible. Beautiful. Happy. She’d finally found that high again.

  “Lyric, I’m telling you, girl, you have to get used to the kick of this shit. You can’t be blowing through it. You’re lightweight when it comes to this straight-off-the-boat product. Take one more quick sniff and that’s it. I mean it,” Kim warned. “I am not trying to pick your ass up off the floor or have you be in the damn morgue,” Kim joked.

  “You worry too much, girlie. We came to have a good time. Shit, if I end up in the morgue, at least you can stand up at my funeral and say, ‘That bitch went out hiii-gh as a motherfucker,’” Lyric replied, raising her hands above her head for emphasis.

  Kim laughed. She had been Lyric’s friend for six years, and she had watched Lyric’s entire life change. And not for the better. Lyric told Kim all about how the singing group had broken up and how Lyric desperately wanted to still be famous, but Lyric had never told Kim everything that she was battling inside.

  “One more. Dead ass,” Kim said sternly, stepping aside to give Lyric access to their little party stash.

  “One more
,” Lyric acquiesced. “I promise. Just one more.” That was the famous drug addict line—it was always “just one more” or “one last” hit.

  This time, Lyric held her right nostril closed and vacuumed up the powder with her left nostril. When the tiny line of white powder was all gone, she threw her head back and shook her shoulders. The pure, uncut cocaine hit her central nervous system with a bang. Lyric saw colorful fireworks erupting behind her eyelids. This was better than any heroin high she’d had in years. Lyric’s drug addiction had taken on a life of its own over the years. It had started with the pills Andrew Harvey fed her every time she was forced to be with him. At first, Lyric tried to resist, but she quickly learned that the pills made it, and him, easier to deal with. Then, after he died with his dick inside of her, Lyric had graduated to using heroin; her first time was with Rebel. When that high wasn’t strong enough for her to escape reality anymore, Lyric began mixing things and using whatever she could get—alcohol, pills, meth, cocaine, and heroin. She didn’t care so long as she didn’t have to feel any pain. So long as she didn’t have to live with reality.

  Lyric let out a high-pitched squeak and cackled somewhat maniacally. Her head hung down until her chin was touching her neck, causing her hair to spill forward wildly. She could feel the vibration from the club’s music pounding in her chest. Lyric felt good.

  “That’s some primo shit,” she giggled.

  She kept complimenting Kim on her new drug because she couldn’t get over how good it was. Lyric swayed her body to the sound of the loud music filtering through the club’s bathroom.

  “It’s a celebration, bitches,” Lyric joked. She danced over and planted a playful kiss on Kim’s cheek. “Thank you for celebrating with me, best friend. That’s my best friend. That’s my best friend,” Lyric sang. Kim giggled.

  “Well, you getting back out there, making moves, is cause for celebration,” Kim said. “And a tour with Melody Love is fucking big. I mean, she’s your sister and all, but to the world, she’s like a god. I’ve been waiting for you to patch things up with her so I could just meet her one time. I think if she shook my hand, I wouldn’t ever wash it again. I am definitely part of the Melody Army.”

  Lyric had told Kim all about the fact that she was going back out on tour. And how it wasn’t going to be long before she had her own money, her own big house, and Tribeca loft.

  “Naw, forget Melody. That good shit you got right there is cause for celebration. That’s what we should be worshipping. You can change the world with that,” Lyric replied joyfully. She felt damned good. In fact, she didn’t think she had felt this great in years. She danced around some more.

  “I told you,” Kim said, bending down and sniffing up her own dose of her supply. “My guy told me this is what his richest clients use. He hooked me up. I mean, I had to give him a little something, but it was worth it.”

  “He hooked you up for real. That shit so good, I’d give him some ass too. I’m ready to take on the world now,” Lyric cheered, raising her hands over her head and clapping.

  “You just graduated, chick. This is better than that depressing-ass smack. That shit is a downer, and it makes you look terrible too. Uppers, girlfriend, you can’t beat this high. This is the new wave shit, and I made sure you had it first. You can’t be stopped now,” Kim said, cheering Lyric on even more.

  “Let me have one more hit,” Lyric begged, spinning around like a ballerina, her dress riding up her thighs.

  “No more hits yet. You need to take it slow. You can’t hit this like it’s that regular half-pure street junk,” Kim warned again for the third time.

  “Let’s go party. Shit, you know I can get us into VIP. I mean, you are celebrating, right?” Kim said, leaning over the bathroom sink so she could apply another coat of lip gloss to her full lips.

  “Ah, VIP. We big time again?” Lyric giggled, holding her fist up as a show of power. “I can definitely dig it. I could really dig it if I could hit again,” she winked.

  “Okay, look. One more tiny line before we go get our party on,” Kim said, dumping a tiny hill of drugs on the mirror.

  “Hell, yeah,” Lyric cheered, rushing over to the sink.

  She quickly snorted the line. Within seconds, she was ready. Kim watched as Lyric’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her back went straight and stiff for a few seconds.

  “Lyric? You all right?” Kim shook Lyric’s shoulders. Suddenly, Lyric seemed to come back. Her eyes returned to normal. She sniffled and brushed her nostrils off.

