My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 60: Extention, Extortion

This is sort of how I imagine Mr. Grant, but feel free to continue to picture him however you want!! Anyway, there's some disturbing stuff in this chapter, but nothing I feel the need to block off with **. As always, read at your own discretion.

Over the next few days, Linda dragged Paul to the studio as often as she could, and sometimes Denny Laine showed up to assist with the cajoling. Paul always put up a big stink about it, saying he didn't feel like recording, and, at first, I believed him, but then I noticed he only conceded to go with them when Jack was at home with me. My brother hated being cooped up in the house he ran away from, but he put up with it to keep me company while I figured out what to do with my time now that I'd dropped out. Paul didn't really hate going to the studio with Linda, he just didn't want to leave me home alone, probably afraid I'd invite Thelma over again. We'd kept in contact over the phone instead.

"Do you feel like doing anything?" Jack asked one afternoon when we had the house to ourselves. "We could go to the cinema, or maybe for a jog in the park. When's the last time you got some exercise?"

"Are you calling me fat?"

He rolled his eyes. "You are the skinniest person I've ever seen, and you know it."

Did I? I'd certainly lost weight due to my drug use, but, in the two weeks since I'd stopped taking heroin, my appetite had returned with a vengeance. That, combined with the endless hours of boredom cooped up in my house, led to me stuffing my face with everything from crips to chocolate bars to sandwiches, sometimes I even forwent putting the cold-cuts on bread, eating slices of salami, ham, and turkey by themselves. The fat went straight to my stomach and hips as always, my tits and ass remaining perpetually flat. 

The foods I craved during my detox mimicked those I had when I was pregnant, right down to the salt and vinegar crisps and dill pickles. It stirred... unpleasant memories in me. On top of the cravings, my rapid weight loss and gain made the stretch marks on my belly go from silver to pink, widening with each package of biscuits I devoured.

"Sorry, bro, I don't think I'll be able to see a film today," I said. "I need to make a call."

"Is that call going to take all day?"

I didn't reply, not in the mood for banter. Leaving him in the living room, I entered the kitchen, pulling out the phone book, and flipping through the yellow pages, dialing the desired number once I found it.

"Hello, you've reached St. Peter's Co-Educational Academy, what can I do for you?"

"Um, can I be connected to Mr. Grant's classroom? He's a Year 10 English teacher."

"May I ask who this is?"

"I'm one of his students, his former student."

She hesitated, clearly wanting an actual name, but eventually she said, "Alright, I'm sure he's still here since school just let out a few minutes ago. Please give me a moment to transfer you to his extension."

Tapping my foot in time with the second hand on the wall clock, I practiced my lines over and over in my head, bracing for impact.

"Hello, Henry Grant speaking."

"It's Lorraine Foxwell."

After a beat, he chuckled, and it sounded like a growling tiger. "I was wondering when I would hear from you. The deadline is almost up; where's my money?"

My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms hard enough to leave deep, pink gouges. "I won't be able to make it; I can't come up with £500,000 so quickly."