It’s all gone. Nothing's there. Gone. Zip. It’s all gone. It’s all gone. It’s all gone. It’s—all—gone.

I mean, I know it would be gone soon, but this soon? It’s just way too soon. I need some more, just a little more—and maybe, perhaps, I’ll stop whenever I want to. Or maybe I won’t. I just need some more of that stuff—and soon.

So, I yank out every single desk drawer that I have in my room. Soon, very soon my room has at least five drawers scattered across my room. I look at every single one carefully—but quickly—checking for my heaven, my haven. I feel myself start to panic as I’m at the fourth drawer and I see no white powder. I don’t think I could get through the night without it, without the rush it gives me a feeling like I could do anything, absolutely anything. But, then, oh, but then I come to the fifth one and then have what I have been looking for: my cocaine, my coke.

I pick up the drawer and look at it like an angel appeared to me. My chapped-lipped mouth hangs open and my brown eyes are probably wide with happiness or shock—I can’t tell. I bring the drawer over to my desk and violently shake the powder out of the drawer and onto the dark surface of the desk. I throw the drawer across the room away from me and I hear it bang loudly, perhaps a bit too loudly. Then panic, dreaded panic rushed over me as quickly as my coke effects me. Did this bang wake my parents, my parents who are too stupid and trusting to realize what I am doing. And even if they realize what I’m doing, they would never accept it nor would they send me to rehab because—because I am their “little girl” and their “precious” but mostly because they would not ever want anyone to know what I am. They do not want to be embarrassed. What would everyone else say? they would think. This I know, but this doesn’t really bother me. Actually, it is—it is quite fine with me.

Anyway…. I look down at the thinnest pile of coke I’ve ever seen, but I am still excited. I remember everything I feel during my high, and I cannot wait any longer. I put the coke into one long line. And I look down at it. It is not much, but still….

I snort it. I can barely, just barely feel it, but I can still feel it and that is still good enough for me. I am standing up straight now, waiting, just waiting to feel something…anything. But, no, I feel nothing. I feel no rush of excitement. I am frowning now at my desk surface where my coke used to be. Was it not enough? And I was so hoping that it would be enough. To at least hold me off ‘til the morning. But, no, it didn’t.

Soon enough I am walking down the dark street, only lit by the full moon hanging in the night sky. I look up at the moon and can’t help but think that the moon looks like a mound of coke—that I will have in my pocket very, very soon. I mean, it’s so very white…. like my coke.

I keep walking and walking and walking, feeling the sharp gravel dig into my bare feet. But I ignore this because I am almost there. I can outlast the pain until I get there, I know. All for my coke, all—for—my—coke.

And then, oh, and then I am there. Here. I have finally arrived at his house. When I say “his” I do not mean my dealer. No, he is one of the most important things in my life. Without him, I don’t know what I would do. Seriously. Actually…. I do know what I would do…. probably something stupid like stealing or prostitution.

At the door. I am at the door. His door. And then—and then I knock. I knock softly and politely so I don’t sound too rude or desperate. I am bouncing on my feet anxiously as I wait. I wait for a very, very, very long time…or, perhaps, it was just a few minutes—I wouldn’t know. I knock again but this time my knocking is hard and so violent that I wonder if my knuckles will bleed. I stop. And wait. I am immediately just walk around the doorstep just to keep myself moving.

Nothing. There is nothing. And then—and then I feel panic rush over me again. Oh my God! What if—what if he’s not home? He has to be home, he has to! He’s the only person who won’t take advantage of me. I can’t go to anybody else! I can’t!

So I pound against the door with my fists so hard that I can feel the door trembling underneath them. Then, from my chapped lips, screams come. “Reid! Reid! Please Reid!”

Then the door flies open and I feel a rough hand yank me through the doorway. I hear, once I am inside, the door slam. A hand is still gripping me. Then—and then, I hear Reid’s rough voice, low and tired sounding. “What are you doing here?”

I look at him. At Reid. He is taller than me, much taller than me. Reid is looking down at me…. with those gray eyes staring down at me. His hair, which is brown, a fading brown with gray streaks all over his head, hanging over his tall forehead and into his eyes.

I smile at him, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Answer me, don’t just stand there and smile.”

“I—um—“ Begin, but he interrupts me.

“This better be good, understand?” He practically barks at me.

“Of course—“He interrupts me again though.

“It’s in the middle of the night for Christ sakes!” He yells at me, throwing his arms above his head.

“I kn—“ Interruption—again.

“And you’re out there screamin’, most of all. My name, don’t forget. Probably thought I was murderin’ you or something. Cops probably on their way.”

“Sor—“I start with my head down, looking at my feet.

“It’s money, isn’t it? You need more?” He asks me, although I have no idea why he asks me this. That’s all I ever come for: money.

He looks at the ceiling while his hands are on his hips as he sighs a long irritated sigh. But then his head snaps back to me. “Couldn’t this wait ‘til the morning?”

I shake my head. My dirty red hair flies all around my head. A swirl of mess, just mess. Greasy mess. Knotted mess. Tangled mess. But, Reid, he doesn’t care.

“Why? You don’t care. You enjoy this. Right?” I bite back defensively. I can’t let him turn me away tonight. I might just go insane if I don’t get my coke.

“How much do you need?” He sighs.

I grinned at him. I was just so grateful. “ThankyouThankyouThankyou!” I shrieked, all my words jumbled up into one. Then I remembered his question. “ Oh—I need…” I thought about the numbers, “about double what I had last time.”

“Righ’, fine. I have that,” He said.

His hand released my arm from his grip and slid around my shoulder. “Come,” He said as he gently massaged my shoulder where his arm was draped. He lead me across his living room, which was full of freaky statues, and over into his bedroom, both of us going slow, taking tiny steps.

Then—and then I am there. Here. In the bedroom—in his bedroom—in Reid’s bedroom.

His hand slides off my shoulder and down to his waist, they drop. “Bed,” he growls—and I listen. I walk backwards towards his messy, unmade bed and once I reach his bed, I sit down on the very edge. Reid walks toward me as he pulls off his gray shirt, revealing hair, freckles and slight wrinkles.

He continues to walk toward me, still going at the same speed. It makes my brain shout. Come on hurry up! Just get over here so we can do this so I can get my goddamned money. And then—and then I can finally get my fix.

By now he’s standing over me, looking down at me, his shadow covering me. He’s over me now—in that position. He begins to lift my tank top off of me. My heart beats a little faster now that half of me is exposed, but not fast like coke-fast. My shorts are off now—and then all that’s left is my panties that are covered in tiny, green turtles are soon sliding down my skinny, freckly legs. Everything is on the floor—my clothes, his clothes, everything. Both of us—me and him—on the bed. I feel the cigarette burn holes in the sheets underneath my skin. I feel him—his dirty body-- against my body—but, I don’t care, I—just—don’t—care. All I want is my money and my drugs.

And then—and then he goes in.