The clock reads 6:23 am. It’s too early to be awake, but the cold keeps us up. I look over at her, white lips and pale face. In the corner, a woman I love is slowly withering away. She presses her head against the cold window, trying to relieve her fever.
I live in Chicago. In the middle of February, it’s colder than Antarctica in the summer time. She and I both have lost everything. I have no money, no job, and nothing to keep me from moving away. She used to have a lovely body, curvy and soft. The kind a man would kill for. Yet there she is, killing herself, with burnt lungs and a sour taste. I watch the light disappear from her eyes, as if it was the day’s end. Along with long nights, and strange men. We’re struggling to pay rent.
I’m hoping for a better life, but we fade into the night. She scored a couple grams, and I seem to be watching her decay through the cellophane wall between us. In the pipe she flies to another land, and sells love to another man. Wasting. Decaying. Destructing.
A man approaches me from the dark of the corner of our apartment. He melts into a white rabbit, and introduces himself as Shell. I watch him through bleary eyes, he keeps moving so fast. The world in slow motion, with only him on high speed. Like standing perfectly still in the middle of traffic on the highway. No sounds. Just as you’re about to step into the line of cars, something pulls you back.
Day after day, no food. No power, burning what we can in the middle of the living room. Her face is chalked with soot and resin. She never speaks. We just keep filling the void with the single pipe we share. We try to swim to stay afloat, but no matter what we’re both slowly sinking. Her name is Olive. Mine is not important, but I’ll tell you anyways. Doreen. You won’t remember it anyways. As this is the last thing I will ever write down. I won’t bore you into how we fell into this catastrophe, as the past is the past, and it won’t change anything.
Shell keeps coming to me as I am drifting in and out of consciousness. He tries to keep me awake as if I’m something important that others need. I don’t know if he’s just my fucked up subconscious appearing to me as a fucked up rabbit in a blue velvet vest, embroidered in gold, or if I’m just that fucking high. He smells like pine needles, and wet dog. He wears two ripped gloves, a broken watch, and a monocle. I rub my eyes, and he shimmers out of focus for a second, and leaves.

I wake up. My stomach snarls from the lack of food and the surplus of poison in my body. Its 8:32 pm. Time for work. No food yet, maybe once I get paid. I glance over at Olive. She slightly looks like she’s in the process of overdosing, but it’s always like that. A little bit shaky from the heatless apartment, glazed eyes, and slow breathing. Whatever. I’m late anyways. No hot water, so I guess it will be a cold, quick shower. The one thing about cold showers I hate is that when you try to shave, you get gooseskin, and can never get close enough. Well, I try to anyways. Everything shaved, thigh highs rolled up, clipped on. I shimmy into a fine pair of lacy panties, and by “fine” it’s the best that $5.88 can buy you at Walmart. Slip on a skin tight dress, a few pieces of jewelry, and my six inch spikes. I’m glad that there is no one in the building at this time of night. No strange looks in the elevator, or in the halls. Thank fucking god. It’s always awkward when you’re the “whore” of the building.
I get to the elevator and its broken, some jackass only taped over the buttons. Well, down ten flights of stairs in heels. Great. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, my feet are a little sore, but I will be able to make it. I walk out of the building and this is where the looks and the cat calls begin. A guy at a red light with a car full of his friends look over at me, and jokingly yell, “How much?” if you only knew baby, if you only knew. This is pretty much regular for every night. It’s not until I get where I’m going that it actually works. I jump on the L train and there are all the regulars. Joey the bum, Crystal whose name needs no explaining, a few cops, and frightened business people who are on the train too late for their liking. I take my regular seat at the front of the train, third car from the front, and Joey approaches me. “Hey Doe,” he likes to think of me as an elegant long-legged deer, “You got anything tonight?” “No, I haven’t been out yet, you should know this. Try me again at the end of the night.” I reply. “Allright!” He exclaims loudly. The cops look over at us. A woman who could pass as a hooker, or maybe just going to the club, and a bum. I want to know what they’re thinking. The way they look at me makes me want to get off at the next stop, but I know that if I get off, I will look suspicious. I stay seated in the orange seats of the L Train.
I descend the stairs off the train, one stop past downtown. I make my way over to Huron Street, and set up my game. I run into a few of the other girls, and they look at me like I’m either too innocent, or too pretty. Sucks for you, I get the “right” kind of business.
A half hour past 10 and my regular shows. I won’t tell you who he is, in case this gets out. But he’s a very important political figure, and he treats me the best. “Hey Lacy,” due to the signature lingerie I wear, he calls to me from the front seat of his black Benz, “Get in, this is no place for you.” I slide into the passenger seat of the sleek leather interior, and make sure to flash a little bit of thigh when I settle in. He’s older, could be a father to me. “You look skinny, let’s get something to eat.” We drive to a local restaurant and I only order a side salad. I have too much pride to eat like I haven’t eaten in the last six days. He orders a bottle of champagne and two meals, which he always makes me share with him. He knows my game. He always tells me he loves me, and most times, he sees me more for company and dates than the sex. He knows that I have other customers, but I’m his favorite, and he’s mine. “You know I really hate what you do to yourself, and I think you deserve much better. You deserve to be treated like the woman you are. You’re smart and intelligent, and I know you won’t tell me what happened with you in the past, but I want to give you the life you deserve.” Even though he’s fifteen years my senior, he can be really stupid. “K____, you know that you’re my favorite, and I would run away with you in a heartbeat, but you know it will never work out. You’re too important to the public, and I’m just a run-around whore. What would people think? I like what we have now.” I tell him. He looks at me for a long time, and knows that I’m not high, whenever he’s around Shell always seems to disappear. “For being so young, you are too smart sometimes.” He squeezes my thigh under the table, and slips something into my hands. “It’s a ring,” he says. “I want you to have it, and wear it all the time and think of me.” I blush. “No pawning it either,” he adds. He pays for the check and drops me off a few blocks away from my apartment. “Here,” he hands me an envelope full of cash. “Make sure you feed her too.” He knows about Olive, and that I would do anything for my best friend. As I’m about to get out of the car, he leans over and slips the ring snugly on my left hand ring finger. “I love you.” He kisses me more passionately than any other man I have ever loved or been with. If we were in another life, I would settle down and be his domestic queen, supplying him with sons and great meals. But for now, he’s just supplying me with food, and an access to highs he’ll never know. I squeeze his hands, and he knows what I’m thinking.
After K_____ has driven away, I make my way to the payphone. I quickly dial Hank, the other best man in my life, only for other reasons. “Hey H, can you hook me up?” I ask. “Yeah, meet me at Chan’s over off of The Mile.” He replies. I hang up, and use the payphone for support as I switch into my flats I keep in my purse. Fifteen minutes later I’m looking into the face of Hank. Scruffy face, a little dirty, rough around the edges. He’s got that “bad boy” look that most underage girls go for. “What have you in mind?” He asks. No heroine, hah, bad pun. No crank, no weed, and definitely not speed. “Yeah have you any Demerol?” I ask. “Yeah, how much?” “Uh, enough to let me forget.” I reply. He digs into his coat and slips me a baggie of pills. “300 up front, or 150 if I can see you in the bathroom.” He says. He always cuts me a good deal with sex. This is one of the times I will not write down what I chose.

