“Hi, honey, I’m home,” I called out, throwing my purse on the ground. All I wanted was something to eat, perhaps a roll in a hay, and a hot shower. I went into the living room where Matt was staring at the television. Though he had it on the Sox game, he wasn’t really watching. “You hungry? I’m going to order a pizza. You want in?” No answer. “Hey, Matt, what’s wrong?” No sooner did the words leave my lips then I knew. “Oh, Matt. It’s not Shawn, is it? He’s not…worse, is he?”
“He’s dead,” Matt said, his voice empty. “He flat-lined while I was there late this afternoon.”
“Oh, baby,” I said, pizza forgotten. I sat next to him and put my arms around him, wishing desperately I could take the pain away. Again, I didn’t say anything as I knew there was nothing to say.
“He was only fifteen, Scar. Fifteen! What the hell am I doing?” Matt’s voice cracked on the last word, and that broke the floodgates. Putting his head in his hands, he started sobbing. I rocked him back and forth best I could, my own eyes filling with tears. “I saw him die, Scar. I can’t fucking take this any more.”
It had started three months ago when her coke supplier—who had also been a bouncer at her club—decided to move to Florida. He was sick of the Minnesota winters and figured he could do a booming business in the tropics. Kayla didn’t know why he thought that, but she begged him not to go. He was the only supplier she knew of, and she didn’t want to break in another one. Nor did she want to go outside the club as it had been convenient with her supplier at her workplace. Her supplier wouldn’t listen, but he gave her the name of another guy who said he’d come to her place of work if she gave him a freebie. Kayla wasn’t in any position to argue, so she agreed reluctantly. She was smart enough to realize that dealing with a supplier she didn’t know could be dicey business, but she needed the junk.
When I reached my room, I reached straight for the black section of my wardrobe. It was my favorite color, but I didn’t wear solid black often as it made me look like a New Yorker wannabe. I pulled on a black skirt my mom had bought me in Taiwan. It was ankle-length, but very thin. I pulled on a matching black top, also bought in Taiwan. It bordered on see-through, but it was cute with its scooping neck and capped sleeves. The Taiwanese knew how to make clothing that kept you covered but also kept you cool—and they looked damn good, too. I twisted my shoulder-length hair into a bun and rimmed my ‘good’ eyes lightly with black kohl. I added a dark red lipstick that finished off the look. I pulled myself to my full height of five-feet five inches and gave myself the once-over. I grabbed a few accoutrements and stuffed them into a black bag. I declared myself done and went into the living room where Matt was watching SportsCenter.