He must be the dealer, or one of his runners.
“Stay, bitch.” Lenny chuckles as he fumbles with his seatbelt, as if him telling me to stay like a dog is the funniest thing he’s ever come up with.
He doesn’t look at me. He’s too focused on the desperate need crawling under his skin.
I call them meth-roaches. Tiny, invisible insects chewing through their brains, forcing them to twitch and scratch and do terrible things to hold them at bay.
I watch Lenny amble toward the dealer. My uncle looks even shiftier than the fucking dealer—clothes filthier, movements awkward.
Dear God, let this be quick.
It looks like we’re all alone out here, but for how long? My dad’s car is a piece of crap, but I’ve seen what desperate junkies will do for cash. If one of them happens on us while we’re out here, who knows what will happen?
I tug my hoodie up over my face and wish I’d parked a little further up the road where I’d be in shadow.
The dealer recognizes Lenny, but he doesn’t exactly look like he wants to shake his hand. If anything, his posture gets stiffer—shoulders bunching, chin lifting—like he’s expecting a fight.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter, the cracked imitation-leather on my dad’s steering wheel squeaking in protest as I tighten my grip. “Just get it fucking over with.”
The sooner he gets his fix, the sooner I can drive us home. Two more months living in Lenny’s shithole apartment with my junkie father, then I’m off to Agony Hollow. College.
A new life.
I can do anything for two more months.
They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying, but it’s obvious that things aren’t going well. From the way he’s gesturing, it looks like Lenny’s trying to get the dealer to drop the price.
I risk winding down the window, wincing when a mechanism inside the door squeaks loudly.
Lenny’s voice carries up the empty street to where I’m parked. “—Told you I’d have it next week!”
“Fuck off, Lenny.”
Lenny throws his hands up. “Jesus, man. You know I’m good for it.”
More head-shaking from the dealer, who lights himself a cigarette like Lenny being upset isn’t a big deal. Maybe he doesn’t know my uncle that well, because I’d do fuckinganythingto avoid my uncle getting pissed off.
Dread pools in my stomach when Lenny shifts his weight and glances back at me over his shoulder.
It’s not a casual ‘is she still there or did she take off with the car’ kind of look. It’s that roach-driven calculated glare he gets when life’s handed him lemons and he’s trying to figure out how to sell them for drugs.
My entire body jerks when he snaps his fingers at me.
“Hey, princess!” he calls out. “Get over here!”
My entire body locks up in terror. “No, no, no,” I mumble.
“Get the fuck out of the car, bitch!”
Every instinct screams at me to floor the gas, drive out of town, and never look back.
But where the fuck would I go? I can’t live on the street for two months, can I? I mean, I could try, but Lenny would find me. Healwaysfinds me. And the punishment will be so much worse than whatever he’s planning now.
He probably just wants me to act as a character witness. To tell the dealer he’s good for the money. Maybe he wants to check if I’ve got money.
I do.
I have ten dollars. If that’ll make this whole thing end so I can go home and get back to pretending, then I’ll pay it gladly.
