Lisa

Chapter One.

I know it’s not good for me. I know it could kill me, and I know I don’t like it. Yet here I am again, waiting for Sirius to open his door. Waiting to get a nights supplies, because I know I can’t go a night without it. Without my warm, comfort blanket. Without my meth, I am absolutely nothing.
I banged on the door once more, I had been standing there, at his front door for 15 minutes. Sometimes it took 5 minutes to get my load, other times it took an hour. All depending on how much Sirius wants to make you suffer. Money isn’t enough for him, he’s making thousands, just sitting on his ass, taking orders. He likes to watch you sweat, he likes to see you in pain. It’s the only fun he gets. No matter how long he kept me waiting, I always got antsy.
“Sirius, hurry up! You know this is killing me.”
I heard a snicker behind the door, then it opened, and there he was. Sirius is the type of guy others run away from. He’s big, and in that sense I mean muscular. He always has his hair in braids, and he would rather die than have rundown clothes. “Damn baby, you always so pushy.”
He tried to wrap an arm around my waist to pull me closer to him, I pushed him away. “I’m not your baby, give me the shit.”
He looked annoyed, and pissed. “If you wasn’t a junkie, me and you could work, you know that?” He threw a baggy on the ground. I quickly picked it up, not wanting any of my white powder to be ruined. “Have fun with your 8-ball, Lisa.”
That was it. He closed the wooden door behind him, and I walked away. You don’t ask questions, and you aren’t suppose to talk back.  I followed one rule, the talking back was what I have problems with. I’ve always been outspoken. I’ve never listened, and I suppose that’s why at age 18, instead of being in college I am a white trash junkie. Listening would’ve been good.
I can’t see myself with out my four letter best friend. M-e-t-h. The word sends chills up my spine, and at the same time sickens my stomach with an utter joy. A need. An addiction. Either I have it or I die. Snorting, and smoking bowls have become my daily activities. They are needs. Eating, showering, and living aren’t needs. They are just things that get in my way. All I have left is my dear friend. I don’t expect to lose it anytime soon.
I stepped out onto the corner, hearing, “Lisa! Bitch, wait up.”
I sighed, and stuffed my bag into my jacket pocket. Watching my main source of money walking towards me. “Look, I know you need a night off, but you need to work tonight.” That was the money talking in Riley. The business ran proudly through his Latino blood. Having his bitches on street corners brought happy tears to his eyes, it meant money. I helped his fund, and he helped mine.
“You got to be messing with me, Riley. I just got a happy 8-ball, you think I’m going to be out here riding guys when I could be snorting this?” I gestured to my jacket pocket.
His jaw tightened, and he raised his hand. “Smack me,” I said. “Do it. I’ll smack you back, baby, and it’ll be harder.”
“Just leave, and come back tomorrow.”
I stumbled away, yelling behind my shoulder. “If I can walk tomorrow, I’ll be here.”
Another part of addiction that will keep you awake at night, if the drugs don’t. The fact that you will do anything for your friend. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is worth anything without the buzz. You either have the buzz, or you are reeling inside. Your guts clinch. Your head spins. You will feel like you’re dying. Being on the verge of dying because of a buzz is sweeter. You feel in charge. Not having your choice of drug, is like being drowned. You have no control, and you are dying.
As soon as I hustled through my trailers door, I was on the couch making lines on my beat up coffee table. Long fat lines, ones that would take me a rollercoaster. Flying high, then hitting hard. If you were lucky, you would stay in the ‘flying high’. I wasn’t always that lucky.
The anticipation is my favorite part. Right before you snort, the excited butterflies just waiting in the pit of my stomach. Then, when the anticipation ends, complete happiness. For the moment anyway.
I braced myself, and held the right side of my nose with my right index finger. Sniffing with the left side of my nose, making the fat line once on the table disappear. That was all it took. 
Throwing myself back into the cushions of my couch, I lay still on the outside.  Inside I was screaming, with pleasure, and fear. Blinking my eyes hastily, I let paranoia creep in.

Chapter Two.
Nights after getting so slammed you forget what exactly it is you did, are the type of nights I want to remember the most. I don’t worry about getting knocked up, no one comes to visit me at home. I do not worry about falling and hurting myself, I feel no pain. I just worry about my supplies.
When you have that urge, the ones where you heart and mind are in sync. Screaming, “Give me more,” your knees will buckle, and your hands will shake. You want nothing else but to satisfy those pleas, only you might not be able to stop.
“Shit!” My voice boomed in my small enclosed home. Last night I gave into the begging of my heart and mind, my 8-ball was gone.
I wanted to blame it on the people who were constantly peeking in my window last night. Or the bugs that were crawling under my skin. But I knew better, because at the moment I’m sober. Which I didn’t like at all, it meant crashing, and burning. It meant seeing things in a black or white, when my mind was set to see gray.
I took a few deep breaths and looked around the room. Trash cluttered the whole place, and clothes which I haven’t washed scattered around on the floor. My electricity didn’t work, because I didn’t pay the bills. My water, didn’t work, because I didn’t pay that bill either. If you looked into my refrigerator you’d see old milk and bread. My home was just a place to get high, and crash.
Walking out of the front door, in the clothes I had been wearing for a week, I headed to Riley’s. I walked, rather I stumbled, everywhere I had to go. Cars involve thinking, and thinking is something I would rather do without. Thinking causes guilt, guilt leads to over dose. I think only when it is for my mental health. I think only when it comes to getting what I want. The only thing I want. Meth. 
Riley lives in an apartment in town. He always has girls in his house, either to put on corners or to use his self.
I banged on his door. Feeling the sweat on my palms. Crashing is not fun. “Riley! You said be here, and here I am, let me in.”
Riley is like a puppy, you say jump, he jumps. He might even jump higher than you expected, if he wants a treat.
Riley answered the door, and came close to giving me a hug. “Damn, Lisa! Can you at least shower?”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you have anything?”
“I’ll let you smoke a bowl if you’ll shower after.” He wagged his eyebrows. “I can always help you clean off.”
“Tina looks better.”
That’s what I referred to my friend out-loud. Tina.
Riley took me to his kitchen, gave me what I needed, and I didn’t hesitate. I used to be embarrassed to smoke or snort in front of people. Now, when I am with the only thing that matters, that’s all I see.
Chapter Three.
I walked back into Riley’s living room, clean. At least physically my body was clean. “Ok, Riley. I smell good, give me a line.”
Riley shook his head. “Nu-uh. You just had a bowl, you got to work now.”
No. That was not the right answer. “Riley,” I yelled. “Give me a fucking line!”
He continued to just look at me. Staring, like I was a main attraction in a circus. Like my need was funny. “Please… just one line.”
I don’t ever turn tricks without being high, and Riley knows that. Being high takes the sharp edges off everything. When I am high, it’s easier to lay there and take whatever I have to. It reminds me why I am letting men use me. Tina reminds me it’s all for her.
“Fine. One line.” He made a short, but fat line on his coffee table.
  He didn’t even have time to move out of the way before I was on my knees, making the white powder disappear. “Thanks.”
 
