“What about your mom?” I ask as I take her hand and allow her to guide me from the seat. My thighs protest slightly in discomfort as I stand.
“She ain’t really around,” Trish scoffs, and she turns and heads around the back of the small home.
I follow.
“So it’s just you and your stepdad then?” I ask her as we round the home and climb a creaking back porch.
“Yup,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ at the end. She walks up to a glass sliding door and pulls it open, standing back and gesturing for me to enter.
The small home is cramped but nice enough. Stale cigarette smoke lingers in the warm air and there’s a pile of dishes in the sink of the small kitchen, but otherwise, it’s pretty barren, unlived in almost. I want to ask her more questions but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to be rude.
“My room’s back this way,” Trish says as she walks past me in a blur of black and blue.
She leads me down an ill-lit hallway. The yellowing floral wallpaper is peeling in corners, exposing the raw walls beneath. We turn left into a small bedroom. The walls have been painted black but you can barely see them behind the posters and prints hung on almost every inch of wall. There’s a twin bed on the far wall. Above it is a red pentagram. Trish flips the switch on the wall and the pentagram glows red, bathing the room in an eerie light.
“Dope, right?” she asks, but it’s not really a question and I’m not really going to answer. Instead, I swallow down my unease and take a step further into her room.
She drops her bag on her bed, rummaging through the contents with her back to me. I glance at the walls, checking out the posters. They’re mostly band posters—Metallica, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath. Death metal. Satan’s music.
“Here we go!” My eyes snap back to Trish as she shouts. She’s triumphantly looking at me and holding a bag of weed. “Ready to light up?”
I nod my head. Part of me feels like I should probably get the fuck out of here. But a louder part of me really wants to just get fucked up and forget.
“Good girl,” she praises before turning to her desk and preparing a joint. She grinds and rolls with expert precision, turning to me with a fat joint perched between her delicate fingers just a moment later. “Ladies first,” she coos as she holds out the stick.
I let her slide the paper between my lips. I can taste her on my tongue as the joint sits in my mouth. She brings a ZIppo up, flipping the switch, and letting the flickering flame touch the tip. I pull in a long hit, the burning smoke coating my throat and lungs until I feel as if I’m suffocating. I close my eyes and let the drugs hit me. Slowly, I pull the joint away and blow out the smoke. It takes a moment, but when the muscles in my arms get a little looser, I know the drug is hitting me.
“That’s good,” I tell Trish as I pass her the joint. She pinches it between her thumb and pointer and takes a long hit.
“Wait until the high truly hits, sweetheart.” She smirks, and I swear her canines seem to glint in the red light of the room.
“Give me another taste?” I ask her as my eyes fall to the low cut of her black tee. Her breasts are small but perky. I bite my lip as I stare at them.
She grabs me by the hip, pulling me against her roughly. I let out a small, surprised gasp. Her dark skin is so smooth and silky. I run my fingers along her arm and watch as the hairs stand on end. Her fingers grip my chin, tilting my face to hers. She pulls in a long drag from the joint before she leans over me, locking her lips against mine, and blowing the smoke into my slightly parted mouth. I moan pleasurably in response as the burning herbs coat my tongue and her sugary sweetness lands on my lips.
“You taste good.” I giggle as I pull back.
“Oh yeah?” she asks as she cocks a pierced eyebrow. “And what if I want to taste you?”
She’s right—the high is fully hitting me now. I feel…light; like there’s nothing and no one who could harm me at this moment. I wonder to myself if it’s really and truly just weed in the joint but I’m too high to truly care. I hum a tune in my head and let the warmth spread through my body.
Oh shit, I’m laying on the bed. When did I get to the bed?How’dI get to the bed? A small giggle escapes my lips as I stare up at theceiling.
Her drugs are deadly.
“Relax, sweetheart, let me make you feel good,” Trish purrs seductively, and I realize she’s on top of me, her body pressed to mine. How long has she been there?
I blink, and when I open my eyes, I’m naked.Where’d my clothes go? The cool air pricks at my skin, making the hair stand on end. I don’t remember taking off my pants… Am I blacking out? I move to push a lock of red hair out of my face but it’s difficult to get my arm to cooperate fully. I hit something hard with my hand. It’s a body. Trish is straddling me, her mouth around one of my breasts. Her pierced tongue flicks my aching nipple and I mewl loudly, my hips lifting off the bed.
“That’s it, stay with me, sweetheart. I want you with me when you come all over my tongue,” she states as she pops off my tit. I whine at the loss of her wicked tongue.
“More,” I whimper in a shallow voice that sounds far away, as if I’m outside my own body, floating far away.
“You want more? Want me to make you cum?” she taunts as she travels down my body.
Her teeth nip at my skin, the pain a stark contrast to the distorted emptiness brought on by the drugs. I whine and lift my hips off the bed, a silent plea. Darkness threatens to pull me under again but I fight to hold onto consciousness. I blink. I blink again. The world seems to spin and the pentagram hanging above the bed swirls.
“Such a pretty thing,” she purrs as she shoves my legs wide. “Soripe and pink.”
