Catcher Told Me I Was Rotten

>Six:

August does this all the time. How hard can it be? Really?

Yeah, because that was why Charlie was standing there in the Autumn cold, hands in pockets, staring at the crooked paving stones underneath his feet and trying to lose himself in the dizzying lines. He'd been actively trying to seek out the kind of people who looked like they'd use drugs, but mostly, he was wrong, and they were just poor.

It was almost kind of the same thing. Right?

God, he wished August was there to... well, he didn't know, give him some pointers or something, but his pal had already made himself scarce in the back room with a girl he barely knew, and some cannabis that he'd skimmed off the top of one of the bags. Charlie was now holding said bags in his inside jacket pocket, with the kind of fake enthusiasm one could only muster with a gun pressed into the back of their skull.

Louise wasn't here. Louise had some... girl thing with her friend. Charlotte. Lottie, Louise called her – fuck, Louise was so hot. And smart. And confident. And she was good looking. Very attractive. Funny. Pretty. Yeah. Charlie wondered if August was jealous.

He would have liked him to be, but August was never jealous.

He shifted his weight to one foot, and considered going back inside, but the bass that was shaking the building was almost as off-putting as the prospect of getting arrested for fucking drug dealing. And it wasn't just a little bit of weed inside a gig every now and then. No, August was expecting him to do the works. Cocaine at charity events. Uppers for underclassmen. Xanax for all those overachievers who couldn't afford to take a break from the stress. He drew the line at Rohypnol, apparently. Well, the chap didn't exactly need date rape drugs to convince any girl to come back home with him. Maybe that was why he didn't indulge...

Although, Lottie hadn't seemed too interested. At least that had soothed his bruised ego, just a little. Charlie could remember the night, somewhat hazily – the beer had made any memory recall difficult – that he'd met Lottie, briefly. Half the rowing team had tried it on with her, if thought served. She was kind of a novelty, an unspoken bet, even if she'd been low down enough on the list. Their rules... that game was a little bit sad. Why were all the lads so interested in her virginity, anyway? Wasn't it better to have someone who had some... experience?

Like Louise. Louise, she knew things. Interesting things. Things that even August had probably never seen before. God, she was beautiful. How the hell had he convinced her to come back with him that night, in the club? It was probably a combination of what Gus called his 'boyish charm', and lots and lots of alcohol – all footed by him, of course. Had to keep up appearances.

Charlie wouldn't have been freezing his ass off it August hadn't paid his debts. He had to keep reminding himself of that. He was a good guy, August. Definitely. But you couldn't expect one hundred and ten thousand pounds of unpaid loans to just filter away overnight without any sort of penalty incurring. Charlie knew this. It was only fair. Even his best friend had to draw the line somewhere.

The fact that the line was petty drug dealing to college students unsettled the young man a tad.

Maybe he'd be safer inside, where he knew that people were already off their faces, and try and convince the ones that were too inebriated to know any better to go for his product. Yeah. That was a decent business idea. Maybe he'd make back a little of that money tonight. The going rate was twenty five pounds for a quarter ounce, August had said. Add on fifteen percent if they look a little stupider than your average raver.