Sadie Hawkins: Addiction Series, #1

1

Snowblind

Crystal world with winter flowers, turns my day to frozen hours.

— Black Sabbath —

I knelt in front of my coffee table, a bottle of vodka on my left and drugs on my right. Once again I was momentarily plagued by how I’d gotten to this point, but as I drew another powdered line along the reflective glass, the scrape of the razor blade a soothing aria, my thoughts simply didn’t seem important. It was always this way - I’d have a second of self-doubt, self-deprecation, but it was fleeting.

Bending, I breathed deeply, pulling the white escape into one nostril, then the other. It burned only briefly, before I could feel the familiar, creeping numbness coming for my nose, my throat, the roof of my mouth. Momentarily sated, I sat back, smirking, oddly pleased with myself, remembering.

In all honesty, I’d stopped reevaluating my life a while ago. What was the use? I was where I was, and that was that … and it wasn’t something that truly bothered me. It used to - when I was nothing more than a small-town girl, missing her mom and dad, struggling to get through the long days and nights of studying. Law school hadn’t been something that had come easy; sure, I got good grades, did well on tests, and worked my ass off every second. But, it came with a price.

About halfway through my sophomore year, I was exhausted. I was so tired I could hardly function anymore - forget just in class, but anywhere. I was a heartbeat away from dropping out or going insane. There were times I’d been so stressed about an upcoming exam and studying, I’d sat and stared in a daze without knowing it. Then, hours would have gone by, no work had been done, and I was essentially screwed. So, I’d stay up even later, hoping to retain some of the information the professors were constantly throwing my direction, only to go to class half dead, running on energy drinks, and still barely passing.

That’s when I met Colin. He was the typical rich frat boy - down to his good looks, complete with tousled blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Coming from a long legacy of Harvard alumni, his grades or testing didn’t really matter - he was a shoe-in to be the same, and he simply didn’t give a shit. I admired that about him. I, for one, had everything in the world to lose. My parents weren’t rich, they weren’t putting me through school; I was putting myself through it, along with a shit ton of grants and federal aid loans. I wanted to be more like him.

We started … I guess you could call it dating … about three months after meeting. By dating, I mean we started partying, drinking, and forgoing the act of studying completely. Surprisingly, my grades didn’t get worse like I feared they would either - they actually improved. It just goes to show when you’re not stressed out, you actually perform better. Go figure.

It wasn’t until another four or five months passed that I discovered the true reason for Colin’s disposition. He was very, not-so-secretly to everyone but me, as it turned out, addicted to drugs. Cocaine, mostly, though it didn’t seem to matter when his high was on the line. I’d caught him throwing back pills, smoking shit out of his mother’s fine silver spoons, and more. This, of course, was an assault on my good girl conscience and a deal breaker to me … for a while.

My morals lasted all of six days. Six? Maybe five.

They lasted up until Dr. Starthmore demanded a twenty-page dissertation on the ethics of law and business survival, with just over a week to turn it in.

After days of no sleep, words running into each other on my second-hand laptop - and God only knew if they made sense - I almost broke. And, in a way, I did. I called Colin. I apologized for the way I’d behaved, for the fit I’d thrown after finding his multiple stashes and catching him in too many lies. And then I begged. I begged for anything that would help, anything that would get me through the next few days, through this paper and all the bullshit that went with it.

Initially, he refused. He told me no. He told me I was better than that; he told me I could do anything, write any paper, without any sort of help. It wasn’t until I broke down into hiccupping sobs that my estranged boyfriend agreed to come over. There, he found me in a puddle of blankets, clutching my laptop, eyes bloodshot and still leaking tears. And so, at four o’clock in the morning, sitting amidst all the childish trinkets I’d brought from home, while wrapped in my grandmother’s meticulously sewn quilt, I got my first taste of the powdered deception that is Cocaine.

And the rest is fucking history, I said to the empty room.

Glancing at the clock beneath the dark TV, I cursed under my breath.

Time to get to ready for work.

Jumping to my feet, I snatched the bag with my work clothes in it, and walked out the front door, only bothering to lock it since the majority of my stash was still sprawled across the thrift-bought wooden coffee table. I walked the few miles to the Dollhouse, nodding to Reno, the doorman, as I entered the dimly lit building. Serenity was bartending for the night and waved, her face alight when she saw me. I returned the gesture and continued toward the back for the dressing rooms.