But, I might as well get everything out at once.
I finally make it home, wobbly ankles from the pumps, a little bit toasted, and a little bit gone. I fall onto the couch, and let my body slide down to the floor in front of the coffee table. I scrounge around for a piece of paper, and a knife. Crush, crush, crush. Nice and fine. Shell emerges from the shadows. . . convincing me to relive the past night. The worst part was Hank. I guess I can’t keep it from you now.
Back in the restaurant, “Is there any sort of pre-numb” I ask. He slips his hand into mine. “Break it in half, put it in your drink, and meet me in 10.” He scoots his chair back with a squeak, and wipes a few noodles hanging from his chin. Standing with surprising swiftness, he spins with a turn of his heel, and glides into the back of the restaurant disappearing behind a curtain of beads.

I fish around in Hank’s noodle bowl, for a good ten minutes, and push the chair in. The room spins. I guess whatever H gave me was pretty potent. Regaining my balance, the room elongates, and pushes me towards the bathroom. On the outside I can tell that I’m walking calmly, but it’s a hell of a lot worse in my head. I reach the men’s room door, and rap three times. The door squeaks to a crack, and I shimmy inside and close the latch. I’m not proud of what I did, especially wanting to be high to make a bad call. Shell shakes me a little bit with a nudge of his toes to rouse me. Without his lips moving, Shell speaks to me, “Are you going to let this kind of behavior define your life? Or just try to make it out of here? You’re obviously not very good at this.” I nod, starting to feel the effects of the crushed pills. He looks at me with a cocked head, blinking his eyes one at a time. “Then take them. I’m not stopping you.” I look into those beady eyes, and reply “That’s just it. I don’t want to see you anymore. I hate the way you sneak up on me and try to control everything. I hate being broke and selling myself for drugs. And I hate this!” I spread my arms to show the torn apartment. It looked worse than ever in the light of about ten candles. The walls washed in a coffee stain of light, and highlighted the peeling wall paper. He blinked once more and scurried into the darkness leaving nothing but a scent of pine needles lingering in the air.
I sneak over to Olive’s limp form, and I give Olive a few tablets, just to keep her going and I proceed to take the rest. By the rest I mean that I won’t be seeing Shell, or anyone else. Ever. This is the last thing I will write before I slip into the seas of my blankets, and the pull of the tides gets to me. I love Olive. She’s the only family I have, and I know that she will be gone in the morning as well. To K____, I wish we could have been together. To Hank, thanks for the ride.