Bag Of Goodies... (359 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Natalia Everitt <natalia_everitt920.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-09-18 18:32:17 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Bobby looked up as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He quietly closed his notebook and sat on top of it, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably at the attempt. A slight man appearing to be in his late teens descended the steps, one hand in his pocket and the other brushing unruly, blonde hair from his eyes. He smiled warmly as he reached the platform and walked over to where Bobby sat, joining him on the couch.
"What are you doing?" he asked, attempting to start a conversation. Bobby, who didn't feel like conversing at the moment merely shrugged. "What were you doing before I came down here?" Bobby shrugged once more, feigning a yawn. "Am I interrupting something?" Persistent little bastard.
"Of course not Randy, I'm just tired." Randy nodded and wrapped an arm around his friend. They stared at the blood red walls as though in a trance, admiring in a sickeningly spurious way how good the drapes went with the curtain rods and just how nicely the tile floor complemented the crimson tones of the room.
"What's Paul doing?" Bobby inquired, shifting to a more comfortable position on the busted old sofa. His blonde headed friend looked thoughtful, as though contemplating what precisely he could say to convey his point without sounding patronizing. He finally settled for the facts.
"Paul is upstairs shooting up, again." With special emphasis on the word 'again,' Randy failed to sound impassive. Bobby nodded.
"Of course," he replied with a slight shake of his head. "Of course he is." The silence that followed was far more awkward than Bobby was used to experiencing with his friend. After much squirming and contemplation of clever things he could say to break the quiet, he finally just blurted out in a blatantly angry tone, "When the fuck is Mikey leaving?"
"In a minute or two. They just have to get Claire to wake up." Randy said, laughing softly.
"So he's still with the sixteen year old then. That's fucking great. Do her parents know?"
"Of course not." Randy said, resting his head in his hands and letting his shaggy blonde hair fall arbitrarily through his fingers. He leaned wearily into his friend's strong shoulder. Randy's eyes were closed as though he were contemplating something. Bobby closed his as well. "What do you guys want to do tomorrow?" Randy asked after a moment's silence.
"I have to work..." Bobby muttered.
"Work? That's what you're calling it now?" Randy asked disgustedly. Bobby didn't reply. "You know, you're pretty fucked up Bobby. I don't know how you justify this to yourself."
"Listen Randy, this is not about ethics. I know that what I do is wrong; suffice it to say that I don't give a fuck. If these people are set on getting high, they're going to find a way to do it. It doesn't matter whether it's me selling it to them or some random guy on the street."
"That's some fucked up logic man... You're going to get hurt Bobby. I know you are."
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Morning crept up slowly that Sunday, its cool pastel tones descending on the sky. It was chilly that day due to the unyielding breeze, but the sun shone with a voracity that the town hadn't seen since August. As a result, many children were out playing in the neighborhood. Raucous laughter and playful shrieks were drifting through the air, into Bobby's open truck windows and right to his aching head.
He cruised slowly through the rundown neighborhood, surveying the houses. People sat huddled on porches, smoking weed in a silent testament to how fucked up they were feeling. It was a slow business day, Bobby realized after receiving only two calls. He parked his car in front of an old abandoned value store, waiting for some desperate old junkie with eyes devoid of hope to come up an ask for an 8-ball. Bobby sat on the back of his truck smoking a Marlboro light. He took a long drag and let the smoke curl slowly out the side of his mouth. The wind blew his shaggy black hair into his eyes, and he tightened the hold his left hand had on his jean jacket. His was a job without honor, he decided. And it certainly had no guarantees. Most people could be sure that they would be getting a paycheck at the end of the week, but Bobby was never sure. He wasn't sure if he'd have enough to eat. He wasn't sure if he'd have enough to feed his own addictions. He wasn't sure of anything.
"What are you doing?" Bobby looked over to his left, eyes resting on a young girl, probably at most 13.
"Get out of here." Bobby replied.
"I need some," the girl said in a rush, pushing red hair out of her eyes with a thin hand. "I'm desperate, I'll do anything. I'll let you fuck me..." she trailed off. "I'll suck your cock if that's what you want." Bobby's eyes opened in surprise, and then narrowed in contempt. He laughed hollowly.
"You'll suck my cock? Are you serious?"
"Yes..."
"You can't be more than 14. This is wrong. Go home."
"Listen, I'm going to die if I don't get some. I can't take this withdrawal. I'm fucking shaking. I'm fucking sick!" She grabbed Bobby's coat and pulled him towards her. "We can do it in your car. I won't tell if you don't."
