My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 59: Constriction

For whatever reason, my stepparents decided to drop their insistence that I take my end of the year exams, letting me sleep in till past noon. I took a hot shower, the steam making me so lightheaded that I had to take a break to spit up bitter bile into the sink, lying down on the shag rug to catch my breath before cleaning up the mess, rinsing out my mouth, and finishing my shower. I skipped conditioning my hair, worried I'd vomit again or worse- pass out and hit my head.

How long would it take for the effects of my drug use to stop plaguing me? I'd only taken heroin regularly for a few weeks, and I hadn't had a hit in days, but I still felt like I had the flu, or at least a low-grade fever.

At four in the afternoon, I pulled on my Jimi Hendrix t-shirt, fishnet tight, combat books, and a denim skirt well above the dress code limit. Mr. Grant might hold all the cards, but I didn't need to cower before him. I wanted him to know I wasn't the scared, little girl I used to be.

"Is that my shirt?" Jack asked when I passed him on my way out.

"Um, yeah, I found it in your room after you left," I said bashfully. "Do you want it back?"

"No, that's alright, it looks better on you anyway. Where are you going?"

"A... date."

His lips pursed skeptically. "You have a date at four in the afternoon? With who?"

"Someone from school, you don't know them," I said, impressed with how quickly I thought on my feet. "Earl's going to drive me there to pick them up now that class is out."

"Okay, but when you get back, I want to talk about my offer again."

I left without replying, testing the air before decided to forgo my jacket. Now, on top of worrying about Mr. Grant's blackmail, I needed to deal with my brother trying to convince me to move in with Dad and him. In theory, that sounded like a good idea, escaping London and my school and Paul, but what if the same thing happened in Australia? Drugs were everywhere, and toxic boyfriends were even more ubiquitous; running away didn't feel like a solution, only a delay in solving the problem.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" Earl asked, parking the car. 

"Yeah, I won't be too long."

During exam week, St Peter's cleared out faster that usual, and I didn't run into a single soul on my way to my old English classroom. Mostly I felt grateful for the privacy, but part of me wanted some of the cheer squad or Gally's friends to see me in my fishnet and mini-skirt.

Inside, Mr. Grant sat behind his desk, legs crossed ankle to knee, with an open copy of Anna Karenina covering his face. If I didn't know any better, I'd think him an average teacher, reading a book in preparation for future lessons, or maybe just to better himself and mold his mind. But I did know better, and the sight of him so at ease, auburn hair perfectly styled, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow, nearly made me gag.

He looked up when I cleared my throat, grinning infuriatingly. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in; we're going to be reading this in Year 11 next year, if you plan on joining us."

"I'm not," I said flatly. "Alright, I'm here, what do you want?"

"No foreplay, huh, rather just stick it in dry?" He stood up, leaning against his desk. "I want £500,000."

"Money, that's it?" My nose crinkled with disgust. "I expected something a little more... creative."

Mr. Grant approached me slowly, biting his lower lip. "You cant creativity? I'm sure I can think of something else." He trailed his hand up my fishnets till he reached the frayed hem of my skirt. "This is well above regulation-length, Miss Foxwell. Why don't you get on your knees so I can be sure."

My fists clenched at my sides as I stepped out of his reach. "Give me your banking information, and I'll wire the money to you as soon as I can."

He scribbled some numbers down on a slip of paper, handing it to me. "I want it by the end of the week."

"That's impossible-"

"End of the week or I take my story to the press. Though I'm sure you can think of something to extend your deadline."

"Not a chance, pervert." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. "You'll get your fucking money."

I stormed out of his classroom, then building, only stopping when my chest constricted to painfully to continue. Putting my hands on my head, I counted backwards from fifty, taking long, deep breaths. Did Paul even have £500,000 to spare? Maybe he earned that much as a Beatle, but I certainly couldn't wire it to a stranger's bank account without him noticing. 

Up till now, I wanted to keep him out of it, but I needed him on board to keep this story- our story- out of the tabloids. With that much money gone, he'd probably need to give Linda some explanation. This could be it, this could be the end of our terrible, horrible lie.

In the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar face. "You okay, kid?" Thelma asked, walking towards me slowly.

I looked her up and down. "What's with the uniform, I thought they revoked your scholarship."

"They did, for next year, but I still wanted to take my exams, get credit for when I transfer, that way this year won't have been a total waste." She took my hand. "I mean academically, obviously meeting you was the best thing that's happened all year."

"Ditto." Tears sprung to my eyes involuntarily.

"What's wrong, Lo? Why are you crying?"

"Where to begin?" I said, chuckling between hiccups. "Come over to my house. I have a major problem, and I don't know who else to turn to; I need help."