Momma Ferrah was not as happy to see me as my girl behind the booze.

You’re late, Sadie. Again.

I’m not late. I’m fashionably on time. Besides, I don’t go on for another three songs. I have plenty of time.

Plenty of time?! the older woman practically screeched, her perfectly manicured hand moving to massage her forehead. You look a hot fucking mess. And you still have sugar on your nose.

I tried to ignore her as I hurriedly dropped my oversized jeans to the floor, my ripped AC/DC tank following into the pile. A heartbeat later I was perfectly dressed in my first ensemble for the night - a hot-pink, sequined triangle top with matching thong, and black fishnet strapless dress thrown over it. I fluffed my hair, teasing it slightly with hair spray and a comb, added some matching suck-my-dick pink lip gloss, mascara and eyeliner, and silver spikes and I was ready. It only took two songs.

See, Momma F? I’m right as rain.

Right as rain, my ass. Get your ass out there. Sasha’s finishing up.

Aye aye, Captain.

Looking more confident than I felt, I headed to the opening of the stage, watching as Sasha finished her number. The voluptuous, redheaded bombshell was a force to be reckoned with, stunning with a sweet personality … who just happened to have her hands down the pants of a smart-looking businessman closest to the stage. Cash was cascading down on her as the other men watched, and her head turned, throwing a wink my way. I couldn’t help but grin back.

That was the best part about going on after Sasha, and the worst. I loved watching her, the way she was completely comfortable with her body, but I hated waiting in the shadows, the idle time fucking with my head. I needed to be moving, to be actively doing something. It was one of the many reasons I was always late for shift; if I was late, there was less nothing time.

You look fucking hot, the other girl said in greeting as she hugged me, her perfect, naked tits smacking my chin as she did so. Go get ‘em, tiger.

I smirked at the dainty hand that landed on my almost bare ass, and stepped up the stairs as the music started to play. The hard rifts of an electric guitar sounded through the speakers and the men in the bar yelled my name loudly, recognizing my opening song choice. Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue was always the song I warmed up to, the rhythm perfect and the lyrics epically poetic.

Grinding my hips, I grasped the pole at the end of the stage with one hand, allowing the music to take me far away. It took me away from the smoky club, the men staring with lust in their eyes and grit in their souls. I became one with the music, one with myself, and everything else disappeared. Including what little I wore, until the cool air caressed my skin. A meaty hand on my chin pulled me from my daze as I knelt to the floor, dragging my attention up to the man Sasha had been elbows deep in his pants.

Sadie Hawkins, dance with me, the man said, pointing to a streak of color on the black stage floor. I followed his gesture and grinned, eagerly taking the rolled bill from him and snorting the line, my body still grinding and gyrating to the beat of my music. He winked and leaned forward, our lips meeting in a salacious kiss, before I rolled flat onto my back. His hands trailed my breasts, my nipples, and lower, my own fingers tangled in my hair.

I was oblivious to the others in the bar, my every sense alight, set afire with this new adrenaline rush. His touch sent goosebumps down my flesh, the lights creating a new haze of reality. This place could have been anywhere and nowhere, where I was everything and nothing. Where light touched the dark and the dark swallowed me whole, and it was what I lived for. It was what I searched for, what I’d climb mountains for, what I’d give up a piece of myself for each time without a second’s hesitation. Colin knew what I wanted, which was why he came to the Dollhouse as often as he did. It once would have bothered me, seeing him groping others and being felt up, but it no longer did. Now, he was my line in a sea of life, reeling me back to where I yearned to be.

The fact that powder dissolved in water was merely a requiem to us both - a carefully composed symphony to the dead, offering tranquility to the soul … even if only for a moment.

Where was it? Where the fuck was it? I just had it all of ten seconds ago, and it disappeared into thin air.

On a rampage, I ripped the cushions off the couch, flipping them one way and the next. Frustrated, I threw them across the room, hearing them slam into something, the sounds of glass shattering distant. I knew I should probably care that my things were breaking, but I didn’t. Instead, my hands trailed the rough canvas on the couch frame, searching the cracks toward the back and down the sides by the arm rests. Still nothing.

