Of course I know why Benny was with Gemme. I know how the guy thinks. Be nice, act the friendly guy who's there for you, even though he doesn't know you, be the gentleman, walk her home, then when he's invited down just because she feels like she has to, he'll find a way into her pants.
"He doesn't seem that bad though!"
"Of course he doesn't."
"What are you on about?"
The words kind of echo oddly in my head on the way back to the apartment. Didn't she figure it out? Clearly not. Unless she's resorted to whoring herself out to the first guy that shows even a shred of friendliness, no matter how false it is. Ugh, your choice Gemme. I thought you were better than that. Then again, you did end up with me to begin with.
Don't get me wrong. We can still be friends, if she can put up with me. I just... didn't mean jumping in bed with the first guy that offers. Or sneaks in, in Benny's case.
I'm beginning to wonder why I called him a friend... I guess he was more a vaguely friendly acquaintance, and to be honest, he only turns into a total dick to people he knows when he's competing for a girl.
When I get to the apartment, I remember I still have that gun in my pocket. I don't know how I forgot, really. But I suddenly wish I'd shot Benny while I'd had the chance. The mess I left in the apartment trembles in a clamour of tinkling glass pieces as I get pissed off at myself and Benny all over again.
With a sigh, I lift it all and make it all go in the bin, wondering where you're supposed to buy new glasses from. Maybe plastic beakers would be safer, though.
"Cancer!" a woman shouts from my door, banging on it, breaking through my contemplation over the beakers vs. glasses.
"One sec, Annie," I call back, but she ignores me, banging on the door again. I let her in and the long and short of it is, her and her boyfriend are going nuts on their withdrawals, and I sold a lot of stuff. $1000 down, $99,000 left to go. Essentially, every junkie in town has been going crazy with their withdrawals, since they didn't know whether I was back or not.
The rest of the night was mental, I had people in and out of the apartment like flies, some staying, some not. People that were staying were bundled into the spare bedroom, left to fight over the bed in there. I threatened to break a lot of bones as they attempted to steal the drugs. They got the point after a while.
Gemme crossed my mind about five times, while everyone was still awake. When everyone crashed and fell asleep, however, she got back on my mind and stayed there until I figured the best thing to do would be lock away my much diminished supplies and my much appreciated income, and get high.
Which is exactly what I did.
Thank fuck for heroin.
And whatever else it was I ended up mixing in there.
Whatever it was, it should have killed me. And it felt so fucking good.
Of course, in that kind of state, I just had to hope no one else woke up or tried to steal stuff. Or kidnap me again. A bunch of passed out junkies were hardly gonna protect me.
The trip I had was intense. It wasn't visual, but it was like this tirade of feelings, and sounds and all that good stuff. I pass out before the bad feelings can hit. My body heals away the effects as I sleep, and I conclude that whatever that mix was, I need to do that again sometime.
When I wake up, there's this guy standing over me, staring at me wide eyed and to be honest, he still looks stoned out of his nut. I can't remember his name. I think it's Nate, though.
"What?" I groan pushing myself up.
"Weed, man." He slurs and I roll my eyes.
"Yeah. Got the cash?" I ask, eyeing the guy. He looks like a complete idiot, wearing a parka coat indoors. In the spring. With a beard.
"You don't take credit cards?" He asked slowly, completely unaware of the fact that...
"I DON'T HAVE A CARD READER!" I yell at him, scowling as he recoils. "Go get the cash out and come back when you have the money to give me." Yeah, I don't appreciate being woken up by being stared at. I don't appreciate being woken up at all. At least when I was asleep Gemme wasn't on my mind.
Getting up, I look around and look at the smattering of junkies on the floor, the smell of drugs and puke and smile. Feels like home, now.