IndieSouth

A few days later David was knocking on Layne’s apartment door. The drugs had run out. Layne had only been in the hospital for a day, but they hadn’t gone back to his place out of paranoia of it being watched or Layne being pissed that they took the drugs.

There was no answer, so David knocked harder. The door was beginning to rattle when David saw the small glow shining through the peephole in the door momentarily go dark.

“Come on Layne. I know you’re there.”

“Go away David. Don’t come back, you or Nadine.”

“What are you talking about man? I’m just here to see how you’re doing.”

“Don’t fuck with me David. I got nothing. I’m not gonna have nothing. It was fun, but I’m through with the coke, and definitely the H. Fuck that.”

David laughed, “C’mon man, Nadine misses you. I know you miss her.”

“I almost died, David. I’m through. You need to leave.”

“Layne…”

“I’m calling the cops, David. You better leave now.”

“C’mon…Layne,” David heard the short, quiet beeps of a telephone being dialed. He left.

Nadine was in bad shape when he got back to his apartment. She was beginning to get the shakes, and she was sweating. She’d been using a lot longer than he had.

“My arms hurt, David. Give it to me.”

“Layne doesn’t have anything. He says he’s done.”

“He’s fucking lying!” she screamed.

“Jesus, Nadine, he’s not lying. He was calling the cops on me. We can get some somewhere else. Let’s talk to the guy you used to buy from.”

“Ooh, ooh, yeah. He’s up on the Hill, South Portland.”

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This entry was posted on Friday, February 1st, 2008 at 2:11 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.