  “I’m good! I’m real good!”

  Kim’s face eased with relief. “C’mon. Let’s go have some fun. Let’s go celebrate your rebirth,” she said, pulling Lyric’s arm through her own as they exited the bathroom and headed into the bowels of the club.

  Lyric and Kim sauntered through the club, attracting a lot of attention. Lyric hadn’t felt attractive or beautiful in a long while. But now, with the drugs giving her a newfound dose of confidence and courage, she stopped on the dance floor and began dancing up on several strange men. She let the music reverberate through her body and soul while she made herself forget about Rebel, Ava’s death, Harmony, Melody, her past . . . everything. As Lyric bucked her body vigorously to the beat, she remembered all of the times she and Melody had partied in their girl group days. Harmony had never been one to go out and party, but Lyric and Melody had done enough for all of them. When Ava finally let them out, they were like animals out of a cage. Industry parties had been everything back then—the expensive drinks, the high-grade weed, the special treatment from club owners, and just the rush of the nightlife had been a form of escapism for Lyric. She used it to escape thoughts of Andrew Harvey touching her. She used it to escape the fact that her mother hated her. When Melody went solo, she focused on her career and left Lyric behind like she never mattered. Lyric had missed the fun days after that. She had missed the days when she didn’t have to worry about having money or when people still recognized her as Lyric Love and not as Melody Love’s sister. Lyric had missed being able to say she was actually a celebrity. Those days were the only times she could put the abuse out of her mind. Lyric needed the attention like she needed air, food, and water.

  Now, Lyric was getting all of the attention. She closed her eyes and let the music soak into her soul. “Ow!” she sang, rocking and letting all of her problems fall away, even if just for that moment. She shook her hips and sandwiched herself between two dudes—one grinded her from the front, and one grinded her from the back. She was loving it. She didn’t care about their hands on her thighs, on her ass. It was the attention she craved. Lyric pulled the dude behind her in closer, and she threw her arms around the neck of the dude in front of her—until Kim rushed over and grabbed her arm like a parent chaperone at a high school dance.

  “What? What’s the matter? I’m having fun,” Lyric’s eyes popped open. Kim clutched onto her tightly and dragged her off of the dance floor. “I’ll be back, cuties,” Lyric flirted with her two confused dance partners.

  “Girl, no. You are about to be a big name again. You can’t be dancing with the local yokels looking like a thot out here. We fuck with VIP-status dudes only. Did you even look at those lames you were dancing with? Had their damn hands all up your dress and on your ass. Yuck, Lyric,” Kim scolded. “You and I have a reputation to uphold, and it is of style and class. Not ratchetness. Do I have to teach you everything? Better start getting back in that A-list celeb mind-set. You think Beyoncé would be out here on the dance floor grinding up with some lames with her ass all out?”

  “First of all, I’m not Beyoncé . . . more like Solange or not even Solange. Shit, right now, I’m more like that washed-up ass Michelle.” Lyric busted out laughing at her own joke. “And, why the hell else did we come to the club if it wasn’t to get our dance on? I damned sure didn’t come to sit around and be cute, acting like some stuck-up celebrity prude like my sister,” she replied sassily.

  Lyric loved to party hard. Her idea of
coming out was to dance and have fun, not sit like a princess on her throne, decked out in the latest fashions with a high-priced purse in her lap, just to make other women jealous.

  Kim sucked her teeth and continued dragging Lyric toward the VIP.

  “I came to the club to listen to the music, have a few drinks, and do a few lines. In VIP.” Kim stressed the VIP part.

  “Stuck up,” Lyric mocked. “You could’ve been Melody in another life.”

  “Yes, call it what you want. But I keep it classy all the time. I don’t let people make me sweat, and I certainly don’t dance with club regulars who come to the club with five dollars in their pockets and try to get a free feel,” Kim answered. “Shit, they ain’t even have to buy you a drink and you gave them free feels!”

  “Yeah, yeah, mother-may-I. You sound like Harmony with the lectures. I need a hit,” Lyric grumbled. “You blew my high all the way. Shit, I might as well have come out with Rebel, the biggest hater of all.”

  “One more hit and that’s it for the night,” Kim warned, storming back into the VIP section. “And I mean it, Lyric. Don’t ask me for anymore after this.”

  Lyric followed Kim to a darkened corner in the VIP section like a horse following a carrot. Kim looked around to make sure they were all clear; then she dug into her bag and handed Lyric a small glassine envelope.

  “Hit it easy. A little bit at a time,” Kim instructed. “I already told you this stuff is not to be fucked with.” Lyric waved her hand dismissively.

  “You worry too much, damn. If I wanted to be out with my sisters, I would’ve invited those bitches,” Lyric grumbled.

  “Just hurry up before someone sees,” Kim spoke directly into Lyric’s ear.

  “Okay. Okay.”

  Kim turned her back so that she could play lookout just in case any of the club’s security guards wanted to get nosy.

  “Lyric, I told you a tiny bit. You sound like you took too—” Kim spun around to warn Lyric again about the potency of the product.