"I don't have time for this, let go of me." Bobby said, pulling away from the girl.
"Please..." she sighed, falling back against the car. She was beautiful in the sort of wasted, shattered sense of the word. Bobby looked at her for a moment before smiling aggressively. He grabbed her left arm roughly and led her to the front door. With a fistful of red hair, Bobby pushed her into the car.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"So what'll it be?" Bobby said, loosening the cord of a blue drawstring bag.
"What's in there?"
"This, love, is my bag of goodies." Bobby looked down at her scarred arms.
"Some skag..."
"Now this is all I'm going to give you," Bobby began, handing her a small plastic bag. "I've gotten better head from my vacuum cleaner." Leslie laughed weakly and pulled back her red hair.
"I don't give a fuck. But I do have a favor to ask of you." Bobby looked up inquiringly. "Could you shoot it for me? I can't do it myself."
"Are you fucking kidding?" Leslie shook her head and laid a hand on Bobby's crotch. "Yeah, yeah fine." The light smell of an alcohol swab drifted from Bobby's direction as he carefully and almost deferentially cleaned his spoon. "The bag, love?" he requested of Leslie. Leslie handed him the bag and Bobby placed a black chunk of heroin in the middle of the spoon. "Fill that to about, ah, 60 units." He said, handing the syringe he clutched so possessively in his right hand to Leslie, who sucked water into the syringe from an old bottle of Evian water. Bobby squirted the water into the spoon and glanced at Leslie with a calm expression.
He was using a small blue lighter to heat the spoon with. He sat on the edge of the seat, shoulder to shoulder with Leslie, who was playing nervously with the cap of his syringe. "Chill out," Bobby said, rolling his eyes slightly.
"Sorry," Leslie replied, continuing her nervous fidgeting with the cap.
"So, how old are you?" Bobby asked finally, as he slowly stirred the heroin with a paperclip.
"14," Leslie replied, smiling sweetly at Bobby, who laughed softly and glanced away. "Just my fucking luck..." Bobby said as he rolled a cotton ball between his fingers and dropped it on the spoon. It inflated as the liquid from the spoon was absorbed.
"I never get sick of seeing it do that," Bobby remarked. Leslie nodded, hand trembling slightly. "I won't let it hurt you," he purred. Then he clicked off his lighter and reached a hand out to pull the strap of Leslie's shirt off her shoulder. "That's better," he said, licking his lips. Bobby stuck the tip of the needle into the cotton ball, slowly pulling back the plunger. The syringe filled itself with the brown liquid and Bobby smiled, satisfied. He then cleaned the crook of her right arm carefully with a cotton swab and licked the tip of the syringe clean.
"I can't believe I'm doing this." he said as he searched for a vein.
"Neither can I. I never thought I'd sink so low..." Bobby nodded and laid the needle nearly even with her pale skin. He slowly inserted it into the vein and focusing intently, pulled the plunger back a bit. Deep red blood squirted into the syringe, mixing with the dirty solution and Bobby smiled triumphantly.
"Found a vein," he said, and taking a deep breath, he pushed the plunger leisurely to the top of the syringe. It seemed to take an eternity to squeeze all of the brownish liquid from the reservoir. It slowly entered her body, staining her blood, and when he finally got it all out, her eyes rolled back in her head and she sighed in contentment.
"You look so beautiful ..." Bobby commented quietly, not wanting to disturb the mood this chilling display had set. Leslie grinned, and leaned back against the car door.
"This is good skag, top notch." She sighed. Bobby nodded and rested his weary head in her lap. After about five minutes he drifted off, and so did Leslie.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bobby woke up thirty minutes later. He had quite forgotten where he was until he felt a warm body against his. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at Leslie's face.
But something wasn't quite right.
Her lips were as white as chalk, and he could see the veins surrounding her eyes. She didn't appear to be breathing.
"Leslie, wake up." Bobby said. "Get up dammit this isn't funny!" he shook her shoulders roughly. Leslie's head lolled off to the side. "Holy shit." Bobby continued to prod her, opening her eyes with his hand and checking to see if her heart was beating, but it was to no avail. Leslie was dead. And it was his entire fault. Bobby didn't know what to do with himself, so in a moment of panic he opened the car door and pushed her out. It took him a few tries before he successfully got the keys into the ignition, but when he had he took off at sixty an hour.
"You're going to get hurt Bobby. I know you are."
And so he had, and he had to deal with it.
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Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:27:15 EST (#)
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