Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction Page 21

  The guys all looked at each other, and Federico said something in Spanish. Jose took off up the stairs to the second floor. When he came back, he was out of breath. “She's not in the bedrooms.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the back door to check the porch. “The pill's still here,” he said. “She never took it.”

  The rest of us went in the kitchen too. Renee's water glass was in the sink. Full. And the pill was on the counter.

  Jose pointed to the closed door next to the bathroom. “She wouldn't go down there,” he said. “So where'd she go?”

  “What's down there?” I asked.

  “If she did go down there, we would have heard the dogs,” Dominick said.

  “The music was too loud to hear anything,” Federico said.

  “What dogs?” I asked.

  Jose opened the door and raced down the wooden steps. “Motherfucker.”

  Dominick and Federico flew down the stairs, and I followed and stopped on the bottom step. Three pit bulls sat in the middle of the room, chomping on steak bones. Trash bags were placed in circles around the basement floor, and there were gaps where it looked like some of bags were missing.

  Jose counted the bags in each circle. “We're missing two bags,” he said, standing by one of the gaps. “Two fucking bags and none of us saw her leave?” Spanish came pouring from his mouth so fast I only caught random words. Heroin. Set up. Kill.

  Jose ran to the steps and his hands clamped my throat. “Where the fuck did she go?”

  “I don't know.” And I didn't.

  His shoulder jabbed into my stomach and he lifted me, folding me over his back.

  “I don't know anything,” I shouted. He carried me up the stairs and threw me on the couch.

  Dominick stood behind me, holding my shoulders. Federico sat beside me and cuffed my hands. And Jose stood between my legs, pointing a gun at my chest.

  “I'll blow your fucking face off if you don't start talking,” Jose said.

  “We went for a walk and she brought me here,” I said. “She told me she needed to re-up, that's all I know.”

  “What was in her backpack?” Federico asked.

  “I don't know,” I said. “She always carries one.”

  The guys talked more in Spanish.

  The steaks were in her backpack, I thought. That bitch had set me up. She had waited for all of us to start rolling, fed the dogs the meat so she could grab the bags, and slipped out the back door without anyone hearing her. She knew the guys would be bagging the pills for the rave tomorrow night.

  “Whose idea was it to roll?” I asked.

  “Renee's,” Federico said. “She asked me before any of you guys even sat down.”

  “Don't you see, she had the whole thing planned out,” I said.

  “And what about you?” Jose asked.

  “Do you think I'd still be here if I was in on her plan?”

  Jose straddled my legs and pressed the gun against my temple. “Tell me everything, where she lives, who she's working for, and I might let you get out of here alive.”

  When Dustin came home, I was in the bathroom, squeezed between the shower and toilet. My eye was swollen from where Jose had hit me with the gun, and my nose wouldn't stop bleeding.

  “Where's my girl,” Dustin yelled from the bedroom.

  I buried my head between my knees and undid my ponytail so my hair covered the bruises on my neck.

  “Are you sick?” He crouched in front of me and lifted my chin with his fingers. “What happened, baby?”

  For the past hour, I'd come up with excuses for why my face was so swollen and bloody—I had gotten jumped in the street or Renee had beaten me for drugs. But none of those lies would get me out of the trouble I was in. Jose knew where I lived, and he knew Dustin ran drugs. And he had said if I didn't find Renee and have her return the bags, he was going to kill Dustin and me.

  I took a deep breath, and the whole story came out. When I got to the part where Jose bashed the gun across my face, Dustin punched the wall by the shower.

  “I'm going to fucking kill him,” he yelled. “No one touches you but me.”

  It was a good thing I'd skipped the part where Dominick and I were sucking each other's fingers.

  “I'm so sorry,” I said. “I shouldn't have even gone inside their house, this is all my fault.”

  He paced between the bedroom and bathroom. “Do you remember where they live?”

  I nodded.

