Drug Lord

Chapter III

I'm pretty sure you could fry bacon on my skin right now, it's so hot. 

"Goddamn it, Ori! Are you kidding me right now? Do you know who that is?" Shawn yelled as soon as he slammed the car door shut. "That is one of the best connections I have right now! I swear to God, if you've fucked this up for me-"

Is he serious? There's no way he's serious.

"YOU must be the one kidding. I may have been a little rude, but not rude enough for all of that! He asked me if I approved of what you were doing, I said no. He was egging me on! And maybe, before we went in, a 'Hey, Ori, that's where your supply comes from, too' would have been a helpful little tip. Don't you think Shawn?"

I cross my arms and look over at Dylan.

"You heard all of that, did you not Dylan? He was completely out of line, right?" My voice reflected a plea for agreement but I know that my eyes said something more along the lines of:

If you don't say yes I'm going to push you out of this car.

"Yeah , actually I-"

"Shut up, Dylan!" Shawn snapped. 

"I do not give a fuck," he practically yelled. "All I know is that your supply has came from Kingsley for almost seven months now. This is the fourth time I've bought coke in quantity from him, and it's been pulling in customers like crazy. So if he decides to cut me off now, it's because of you. And if I'm cut off, that means you're out, too. So that fucks both of us unless I can find a better dealer."

"He's not gonna cut you off," I said, reflecting on the dealer's last statement to me.

Learn some manners. Ha! I have more manners in my little finger than he has his entire body.

"You'd better hope so." Shawn said tersely. The rest of the ride home was silent and angry.

We arrived in less than forty five minutes according to the clock on my phone. I, however, could have sworn we were in the car for forty five hours.

I nearly run inside, wanting to avoid any further confrontation. I succeed as I reach the top of the stairs and stride into my room, kicking the door shut behind me. My stilettos came off next and I – well, what else could I do besides face-plant into my bed?

I lay there forever. Hundreds of thoughts of bills and drugs and homework and evil coke dealers and shitty brothers and dead parents threatened to go through my head. But I was done with being threatened today, and the thoughts retreated as quickly as they had appeared.

I surrounded myself with various pillows and fell into a deep, much needed sleep.

Thirteen hours later (yes, I totally slept that long and don't you knock it 'til you try it,) I awake gracefully in my kingdom of pillows. Alright, I may be exaggerating when I say graceful. My dress may be wrinkled and the netting bunched up in places - and my hair may resemble that of a crow's nest – and my make-up may be a little smudged - but my morning stretch was very graceful, I'll have you know.

I stumble out of bed, wrestle my feet into my bunny slippers and head downstairs. I may be tired, but my stomach is not. I sifted through the kitchen for only two minutes before spotting my prey.

"Aha!" my eyes darted to the cereal box in the very back of an upper cabinet. "Playing hard to get, I see. No matter...." I disregard the height differentiation between predator and prey as I climb the counter.

My stomach was grateful and I ate slowly as I read through the newspaper I picked up off of the bar.

"Well, don't you look lovely?" I heard Dylan's voice compliment my very stylish attire.

"Hey, thank you. I actually just saw this look in Vogue yesterday and really wanted to give it a go myself."

"It works. What – are you really reading the paper?" he chuckled, as if I were eccentric.

"I'm forty on the inside, Dylan." I say with a serious face.

"I'm sure that you are. Look, I was just gonna tell you that I have no idea what went down in there yesterday. I was probably as shocked as you were. I could tell Shawn was, too, no matter what he says. He's just... worried, yanno?"

I roll my eyes but still feel relief that at least Dylan knows that I wasn't the producer of yesterday's shit show.

"Yeah, thanks. I know he's worried," But I'm worried, too. "I guess he's under a lot of stress lately." As if I'm not....

With that, I put my bowl in the sink and retreated to my room to take a shower.

It's unbelievable what a shower is capable of. Scalding hot water is a professional in the art of washing off yesterday's skin and stress. I stepped out of the oversized tub dripping, pink and relaxed.

And then the phone rings.

And then I realize I haven't sold anything in two days.

And just like that, the stress is back.

I wrap my pink towel around my matching body and run into my room to grab the screaming phone. I don't recognize the number, and hesitate a second before answering.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Hawthorne," he addresses without question. " I wish to speak business with you."