Tracy Phillips wasn't popular, beautiful, nor happy. Rumors filled the school, even at college level (though it's not saying much, since it's only community college), caused by her mousy appearance and shaggy black hair that fell over her face, that she was an accident, born out of too much booze and a trucker's one-night-stand. The other girls were mean--she never did anything right. The boys never looked at her --but what was there to look at? She finally decided to take up something that everyone thought she already did--drugs. It wasn't that hard to get some. Pushers in the ghetto were always willing to sell. Tracy had the money, which was separate from the stash for her jailed brother, who'd ended up in chains after beating one of her ex-boyfriends unconscious while still on probation.

"We just received a new shipment of merchandise this morning," The dealer said in a low, grumbled voice. He had a long, black hair, which was covered by a hat similar to that a pimp would wear. They were in an alley in the “bad” part of this little town. It was getting cold, so the dealer dressed for the occasion. He had on a long, black overcoat, torn and ragged from years of abuse. It was stained badly. He also wore long, baggy pants, which were filled with holes, so they didn‘t look too warm, but he reassured he that they were. She had worn a sweatshirt and jeans. Her sleeves were pulled to her elbows, revealing scars inside of her forearm. The dealer eyed them with dismay. He could handle druggies, but not cutters. The sight of your own blood falling... How could anyone stand it?

"I haven't had much experience with coke. Not sure if I want some." She said uncertainly. Being deep here in shadow and in the bad part of town didn't scare her. Hell, the dealer didn't scare her. He was a high-school friend. Not having control over herself while under the influence scared her.

"I'll show you how to do it"

"I know how to do it, but I don't know exactly how it is after snorting some and besides, I've gotta drive home."

"I'll drive you there. Don't worry about it." He tried to give her a reassuring look, but she looked away.

They got out of the alley and sat in the back seat of her car. She scooped up a small bit of the drug, put it to her nose, and snorted.. He watched as she took it to her nostril and snorted it up. With her other nostril, she snorted a second scoop. She sat back in her seat and relaxed.

She sat for a while. It was about fifteen minutes until it had an effect on her, and her house was nearly thirty minutes away from this part of town. She rose within herself, feeling the bubbly feeling grow inside of her. She grinned widely, feeling all her senses rise, her heart was pounding inside her chest. The dealer, Brian Lowe (pronounced "low," like the hardware store), just watched her and popped in a CD. It was techno music and went as long as the CD capacity could allow it. The rhythm, the beats, the guitars-it all hit her and rocked her. Soon enough, there was one more sensation to rush her senses. The dealer was feeling on her, knowing all the best spots to take her to euphoria.

She was enjoying the feelings when she started to notice that his hand was inside her pants.

"No." She pushed him off, paranoia filling her. Who knows where he's been or who he's fucked? There was no way she was about to give it up to him (not that she was waiting for anyone). A girl needed her boundaries, and hers were already set.

Already the high was leaving her.

"I need to get home."

"But--"

"I need to get home."

"Fine." He got out of the back seat and took the drivers seat. She sat back with a sigh. She knew it would be a long ride home, so she decided not to get impatient. Her eyes closed for merely a moment when she felt she was thrust forward. Not paying any mind to it, she let herself fall into the trance of sleep and beats of techno. Who could have guessed where she'd soon awaken?