1
HEY THERE, MY name’s Nicolette. Most people call me Nic. So, um, welcome to my shithole of a life, lol.
It’s Saturday night, and I’m hanging with my boyfriend. I have a teeny little apartment in a sorta sketchy neighborhood and that’s where we spend most of our time. He’s out of work and I don’t make much, so it’s not like we can afford to go to clubs or do anything fun, not if it costs money. Hell, I usually don’t have enough to get a couple beers at the crappy bar down the street. But that’s okay. I love Dane and he loves me, and that’s all that matters, right?
“Come here, babe,” Dane says, reaching for me. I like it when he says that. I give him my hand and let him pull me over. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, babe,” he says into my hair.
I get a little turned on, I mean my guy is holding me and I can’t help feeling in the mood, you know? But Dane…Dane’s not really in a sexual place these days. So I let that stirred-up feeling pass right on by.
“Hey babe,” he says. “I’m not feeling that great right now. Thinking maybe you could go out and run a little errand for me. Would you do that for me?” And he turns his big brown puppy-dog eyes on me.
“Dane,” I say, and then I look around for the right words but I can’t find them anywhere.
“Come on,” he pleads. “It’s just…you don’t have to or anything. I’m just asking because of how I’m feeling, and you know what makes me feel better, babe, you know how to make me feel good….”
“No, I don’t know,” I snap at him. “How are you ever going to get it together if you give every last cent to your dealer?”
“That’s not fair,” says Dane, and those puppy-dog eyes turn away from me. “You know I’m in a lot of pain. You know getting high is like all I’ve got left.”
“Thanks. Good to know.”
“Aw babe, I didn’t mean—” And yep, on cue, the big brown eyes are back, full-force. He knows it’s hard for me to resist him. Knows I can’t kick him out. Knows that eventually I’ll cave and go get him what he needs, because I can’t just sit here watching him suffer.
Without saying anything I get up and put on my jacket. It’s cold out and my jacket is thin, but I shouldn’t be out that long. My neighborhood, unfortunately, is crawling with dealers and I should be able to score pretty quick.
When I first met Dane, he was working and—
—oh hell. I was about to spin you a story about how he was a decent, hard-working dude who caught some bad breaks. But the truth, the real truth, is that he’s always been an addict, ever since I first met him. And I got together with him because he called me babe and reached for me this one night, and because I thought he needed me.
That was all it took.
Yeah, I know. Not exactly what they write about in romance stories, is it? And in one half of my head, I know he’s totally using me. To get him drugs, give him a place to hang out, and probably most important—make him feel legit. That’s what having a girlfriend does, sorta. Like he can tell himself he’s not that big of a mess because he’s got me.
Uhm-hmm, screwed up. I know.
On my way downstairs I don’t see anyone in the hallway which is fine, I don’t know any of my neighbors anyway and I don’t want to. Now don’t look at me like that—you wouldn’t want to know them either. Bunch of skanks and druggies, that’s pretty much it. I’m probably the only person in the building who gets a W-2, know what I’m saying?
Yup, there’s Chickie on the corner, like I knew he would be. Chickie’s okay. He sells weed mostly, but if you want something else, he can tell you where to get it. For me, he’ll go get it himself and give it to me, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t like buying from some stranger.
“Hey Chick,” I say when I get close.
He spins around and does a little jig like he’s glad to see me. Glad to see my wallet, more like. “Whatcha need, baby girl?”
“Blow, I guess,” I say.
“You in luck,” says Chickie. “Got some supply right on me tonight. Just one?”
“Yeah just one. I’m not exactly rolling in it, Chick.”
He laughs, sliding his hand into his coat. We go to shake hands and the crisp bills and the small glassine bag change hands smoothly.
“You have a good night, baby girl,” he says.
What’s he calling me that for? I want to yell that my name is Nicolette, I’m not just a blank space with no name. I feel like slapping the shit out of him. It’s this surge of scary anger, even though if he wasn’t here, if there was no Chickie, there wouldn’t be anything to bring back to Dane. Like it’s Chickie’s fault Dane can’t get it up anymore, Chickie’s fault that my life sucks so bad.
It’s cold so I hurry on back. Dane is peeking out between the Venetian blinds—sometimes he gets sorta paranoid and thinks he needs to keep watch. It makes me laugh because the whole big problem is not that people are following him or after him, it’s that nobody gives a shit, you know? Nobody is coming to get you, Dane, because nobody even knows you exist. You’re nothing. The two of us, one plus one equals nothing.
Zero.
Dane snatches the glassine bag out of my hand and shakes out the little white envelope. “Get me a straw, baby,” he says without looking at me.
“My name’s Nicolette.” My voice is shaking with all the same anger I was feeling at Chickie. I always liked it when Dane called me baby but all of sudden…not anymore.
But all Dane’s thinking about is doing a line. He tips a little bit of powder out on a library book of mine that has one of those transparent plastic covers on it. Then he takes a dollar out of his pocket and starts rolling it up, all while not taking his eyes off that little white pile of powder, not for one second, like it might run away if he wasn’t giving it 100% of his attention.
I’m just standing there, at loose ends in my own apartment. It’s like Dane and his drugs are taking up all the space there is. And goddammit, tears spring to my eyes and start dribbling down my face. It’s, I don’t know, it’s like something inside me breaks open out of nowhere and I’m flooded with all the shitty memories, and they just keep coming and coming until I can barely breathe.
I remember my mother crying and crying when my dad left. I don’t remember him, thank God, but I sure remember standing there holding my mother’s hand and hoping she would stop crying soon because it hurt so much to see her like that.
Oh sure, I could go on. But who wants to sit around listening to somebody bellyaching?
Mom remarried when I was fourteen. The guy was okay, but he had four children and it was like I went from being my mom’s whole world to being part of a big crowd. My stepbrother Matthew was the oldest. A fucking rule-follower I could not stand because he was so full of himself. He’s a cop now, which is the perfect job for him—he can run around feeling su
perior to everyone and punishing them too. I’m sure he gets off on having a badge. You know how some people are, gotta be telling everyone else how to live their lives.
I was so happy to get out of that house. The minute I turned eighteen I was outta there. Of course I still see my Mom, but I’m not close to any of my step-sibs. Matthew still tries to horn his way into my life and tell me what to do, but I haven’t seen him lately, thank God.
Anyway, enough ancient history. Dane’s done at least three lines and he’s got a big grin on now. He’s too thin and so the grin’s sorta toothy, but still, it’s a whole lot better than him glowering and giving me the sad eyes. He starts talking like he can’t stop—blow always does that to him. He’d talk to a shovel all day, a boot, any old thing. Including me. He doesn’t notice that I’ve been crying—he’s too caught up in the story he’s telling, some story starring, you guessed it, himself. I’ve heard it all before and it wasn’t interesting the first time.
I look down at the white envelope. It’s a miniature thing, folded neatly, like something I’d have made for my dolls back when I was a kid. I was always trying to make miniature food for them and miniature plates and shoes and knitting needles, just from trash I found around the house. I reach out and finger the edges of the envelope. Dane looks at me and cocks his head. He’s trying really hard to be chill but I can tell he doesn’t like seeing me with my hand on his drugs. Even though I paid for them.