Rush

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
After-party at an apartment where party favors are served.

Submitted: March 05, 2007

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Submitted: March 05, 2007

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I opened my eyes as I heard people downstairs from the garage below. I sat up on the red, velvet couch and grabbed my cell phone -- It was three thirty. I finally snapped out of the coma I put myself in earlier tonight. I fixed my messy spiked-up hair and adjusted my belt. I saw trails of otherwise inanimate objects all over the place in the dim-lit living room. I shook my head around and amazed at the fact that I was still fucked up beyond belief. I regretted I took the drugs. But I always ended up being like this every weekend.

Ophelia sat in the dining room carefully cutting on her plate, the crystal meth, using a dull exacto knife I brought earlier with me in my art box. I used to cut my art project with it when I attended Art Center. A Sony laptop computer sat next to her on the dining table. The overhead lamp cast a dark shadow on her face. She grinded the crystal, in unobstructed concentration, down to the finest powder possible. Her false blue lashes batted. Her long, black hair scattered in front of her face as she tried to push them away every time it got in her line of vision. Looking into her aquamarine pupils, her eyes were red and swollen. Her blue eye-liner smeared down the edge of her eyes mixed in with some of her black mascara. She continued mortaring down the methamphetamine on the smoky lavender glass plate with her delicate, pale fingers.

Finally, she separated the fine powdery meth into three distinct lines, each extremely slender and measured exactly two inches long. She snatched the opaque blue straw from the empty Jack-In-The-Box 36 oz. beverage cup nearby. With a scissor handy, she cut the blue plastic straw down to precisely two inches as well. Ophelia was just as much of an obsessive-compulsive freak as I was.

She pushed her hair back behind her shoulders and blew air into the straw to remove any remaining moisture. In a swift motion, she hovered her head over the plate and snorted into her right nose. She moved to the other line, and sniffed in through a different nostril.

I stared at her for too long, perhaps, because eventually she looked up from her task and raised an eyebrow at me.

"Did you want some?" She queried in a rushing voice, her breath slightly uneven and increasing in rhythm. "I cut an extra line for you."

She lifted up the plate. The one line of fine crystal meth powder sparkled like sugar underneath tungsten light.

"Hrm," I picked up a Marlboro No. 26 Special Lights from the coffee table. I lit up with a silver torch lighter sitting next to the ash tray overflowed with cigarette butts. I inhaled deeply and let out a smooth drag. My eyes began to twiddle. I decided I wasn't feeling for speed at the moment. "Maybe in a little while."

"Okay," she acknowledged. "Just let me know when you want it." Promptly, she returned to her cutting once again, scooping more of the crystal from the tiny little baggie. The monotonous cutting board sound lured me to sleep.

"Hello, sweeties." G walked in from her room upstairs with a glass of gin and tonic in her hand, wearing a lilac micro fiber bathrobe. "Where's everybody else?"

"Downstairs." I responded.

"Oh." G scanned around for a lighter as she picked up a Marlboro from the box. "Ask them to come up. It’s nicer up here."

Up-beat electronic dance music played in the background from the downstairs garage. I could hear the music from the turntables blasting from below.

"Where’s Chris… and Brent?"

"They went out to pick up some Krispy Kreme."

"Doughnuts?" Her eyebrows locked in subtle bewilderment. "Right now?"

I gave her a washed-out look. I put a finger on top of each of my nostrils, gesturing another form of recreational drug that could be done through snorting. Immediately, she knew what I meant.

"Damn, I thought you guys were doing it already?" G glimpsed over to Ophelia, who was typing on the computer like a mad woman.

"What?" Ophelia raised her head.

"No, that's Crystal." I smirked. "We have different names for them."

"Dorks." She put the cigarette in her mouth and finally took hold of the lighter. She lit up the cigarette.

We both let out a drag at the same time. I looked at her sitting on top of the cluttered coffee table filled with empty glasses and loaded with Maxim and Star magazines. She fiddled around with the remote to change the channel on the 17" TV.

G stared at me in the eyes and smiled. "How are you feeling now?"

"Good." I nodded. "How else should I be feeling?"

She tapped lightly on her cigarette in the ashtray. "It wasn't that strong for me, that pill, when I took it last time."

"Well, I kind of took two."

"Oh,” She let out a soft cry. "Okay. No wonder."

I stretched back. My body completely relaxed. The velvet couch massaged my skin like goose down feathers and soothed like mohair. There was no need to think about anything.

G put the cigarette to her mouth again and puffed away. She looked into space and appeared she was thinking about something. Then she played with the stirrer in her light blue glass and asked me. "Hey, you want some coke?"

She caught me a little off guard. "Coke?"

G took another sip of the drink from her glass. "Coca-cola, silly."

"Oh, no. That's fine."

She laughed. "What did you think it was?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "Just the way you said it. I thought you had some."

"Well," she put her cigarette out in the ashtray. "That I do." At that point, I could taste the distinctive bitterness of cocaine in my mouth. I felt like my body was craving for it badly.

I didn't know if G read my mind or not, but she grinned.

"What?" I asked, almost annoyed by her subtle smile.

"Hold on a second,” and she went upstairs.

I put my cigarette out and looked towards Ophelia again. She was totally immersed in the computer typing away, completely oblivious to her surroundings.

G returned to the living room with a plateful of white powdered cocaine.

“Holy Mother of God,” I gasped. “You weren’t fuckin’ kidding!”

“Three and a half grams.” She flaunted.

G caught me by surprise as always. It’s difficult for me to imagine her keeping blow in her private stash, let alone an eight-ball of it. Just months prior she had sworn she’d never want to snort anything up her nose. She even called me a crazy druggie. Now, she enjoyed yay more than any other drug.

“It better not be that watered-down stuff you got from Jules last time.”

“No, this is grade A quality shit. Definitely not cut with other crap.”

“That’s what you said last time.” I responded in apathy.

“Just smell it, sweetie…” She held the plate up against my chin. “And taste it.”

The characteristic aroma of cocaine filled my nostrils. I knew G meant it. “Fine.” I dabbed my index finger in and took a quick swab. And it tasted divine.

G knew immediately from the expression that floated about my face, and urged me to take it properly. “I indulged in only a few lines. Go ahead… Make yourself comfortable with it,” followed by a satiable smile.

I despised cocaine, yet I could not resist its charm every time I got my chance at some. The bitter taste, the head rush, the numbness on my tongue, the unmatchable high, the boost in confidence that derived from this cocoa plant fused together in perfect synergy. I remembered how much my body reacted in synch with the euphoria, only desiring for more when the short-lived high ended in a crash. I hated it. I hated it so much I loved it.

G looked at me as I stared down at her plate, watching her powdering down the coke and preparing my lines just the way I liked them. “So?”

I hesitated. I remained focus on the plate, but I wondered if she caught my diffidence.

“Well?”

I gazed at her holding on the straw and the squared razor. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” She shrugged.

She snorted down the two beautiful lines in a breeze. Her eyes welled with tears due to the strength and purity of the cocaine. Her breath began to labor. G leaned back carefully and indulged in her heavenly exhilaration. Her mood obviously elated.

I observed. I could almost taste the bitter back-drop of cocaine deep in my throat. I could almost feel it rushing through my veins, sending euphoria to every part of my existence. I could almost lift myself up from this couch and soar high above the dawning horizon into the midst of the shining sun and all. I could. Almost.

“Well, are you going to have some or what?” G inquired once more.

I glanced at the coffee table and took the last cigarette out of the pack. I lit it up again with the torch lighter and took a long drag.

“I don’t know.” I exhaled. “Maybe later.”


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