Jesse's being all sweet to me. He must sense that I've got something on my mind because he's trying very hard to distract me. First he made me breakfast. Okay, not like we can cook or anything but he did bring me cherry PopTarts, and I'll take that. He's also doing all these things I usually do, like tidying up the house. We might be homeless, but I will not tolerate being gross and we all take pride in our squat house. It has stood the test of time after all, and if anything it's earned some beautifying. And then he's all, "I'll get that, baby," and, "No, let me," and, "Why don't you go relax?" Finally he brought home this bag of dope, and since I figure the drug tests won't start until next month I smoke it with him. He also got us a pizza, some sodas and my favorite: a bag of Reeses, which I'll have to hide from Adam 'cause he's a Reeses fiend even more than he's a methhead.

Jesse sure is trying to get on my good side. I love it when he's like this. It always comes after a bad beating or a long time of him acting like an asshole. He'll say how sorry he is and then try to make it up to me. Honestly, I live for these times when he makes me feel loved; worthy of affection, safe and treasured. Sometimes it'll be months before the next explosion. I've played this game many times so I'm not dumb enough to think he'll "never do it again," but I can at least enjoy myself for the time being.

We're sitting on the couch so relaxed and so high my limbs feel like they're made of Play-Doh. I lift one finger just to make sure I still can. God, the effort!

If anyone was watching from the outside, this would seem really boring to them. Gus, especially, can't understand the appeal of using a drug that makes you slow. He's a freaking squirrel and needs to move all the time. But it's not just about the relaxation to me. First there are waves of warm honeyed light that rush through your body over and over in an infinite loop. The honey starts in your head and rolls through you like a slow shockwave of pleasure, and when it gets to your feet it comes back up again to your brain. Then it starts over and goes again, again, again. Meanwhile your skin is tingling the way it does when someone gently runs their fingers through your hair.

Also, there are zero problems. This is the most important thing to me and the reason I have a little issue with drugs in the first place. Problems. Not wanting, knowing how or sometimes even being able to solve them. Those problems. It makes all of them completely irrelevant. If a stray worry does manage to worm its way into your thoughts, it is easily dismissed. Your brain assures you that everything will be okay, the way your mom did when you were little. You don't have to think, solve or fight anymore. Just let go and drift in this warm honey river.

Most people only feel like this for seconds at a time: orgasm. And that's all fine and great, but what if you could feel that feeling for, like, two hours instead of five seconds? You would, wouldn't you? Who wouldn't? Especially when you are so far from any good feelings in your "real" life. Only people who have lived with misery as a roommate for years on end can understand why a person would accept this poisoned fruit straight from the devil's hand while he laughs in your face. If you have suffered for a long time, in a bad way, you can understand the overpowering need for escape.

A person can live with pain for a long-ass time, much longer than you thought you could when it first hit. Pain itself is no killer. Despair is the real reaper. And after a while, all pain becomes despair, and that will drive you insane, drive you toward death or oblivion.

No one can just endure forever.

—————

I'm on my way to my first Narcotics Anonymous meeting, one of the requirements I have to complete to get Cricket back. I felt nervous all day.

"Can't you go with me?" I asked Hex earlier.

She laughed. "Hell no! You can't go to those meetings high as fuck! That's just sad and embarrassing!"

"No one will know!"

"Yes they will, and they'll preach at me! I hate being preached at! Besides, this is your thing."

After she said this, she took another hit off the pipe. I was mad enough to scream, but that's not the way to get Hex to do what you want.

"I don't wanna go alone," I said sadly, trying to soften her up.

"Do you really think this is a good idea anyway? Getting Cricket back?" she asked.

I blushed furiously. "Yes. I do."

"You know you're gonna have to do something about Jesse and his toddler tantrums before you bring that baby home, unless you wanna raise two whiny screaming brats."

"I'll deal with that when the time comes," I said carefully.

"You said that when you got pregnant."

"And?"

"And, I fail to see how you dealt with that in any productive way."

"I'm doing what I can. The best I can," I snapped.

Then Hex's whole demeanor changed. She sat up straight on the couch, looked me in the eye and pointed her finger in my face.

"Whatever you do, don't you dare raise that kid around us. I will lose all respect for you. No kid should see the shit we do," she said, and her eyes darkened.

"I don't plan to."