  He grabbed my arm and lifted me up.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. He pulled me down the hallway and out the front of the hotel. His fingers were clamped so tightly my skin was bruising.

  “You're going to show me their house,” he said. “And then I'm going to take you somewhere safe.”

  The van Dustin used for his runs was at Richard's, so we took a taxi to Jose's neighborhood, and Dustin asked the driver to pull over at the corner of Jose's street. I pointed out the townhouse, and Dustin said to wait in the car while he checked it out. He came back after several minutes and gave the driver an address in Southie.

  “Who lives in Southie?” I asked.

  He dialed a number on his cell phone. “You home?” he asked the person on the other end. “I'll be there in fifteen.”

  “Dustin, who lives in Southie?”

  “Shut up,” he shouted. “I need to think.”

  Dustin had said he was going to kill Jose, but I hoped he wasn't serious. Jose was a member of the same gang Raul and Que were in. Jose carried a gun, and his teardrop tattoo meant he'd killed someone.

  I tried to warn Dustin, but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd heard of Jose's gang, but his was just as tough and had more people. I didn't know Dustin was a gang member. I also didn't think he carried a gun.

  The taxi pulled up to a house, and Dustin told me to get out.

  “I'll be right back,” he said to the driver.

  He clamped my arm again and pulled me up the front steps. The outside light was on, and a guy was standing in front of the screen door. He opened it, and we both went inside.

  “This is my girl, don't let anything happen to her while I'm gone,” Dustin said to the guy and the woman who was in the kitchen. “I'll be back later to pick her up.”

  He turned me around so my back faced the couple. “There's enough here so you won't be sick,” he whispered, slipping a few bags and a rig into my pocket.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I need to take care of this mess.”

  I told him to be careful and kissed him. He kissed me back, but his lips were stiff and he pulled away too soon.

  I watched him run down the steps and get in the backseat of the taxi.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” the woman asked as the cab drove away.

  My eyes shifted between the guy and the woman, wondering who they were and how long I'd have to stay here. I wished Dustin had taken me with him. If he got killed because of me, I'd never forgive myself.

  “Come on,” the woman said, putting her arm around my shoulder. “Let's get you a drink.”

  She brought me into the kitchen, and I sat at the table while she opened cupboards and filled glasses with some light brown liquor.

  The heroin had long worn off, and my stomach was queasy from withdrawal and the E I'd taken. The liquor burned my throat as it went down.

  “You want some ice for your eye?” she asked.

  I shook my head, and she took the seat across from me, tapping her glass with her long red fingernails.

  “You must be the reason why my brother left rehab,” she said.

  She had the same icy blue eyes as Dustin, and her blond hair looked stiff from hairspray.

  The guy stood in the kitchen, his bald head leaning on the side of the doorway. Under his wife-beater was a chest full of hair, and his stomach flopped over the waist of his jeans.

  “That's Dale, my husband,” she said. “And I'm Lexy.”

  “I'm Nicole.”

&nbs
p; “Dustin do that to your face?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “You guys in a lot of trouble?” he asked.

  “I don't—”

  “Your brother can't be getting us involved with his shit,” he said to Lexy. “My parole officer will have my ass back in jail if she finds out I'm messing—”

  “Relax, Dale. No one's going to tell your parole officer nothing,” she said.

  He poured himself a drink.

  “Ignore him,” she said. “He's been a little edgy since he quit drinking.”

  He downed the full glass and poured a second one.

  “So what did my brother do this time?”

  Her nails tapped the table, and Dale turned around, his cheeks puffed full of booze until he swallowed.

  I asked if I could use her bathroom, and she told me it was at the top of the stairs. The door didn't have a lock, so I sat with my back against it and cooked up.

  I closed my eyes, wishing for a nod. The dope was good, but my tolerance was too high.

  Dale opened the bathroom door twenty minutes later. I pretended to be asleep, and he carried me down the stairs and set me on the couch, grabbing my butt before pulling his hands away. I stayed like that for hours, lying on the couch so I wouldn't have to answer Lexy's questions.

