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A Dangerous Habit (standard:drama, 2075 words) | |||
Author: Wildstangtoo | Added: Jul 08 2006 | Views/Reads: 3261/2322 | Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes) |
A young woman gets evicted from her mother's home and falls back in with the wrong crowd. | |||
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story Diane jerked her head toward Pete, her eyes widened, and her brow tightened. “What happened?” “She od'd two days ago. Not sure if she's going to make it.” “How! Where? I just saw her last week. Oh, my God.” Diane put her hand over her mouth and shook her head in disbelief. “Someone sold her some bad shit.” “Do you know who it was?” “Naw, could've been anyone. There's too many dealers around now, you gotta be careful. This stuff I got is A- number one. Come on, let's go over to my house and get high.” Diane sank to the curb, pulled her knees up to her chin, and laid her head down. Pete tossed the bag out of the way, sat down next to her, and put his arm around her. “Everything's gonna be alright, Suzy's tough, she'll make it. Don't worry. A bunch of the guys will be at my house this afternoon, why don't you come over for a while? If you don't wanna get high, that'll be okay. Hey, you don't have anywhere else to go.” Diane lifted her head and stared into Pete's eyes. He was right, she didn't have anywhere to go, and what harm would one hit do? She'd done it with him hundred's of times, and he always did have some ass-kicking stuff. Besides, it would be nice to see the rest of the gang, and she could always get clean again. She could walk away from the stuff anytime she wanted and never touch it. “Come on, Di, I'll carry your stuff.” Pete pushed his long, straggly hair to the side and threw the plastic bag over his shoulder. He pulled his baggy jeans up, held out his left hand to Diane, and helped her to her feet. They strolled along the grass to the crosswalk and then waited for the light to change. It would be okay to party for a while. Besides, by tomorrow her mother would forgive her and let her move back in. She smiled as the light changed and the two of them walked across the street. Diane heard the music long before she saw the four cars which lined the driveway of Pete's house. A couple of them she recognized, but the other two were foreign to her. Pete knocked on the door and Kathy, one of Diane's friends, unlocked the door and let them inside. She could feel the thump of bass against her chest and the scream of heavy metal guitars pounding in her ears. Incense burned on the cabinet, but even that didn't mask the sweet smell of burning crack. Kathy locked the door and threw her arms around Diane. “Hey, girl, where you been? I haven't seen you in ages.” “Been away for a few weeks, you know, rehab.” “Yeah, my mom had me locked up there once. The place sucked. I couldn't wait to get out. They treat you like shit in there.” “I heard that. It hasn't changed any. I don't ever want to go back there again.” “Me either. Here, try some of this.” Kathy took a hit then handed Diane a crack pipe. “Not right now, I better wait a while. I'm going to play it cool.” “Come on, don't be a pus, Di, you and I go way back. You remember me and you skipping school in eighth grade? We stole some of your brother's pot and slipped into old Mr. Jennings's barn and smoked it.” Kathy laughed, took another hit, and held the pipe out. Diane wrapped her fingers around it as though she were caressing a child, then raised the pipe to her lips. She took a deep breath, savoring the aroma, and then pulled the smoke into her lungs. She closed her eyes as the soothing warmth spread through her body. A second hit, then another, and her despair was gone. Any thoughts she had about where she would spend the night, how would she get a meal, or what tomorrow might bring, disappeared from her mind. “That's my girl.” Pete wrapped his arms around Diane's shoulder and pulled her close. “It's gonna be like old times, babe, we'll have some fun tonight.” Diane partook of more drugs then began drinking whiskey. Twice, the police came and told Pete to turn the music down, but as soon as they left, he would crank the stereo back up. By three in the morning, the party had wound down and most of the people had left or were passed out. “Come on, Di, let's go to my room. I've got the good stuff in there.” Diane staggered into Pete's bedroom and fell across his bed while he removed a metal box from his closet and then unlocked it. He emptied a pipe, then scraped some pure rock off and stuffed it in the pipe. “You get the first hit, Di.” Pete helped her sit up on the edge of the bed then handed her the pipe. He lit it then sat down beside her. “I've had enough, Pete, let me sleep.” Her words slurred as she spoke. “Come on, just take one hit. It's some really good shit.” He ran his hand along the inside of her thigh as he tried to coax her into trying it. Diane placed the pipe to her lips and filled her lungs, holding the poison inside for several seconds. She exhaled then took another hit. Before she could get the smoke out of her lungs she began to convulse. Vomit spewed from her mouth, her legs shook, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she fell to the floor. “You okay, Di? What's wrong?” She gasped for air and writhed on the carpet. Pete panicked and ran from the room. He tried to wake Kathy, but she was passed out cold. He finally managed to get Brad to get up and the two of them rushed into the bedroom. By then, Diane was barely breathing. “What are we going to do, Pete?” “I don't know, man. If they find her here I'm in deep trouble. Come on, let's put her in your car.” “I don't want them to find her in my car.” “You got to help me get her out of my house. We'll take her to her mother's house and put her on the porch. If they find her in here, you'll be in as much trouble as I am.” The two men carried Diane to Brad's car and put her in the back seat. There was no traffic so it only took a few minutes to get to the street where Diane's mother lived. When they tuned the corner, Brad turned the lights off and eased up to the house. They pulled her from the car and laid her on the concrete. Brad got back in the car while Pete pressed the door bell then ran. They were out of sight before Diane's mother opened the door. “Oh, my God. Diane, Diane, what's wrong with you? Are you alright. Diane, wake up.” She shook her daughter and slapped her face, but the girl didn't respond. “This is 911. Do you have an emergency?” “Yes, please send an ambulance, my daughter, she want wake up.” “Calm down ma'am and tell me what's going on.” “My daughter is on the front porch and she won't wake up.” The woman screamed. “Okay, is she breathing?” “I don't know. Send an ambulance. Now. Hurry.” “Tell me your address.” “It's...uh...uh, twenty one forty five Division street.” “What's your name?” “Margaret, Margaret Kinston.” “What's your daughter's name?” “Uh, Diane, it's Diane. Please hurry.” “The ambulance is on the way. Stay on the phone with me.” “Okay, I will.” The paramedics checked Diane's vital signs and then rushed her into the ambulance. Her mother climbed in the back and held her daughter's hand while they attached an IV and placed an oxygen mask over the woman's mouth. “What kind of drugs does she take?” “I don't know, crack I think, but she just got out of rehab. Is she going to be alright?” “The doctor will have to tell you that.” They wheeled her into the emergency room and placed her on the table. The doctor asked Diane's mother to wait outside while he examined the woman. Several nurses hurried down the hall and rushed into the room. Diane stared at the light on the ceiling and marveled at how beautiful it was. She wanted to reach out and touch it, but her arms didn't seem to respond. Brighter and brighter it became until she seemed to be inside of the beam. The myriad of colors reminded her of a rainbow she had seen as a child. It soothed her, she felt sick no longer, and she wanted to sleep. She smiled ever so slightly and closed her eyes. Tomorrow, she'd get clean again and she would never touch the stuff again. The doctor placed the paddles into the holders on the defibrillator and looked at the clock on the wall. “Time of death is five seventeen A.M.” He pulled the sheet over her head and walked out of the room. Tweet
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