Page 23 of Toxic Wishes

“Are you serious right now? You're the only guy I’ve even kissed. Why would I hate you? If anything, it makes sense to take things further.”

I silently curse myself for admitting how pathetic I am, openly and willingly just now, to Blake.

“Exactly, and if you are hungry for a kiss, I can only imagine once you get a taste of more.”

He was talking in riddles, and he seemed slightly out of character. I wanted to ask him if he was on something other than marijuana, but I also didn’t want to press and push him away, not when I finally got him back. So I decided I would ask tomorrow. I wanted to know why he didn’t meet me outside for lunch every day like he usually did. Before, things got so complicated. I was about to crack a joke and tell him how much I missed his peanut butter cookies when his phone went off.

He picks it up, the light illuminating his face. Instead of responding through a text, he calls, placing the phone to his ear. Everything he does is at ease and with a smooth demeanor. He makes me want to be calm and feel relaxed. He is a walking enigma to me. I don’t know why he doesn’t feel comfortable being sober. If I were half as cool as him, I wouldn’t want anything to ruin it, especially drugs.

“I told you, no texting that shit. Always call.” The other person speaks before he says, “Give me ten.”

Then he places his phone on the dashboard, “We need to make a little run.”

“A little run?”

“Ya, put your seatbelt on.”

I do as I’m told without hesitation. He turns up the music as I try to relax. Playing Prince usually puts me in a good mood, but my nerves were so shot right now that nothing would put my mind at ease until I knew where we were going.

After precisely ten minutes, Blake punches in a code, and a gate opens to an apartment complex. It wasn’t run down or located in what would be considered the ghetto part of town, so drugs weren’t my first conclusion, but what else could he be dropping off at this time of night? He strolls through the windy streets, and without being able to hold my tongue any longer, I ask, “What are you doing?”

He pulls into a vacant parking spot, parks the car, and turns it off before looking over his shoulder at me with one hand on the doorknob. “Wait here for a second. I’ll be right back. Don’t get out of this car. You got it?”

I want to scream, punch him, slap him, tell him to stop, but all I can manage is a slight nod.

When he shuts the door, I bang the back of my head against the car seat multiple times and growl, letting my frustration out.

“He better not be fucking dealing drugs,” I say into the nothingness. I look down at my phone and clock the time since that’s all I can do until he returns.

Exactly eleven minutes later, I see him walking back to the car, and my heart finally starts to slow, along with my pounding head.

As soon as he walks to the car, I’m already planning what to say to him.

“What the fuck, Blake? Are you dealing drugs now? Is that why you've been MIA?”

He tries to hide his grin, which only pisses me off more. “Seriously, you think being around drugs isn’t going to tempt you? That’s like asking an alcoholic to open a liquor store. Jesus Christ.” I throw my hands up in the air

“Relax, it’s not drugs. It’s steroids.”

My eyes snap to his. “Steroids?”

“Ya, you think I got this big because I ate more and lifted? I know you are smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you dare sweetheart me and downplay this. Why? I-I just don’t get it. Why are you doing any of this?” I motion my hand back and forth at the windshield.

“Why not? Besides, I don’t want to ask my brother or my dad for shit. The more my brothers bitch-ass wife talks about putting me in military school, the more I want to say fuck you to both of them. I’m saving up as much as I can, and once I turn eighteen, which isn’t far off, I’m fucking out of that he’ll hole. And if I have to do some illegal shit in the meantime, so be it.”

Military school? There was so much about him I didn’t know anymore

“Why don’t you just get a job?” I decided to ask why his brother's wife was jumping to drastic measures later when he had calmed down and was more mentally stable.

“Because I refuse to be anyone’s bitch exchanging my time for money. Plus, my goal is to open a weed shop, and I’ve been studying up on plants and learning about botany.”

“So that’s your plan now. To be a dope provider?”

“Ya, weed doesn’t hurt anyone. If anything, it’s been my fucking savior over Jesus when it comes to relapsing. It’s only been outlawed because our greedy government didn’t know how to regulate it or tax it, so they made everyone believe it’s bad for you. Look up marijuana wars on YouTube. Educate yourself. Since the thirties, we’ve been brainwashed to believe the shit is bad, but if that’s the case, why the fuck is it safe to give to cancer patients and claim to help with lots of medical issues over man-made pills, huh?”

With his talk, he looked more mature at this moment, as if he had grown ten years older.

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