  They bickered over waking me up and going to the store for more booze, and Dale's parole officer testing him for alcohol. But their fighting didn't last long because Dale passed out in his chair. While he snored, Lexy made phone calls and painted her nails. She gossiped with a friend about Dustin and me, and then yelled at her mom. She asked for rent money and from the sounds of it, her mom said no.

  Lexy went upstairs and returned with another bottle of liquor. She watched some shopping show that was selling jewelry and bought two rings and a necklace. She polished off that bottle just as the sun began to trickle through the blinds and then made coffee and fried up some eggs.

  “Eat up,” she said, slapping Dale on the back of the head.

  He snorted and almost fell off his chair. “It's morning already?”

  “You were supposed to be watching her and slept the whole damn night instead,” she said.

  “She's knocked out too, can't watch a sleeping person,” he said.

  Just as I was about to go to the bathroom and use, Dustin came through the front door. I jumped off the couch and hugged him. “What happened?” I asked.

  My face hurt worse than it had last night, and I couldn't open my right eye.

  “It's taken care of,” he said.

  He handed Lexy a small wad of cash. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  She had the money counted before Dustin had even said thanks.

  “She slept the whole time,” Lexy said. “You giving her some strong shit?”

  “Don't worry about it,” Dustin said.

  “I've got a right to worry when she's doing that crap in my house.”

  “I just paid your rent,” Dustin said, pointing to the cash she was scrunching in her hand. “So really it's my house.”

  We walked out the door and got into the waiting taxi.

  “Did you find Renee?” I asked as the taxi drove towards the city.

  Dustin was looking out his window. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle bar on the door.

  “What about Jose—”

  “Don't ever say his name to me again, or Raul or Que,” he shouted.

  How did he know about Raul and Que? I'd never told him that Raul and I were together. Actually, I hadn't told him anything about my past. He knew about Renee, but that was it.

  “It's taken care of,” he said. “That's all you need to know.”

  We pulled up to a hotel on Dorchester Avenue not too far from Richard's house, and Dustin paid the driver. He put his arm around my shoulder and led me through the front door. The man at the desk didn't look at us when we walked in. He sat behind the glass and watched his TV.

  “We're living here from now on,” he said when we got inside our room.

  I was going to ask why, but then I saw all the trash bags. There were at least fifteen of them on the floor by the couch and they looked like the ones from Jose's basement.

  “Are those—”

  “Check the closet, it's full of clothes for you,” he said.

  I opened the closet. There was a mound of clothes on the floor—pants, shorts, and shirts. Shoes were on the top shelf.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I'd been wearing the same clothes since rehab, and my shirt and jeans were stained with blood.

  “They're Renee's. She won't be needing them anymore.”

  He came up behind me and wrapped his hands around my chest, squeezing my tits like he was fist pumping for a vein. “Not a word of this, ever,” he said. “Got it?”

  The only thing that mattered was that Dustin hadn't gotten hurt. And with Jose taken care of, I didn't have to worry about running into him and his gang on the street. Dustin was good to me, and tonight was just another reason I wanted to be with him forever.

  “Yeah, I got it,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Renee had to be dead. Dustin never said he killed her, but why else wouldn't she need her clothes? That bitch had hurt me too many times. It was her fault Eric had died, she'd left me at McDonald's and at Jose's. Mason would never see his mom again, but Renee got what she deserved.

  Since Dustin and I had moved to Dorchester, I hadn't spoken to Sunshine. But I wondered how much she knew about Renee. Was she there when Dustin took Renee's clothes? Had she come home to an empty hotel room and thought Renee had just taken off? Maybe Sunshine was dead too. I'd never know unless I called her. But she hadn't been a good friend to me either. She'd kicked me out of her bed when we'd both been dope sick and lied to me about Richard. She used me to get her drugs. I'd long paid her back for letting me stay with her for free. She could go to Roxbury and get her own damn drugs. I was done with her.