"This world can't hold anymore kids who grow up like Gus, and we always said we'd break the cycle before we have any. Remember that, Ember?"

"I remember."

Hex shook her head and plopped back onto the couch the way she was sitting before she started lecturing me.

"If I were you I would have aborted it. That's nicer than letting it live like this. That's more merciful," she mumbled.

The words pissed me off. "It- I mean, he, Cricket, WON'T live like this!"

Hex shrugged. "In foster care and born on drugs? He already is, pal. Sorry 'bout it."

I hate how Hex just says the truth sometimes. I always like to soften the blows of reality by telling others something bad in a gentle way. Not her. Nope, she just throws the damn grenade at you. I at least have the decency to wrap it in some flowers.

—————

Turns out there are lots of people at these NA meetings who are forced to be here. There's a line already formed before it starts; other people waiting for signatures on their court orders. I finally get my papers signed and sit down in the back row.

There are about five million things that have to be done before the "real" meeting, the sharing portion, begins. Until then, apparently you can show up anytime. I make a mental note for next time as I watch latecomers saunter in for the first fifteen minutes. I feel like the teacher's pet or something showing up right on time lookin' all eager.

One late guy catches my eye because he's cute. Very cute. I am feeling ballsy because I know Jesse's not around, so I openly stare at him for the entire sharing portion of the meeting. He doesn't notice, his eyes focused on whoever is speaking. He's a little older than me, early twenties maybe, with stubble on his chin and tattoos up and down his arms. Now that I think of it, "cute" is not the right word. The right word is sexy.

After the meeting, everyone hangs outside at the picnic table and smokes. I hang around too, just because I don't wanna be the first to leave. That social worker needs to believe I'm into this shit. But it's a delicate balance because Jesse thinks I'm out panhandling and I can't stay too long before he gets suspicious.

I sit down at a table, light up and start making conversation with the woman across from me.

"I'm Ember," I say.

"Grace," she says, blowing smoke out of her mouth.

Grace is probably in her fifties, and I get bored listening to her stories that span decades of sobriety, so I look around for that sexy guy. He's gone. Damn.

Once my cigarette is down to the filter I say goodbye to Grace and then start heading for the train station. I always carry Mace and a blade when I'm alone out here. The sidewalk is dark between street lights, and I'm naturally on my guard when a voice suddenly startles me.

"Did you get a picture?"

I whirl around, grabbing my pocket knife. The owner of the voice holds up his hands. I realize too late that it's the sexy guy from group.

"Woah! Calm down! Just asked if you got a picture," he says.

I blush furiously and shove my knife back into my pocket. He's lucky he didn't get a face full of Mace either.

"It's real shitty to walk up on a girl in the dark like that," I tell him.

Men are so goddamned clueless.

"Walk up like what?" he asks.

"Like all quiet and right on my ass like that. You're too fucking close. You'll get popped in the face comin' up like that!" I snap.

He smiles slowly. "By who? You?"

"Yeah. What the fuck does that mean?"

"I just don't think you would. You seem nice."

"I would if I had to."

"But you don't, because I'm not out to be a creep."

"Then what do you want?"

He's so beautiful standing there I have to blink, step back, like someone has flashed a camera bulb off in my face.

The guy slides a cigarette out of the package in his pocket. I watch him light it, resting it between his lips. The soft pink movement of his mouth distracts me for a long time before I remember that I asked him a question.

"You were staring me down back there," he says.

"I was not!"

"Yes. You were."

I always break down so fast when I know I'm caught in a lie. "So what? It's not a crime to look at things."

"No, but I got curious. Am I hot or do you recognize me from my mug shot?"

"N-Neither," I stammer.

"So that means you must've known me before. Sorry. It's been three years. I forgot a lot of people in there. Lemme guess. We used to get high together? You were..." He shakes his hand, trying to jog his memory. "Joey's girlfriend, right?"

I shake my head. "I don't know you."

"Well you were staring at me, and now you've threatened me, so I might as well introduce myself. I'm West."

He holds out his hand. I take it awkwardly. Usually people our age don't shake hands. Weirdo.

"I'm Ember."

"Unique name."

"So is West," I say.

He chuckles. "Guess so. Can I walk you home?"

"I take the L. Plus, I have a boyfriend," I say, mumbling the last part.

"Oh. I see," West says. "Well then, catch you around, Ember."

"Bye," I say, watching him walk away, too numb with shock to move.