  When it came to making a living, Riley had everything organized. Everything had to be perfect for him. Perfect or it didn’t go. For his workers, you were classified as either; a hoe, a bitch, or a Lisa.
I was one in my own to Riley. I was different to him. He didn’t make me work streets, he brought in customers. He didn’t keep 30% of my makings, he kept 10%. Riley liked me.
Not that I am saying that is wrong, but I would never have sex with him. For one reason only. He doesn’t pay.
I set up in my ‘working’ apartment, next to Riley’s apartment. He leaves it to me to make the deal, and do the dirty. A knock at the door came seconds after I sat down, customer one of the day.
I opened to door and what stood in front of me was not something I expected. Normally, I have grungy mid-age men. Not this time. The man that stood in front of me had to be close to my age, and he was very clean cut. He was cute, too, but I needed to rack those thoughts out of my head. This is all for Tina, I reminded myself.
I smiled at the man in front of me, and opened the door a little wider. “Come on in.”
He slowly made his way in, and sat on the couch. Taking out a wallet, and presenting three hundred on the table.
My mouth watered. What I could do with that money.
He asked, “Is 300 good enough?”
Truth was, hell yes, but I am the type of person who depends on money. “Depends,” I said trailing my index finger along the wall. “On what you want.”
He grinned. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”
My hand dropped and my mouth flew open. “Why the hell are you here then?”
He grinned even wider. “I saw you the other day, and I don’t know, maybe it was a bad idea to come here.”
“What? Let me get this straight, you saw me and decided to come… talk to me?”
He fumbled with his wallet. “Yeah.” He looked down at his shoes, he was shy. I never would have taken him to be shy. He looks like a football player, the cocky jerk type.
“I don’t know why you would want to talk to me,” I said. “I’m just a druggie finding a way for cash.”
He whipped his head up, and stared at me. He drew his eyebrows together. “You sure don’t look like you do drugs.”
That’s what they all say, I thought. “Yeah, sure.”
“No, no. I am serious. I would have never guessed, and I am well acquainted with drugs. Meth particularly.”
  Ok, this guy seems like he knows to much. Any second a parade of cops are going to come trudging in here, to take me away.
I grabbed a baggy from my coat pocket, and told the man in the front room I’d be right back. Going into the bathroom and making as many lines as I could out of what I had left. I snorted all my supplies.
Hell no. If I was going to go to jail, I’ll be damned if I went sober.
Stumbling out of the bathroom, my nose burning, I told the man, “I know you are a cop.”
“No, I’m not,” he said.
“Do you really think I am that dumb? I may be a drug user, but I sure as hell am not dumb.”
“I swear to you I am not a cop. My name is Jason Vick. I’m a roofer. I roof houses.”
I sat down next to him on the couch. My head started to spin. Joy. “A roofer?” I asked.
“A roofer,” he repeated.
I sighed, and grabbed the money off the table. “What do you want?”
He smiled again, showing off a set of perfect white teeth. “A date.”
I laughed. “With who?”
“Your eyes are red,” he told me.
I closed my eyes. “I know. Tina does that.”
“Oh… well, I want a date with you.”
  What does this Jason kid think I am? A southern bell? A woman looking for a man? All I need is Tina! Fucking Tina! Nothing else. “I’m already married.”
  “What?!” He sounded surprised.
  I opened my eyes again. His brown eyes were bugging out of his head. “And he is ok with you being a hooker, eh, I mean, doing this?”
It was my turn to smile. “She is ok with it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are a… les-”
“Lesbian,” I finished for him. “No. I am married to a little something called Tina. She doesn’t like it when I put other things before her. In fact she doesn’t like when I put anything after her, either.”
“Tina?”
I sighed. Didn’t this kid say he was familiar with meth? “God damn, boy. Tina is meth.”
My high was beginning to get higher and higher. I could feel prickles under my skin. I can’t take this boy in my space much longer. He’s making Tina mad.
“Well, ok, I’m not really. I just heard that you were a meth user, and thought it would be better if I sounded a lil’ more educated in that area.”
I pinched the top of my nose. “Get out.”
“What?”
“I said get out!” He just sat there, staring at me. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
That got him moving he jumped off the couch and bolted out of the apartment. I felt like I would see him again, but to say the truth, I didn’t want to worry about that. I slipped on my coat and headed to Sirius’s to get another 8-ball.