  The only person I couldn't get out of my head was Richard. It had been months since I'd made the deal with him, and if it weren't for the fire, I would have already paid him back. I had this feeling he was going to say something to Dustin if I didn't pay up soon. So every day when Dustin left for his runs, I boosted. And at night, Dustin and I shot up and had sex. We talked about our future, how we were going to leave Boston and quit using and start a family. We both wanted that, but he'd also lost all the cash he'd saved in the fire, and our plans had to be pushed back. I was going to get my little girl. And this time I'd know the baby's daddy, and she wouldn't die from junk. But all that was going to take some time.

  Dustin came home one night and said Heather was out of the loony bin and back with Richard. He told me he didn't have a run tomorrow and asked if I wanted to go see her. We'd stay for just a little while and get some dinner after. In the four months we'd been together, we'd never been on an actual date.

  The timing was perfect. In the last week, I'd finally earned enough money to pay Richard. I'd thought about having Dustin give him the money. But then Dustin would ask questions and I'd have to lie, and Richard probably wouldn't back me up. Heather was crazy, and addicts couldn't be trusted to deliver money. There was no other way to get him the cash. I had to do it.

  I told Dustin I was excited for tomorrow and we got into bed. He turned on the TV, and when I started kissing his neck, he told me to stop. The news was on, and he turned up the volume. Since everything had gone down with Jose and Renee, he'd been watching the news every night. I didn't know if Renee and Jose and his gang members were dead or had just left Boston but so far, the newscasters hadn't reported they were missing or that their bodies had been found.

  When the weatherman came on to give the forecast, Dustin turned off the TV and kissed me back.

  The next night, I hid the cash in my bra, and we walked to Richard's. Dustin held my hand, and when we got to the front door, he turned around at the top step and leaned down to kiss me.

  “Happy
birthday, baby,” he said.

  He opened the door, and everyone inside yelled, “Surprise.”

  The gang of squatters greeted me with hugs and wished me a happy birthday. Everyone except the twins and Richard. Sierra and Erin were on the couch looking sour, and Richard must have been in his bedroom.

  I knew it was spring because the snow was melting and we'd turned off the heat in our hotel room. But that today was my twenty-fifth birthday—that came as a total surprise.

  The birthday party Dustin put together was different than the ones I'd been to in the past. There weren't any balloons or streamers, any food or gifts. Besides Heather, everyone here was Dustin's friend, not mine. And once the surprise was over, they all went into the living room to shoot up, snort, and smoke their drugs.

  Dustin had gotten me a cake, but no one sang, and there weren't any candles to blow out. I still made a wish. Before I took my first bite, I wished to move away from here. Maybe in a couple years when we had the money and we were ready to put this life behind us, I'd eat my birthday cake on a plate instead of a napkin and have a fork to feed myself with. But for now, my fingers worked just fine.

  Heather and I sat alone in the living room. The guys had gone into Richard's bedroom to talk, and the twins had left to sell on the street. Besides the cast that ran from Heather's shoulder to her wrist, she looked good. Her hair was brushed, and she'd gained weight. Her face had a little color too.

  “How's your arm?” I asked.

  Her pupils were pinned and her movements were heavy. Heather was a tweaker, but tonight she'd shot up heroin instead of crystal meth.

  “It's fucked, I cut through muscle and I'm gonna have to wear this thing for a while,” she said. “Supposed to have another surgery soon, but you know…”

  Her eyes got droopy.

  That surgery would never happen. Addicts didn't go to the hospital unless they OD'd or got pregnant.

  “This shit is good,” she slurred.

  She was still eating her cake, but that's not what she was talking about.

  “You done with meth?” I asked.

  “It made me too crazy, but dope, yeah, dope is all right,” she said. “How you and Dustin doing?”