Blue ; Timothée Chalamet

38.

Blue's POV

I stood in front of Frankie's door, shifting back and forth on my heels. My hands were shoved in my pockets to try and stop myself from picking at my cuticles. I hadn't seen Frankie in months, so standing in her hallway seemed surreal to me. I wasn't even sure if she wanted to speak to me after everything. I took a deep breath and raised my hand against the door. I knocked softly, knowing that if she were in her room, she wouldn't be able to hear. I sighed deeply, trying to release the anxiety I was feeling. I rose my hand again and knocked harder. 

_____

Frankie's POV

"What do you want?" 

"Can I come in?"

"Shit, I don't know, dude; what do you want?"

"Just let me come in, and we can talk." 

"Whatever." 

I stepped inside Baxter's house and sat down on the couch. I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm. 

"If you came here to buy heroin, you're out of luck; I won't sell to you." Baxter locked the door behind him before he came and stood in front of me.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I'm not going to be the reason you die from that shit." Baxter crossed his arms as he towered over me.

"I don't need a lecture from the guy who pressured me into doing it." 

"I didn't pressure you into anything. God, can you ever take responsibility for your actions?" Baxter spat.

"I wasn't completely open to trying it until you showed it to me," I said defensively. 

"You'll try anything, F, don't blame it on me." 

I shook my head and leaned back on the couch. 

"I'm out, okay? and I need more before I withdraw." I changed my tone.

"As I said, you came to the wrong place." 

"So you'll beat the shit out of me when you find out I slept with Blue, but you won't sell me heroin in case I die?" 

"Yeah, I don't need your blood on my hands," Baxter sat down next to me and grabbed a joint to spark.

"You don't make any sense, you've beaten me up twice now, but you don't want me to die?" I stood up, not wanting to sit next to him.

"As I said before, I don't want your blood on my hands. I'll beat the fuck out of you because you deserve it. You're a fucking liar, and you've always been." Baxter explained before taking a hit of his joint.

I didn't have the energy to fight with him; all my mind could think about was getting high. I scanned the room; I knew exactly where he kept all his drugs. I could grab some and dump the money on the table when he leaves the room; then, technically, he wouldn't have given it to me. 

"You should leave, Frankie; I have important people coming over that you shouldn't be around." Baxter checked his phone and stood up. "I need to take this." He walked a few feet away from me with his back turned. 

I quietly walked over to the reclining chair he had in the corner and dug my hand into the side of the cushion, trying to feel around for any bag. I turned my head to see if Baxter was looking, but he was occupied with his phone. I grunted, reaching deeper in and feeling two bags of what I was hoping was heroin. I pulled my hand out, and my eyes lit up at the sight. I shoved them into my jacket pocket and fished money out, digging it into the couch where the bags were. I ran towards the door and unlocked it.