Fuck! I spat at the room, spinning in yet another circle, my fingers entwined tightly in my hair, pulling at my scalp. I had to find it. It was right there … It was. Where the hell did it go?

Dropping to my knees, I pulled at the couch, trying to lift it, to see under it. Maybe it had fallen off my lap and onto the floor. Maybe my foot pushed it underneath the small opening under the sofa. Yeah, maybe that was it. But as the heavy furniture rose slightly, me grunting and heaving at the effort, it was still nowhere to be found.

I could feel my heart beating frantically in my chest, panic starting to rise in my throat, choking me. I needed it. I had to have it. If I didn’t find it, I wasn’t sure what would happen to me. Already I could feel the weight of life crashing around my head, desperation making me fall to my knees, my hands clutching at my temples. Tears streamed down my face for inexplicable reasons, reasons I didn’t understand, nor could I put into words. They just did. They belonged there. I’d lost it. It was my fault. I was fucking worthless. My life was worthless.

My body started to rock back and forth, my psyche attempting to find some comfort, some semblance of calm in the midst of what I knew was just a momentary panic attack. I knew I’d find what I was looking for. After all, they were drugs and didn’t have legs - they couldn’t just get up and walk away. Plus no one else had come or gone from my apartment but me; they weren’t stolen. No, the coke was waiting for me somewhere in the house, if only I could remember where I’d put it. That’s all. But I couldn’t convince my mind of that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a spot of white amongst the dingy, brown shag carpet. Hesitantly I made a small motion toward it, forcing myself to inch forward on my hands and knees. It was as if the world would end if I moved too quickly and I tentatively reached for it. Alas, there it was. Exactly what I’d been panicking about.

And, as quickly as the panic attack had come, I immediately felt it begin to lessen. Not subside completely, but ease slightly. Movements sluggish, I inched closer to the coffee table, opening the small cellophane bag as I moved. With shaking hands, I drew a line onto the tarnished mirror, my nose following it as fast as I’d made it. Not enough. I nodded at my inner voice, and did it again, and then a third time, sighing.

Suddenly feeling steady, I got to my feet, taking in the mess I’d made, unable to hold back the chuckle that rose in my throat. It looked like a bomb had gone off - there were overturned lamps and one of my shoddy end tables was at an awkward keel, a leg having snapped in my tirade. Of course the couch pillows had slammed into the makeshift TV stand, which was really a couple egg crates covered in a table cloth; it had been the TV crashing into my bookcase, knocking the collectible trinkets I’d had balanced there tumble into the crates, breaking them. Porcelain and glass littered the dark carpet, a dismal confetti amongst the dreary.

Skimpy clothes comprised of glittering panties and strappy bras were strung over every available surface, platform heels had been tossed around, now colorful land mines to maneuver around. Cups, empty alcohol bottles, overturned ash trays, makeup - everything I owned seemed to be sprawled onto the floor and furniture.

I moved on auto pilot, righting the wrongs I’d made of my small apartment. I picked up the clothes, tossing them into a hamper I conveniently kept along the wall of my living room. It was too much of a hassle, a bother, to take it inside the room most days anyway. The makeup I put back in a makeup bag and took to the bathroom. The empty cups and bottles were gathered into a trash bag, along with the larger pieces of broken collectibles. Ashtrays went in the sink to be washed, along with the sparse dishes I found.

How long I cleaned, I wasn’t sure. The carpet had been vacuumed, all remnants of ash and glass gone as if they’d never existed. I couldn’t fix the broken end table, so I’d put it with the rest of the garbage. The TV was righted, the egg crates it sat upon straightened. Dishes were washed, dried, and put away. The countertops sparkled as if they’d never been used a day; even the refrigerator was cleaned out - expired food and old takeout thrown in trash. Floor tiles of the kitchen shone, along with the bathroom. The shower was spotless, the sink top organized and various products and hair irons put in their respective drawers out of the way.

My bed was stripped, new linens in place, and made to perfection. Clothes in the closet hung coordinately, by style and color. Dresser was organized, old photos in their frames dusted, and the laundry was