Monster

I hear dogs bark in the night as I slip silently out my front door, hoping to god my mother doesn’t wake up and hear me leaving. I suppose it wouldn’t really matter if she heard me; since when has she cared what I’m doing anyways? I guess the thought of sneaking out brings more of a thrill to an adventure. The air is thick and muggy, and I begin to wish that I hadn’t worn long cargo pants and a wool sweater. The humidity is making my flat-ironed hair frizz and poof out into all sorts of weird waves and curls. Oh, well. I’m not trying to impress anybody anyhow.

I’ve never been one trying to impress anyone. I’ve always just been me, Cassidy Krevins, known as ‘Cass’ to what friends I do have. I’ve always just been the girl who has stuck out like a sore thumb and who has been known to hung out with the weird, ‘unpopular’ crowd.

I have never fit in with the ‘popular’ mob. I don’t have the looks to start with. I have thick, long, red hair that hangs down to the middle of my back when I rudely attempt to straighten it; all the other girls have bleach-filled blonde hair that gets done at the salon twice a month at least. My Irish heritage leaves me a pale mark amidst the fake-tanned bodies of the other girls at school. My entire body looks like a connect-the-dot puzzle because of the millions of freckles inhabiting the ghostly-white surface. I wear baggy clothes to hide my gangly body; weighing in at 125 pounds and standing at nearly 6 feet tall, I look like skin and bones. That’s not to say I’m anorexic by any means, though; I eat a lot whenever I do eat. Everyone always wonders how I stay so skinny. My mother tells me it’s my metabolism. I think it’s the cigarettes; they curb my appetite in the best way possible.

My mother and I have never agreed on anything. It’s always, “Cassidy, why don’t you do things the way everybody else does them? Cassidy, why do you distance yourself from all the nice, pretty girls? Cassidy, why don’t you have a boyfriend?” I could give her all the answers in the world, but none of them would appease her. The answers would go something like this:

“Mom, I hate the way people are doing anything these days. Why should I conform and do everything the ‘normal’ way? What ever happened to creativity being a key factor in life? I’m sorry I’m the girl who lives outside of the box. Oh, and just so you know, all the girls at school who you think are ‘pretty and perfect’ are far from it. They are the farthest thing from it in fact. They sleep around with every guy they see; they get pregnant; they drink until they puke their guts out all over their perfectly-trimmed front lawns. They remind me a lot of you, Mom, and that’s not who I want to be when I supposedly grow up. Oh, and by the way, Mom, I’m a lesbian. That’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I know you’re a homophobe, Mom, and I know you’re probably wondering how you could ever love a daughter who turned out like me, let alone spawn one into creation. Maybe I’m not really your child; maybe they mixed me up with another baby girl at the hospital. You might want to get that checked out.”

My answers would definitely not make her happy. That is why tonight I have slipped out of my quiet house to begin a new life. I am going to start a new life away from Bakersville, Ohio; a life that will be filled with nothing but what I want to do with myself, rather than what my mother, Cynthia Krevins, whore of the town, wants me to do.

I pace through the desolate moonlit streets alone with my camouflage duffel bag atop my shoulder and my life savings, amounting to just about one hundred dollars, in my pocket. The only company I have is that of the stars above and a stray tabby cat that rolls over, beckoning me to pet her white-spotted stomach. I reach over and rub the kitten until it purrs. As I do, I sit there for a moment thinking to myself that this cat is the only being in the world that has ever shown me an ounce of affection, and I’ve hardly known it for even two minutes. I almost consider taking it with me, but then remember that I probably would not be able to bring it with me on a train, which is how I was planning to escape from this hellhole. I bid it farewell, but it is clear that it has become attached. I continue on my trek down the road with cat in tow; it finally leaves my side after a block or two. So, I go on alone.

I reach the highway and put my earbud headphones into my ears to drown out the buzz of semi-trucks running past me. “Die motherfucker, die motherfucker, die…” blasts loudly into my ears and I am at peace. Headlights from oncoming cars pass over my body, and I count the steps I take. I count the cars that go by and the moments that pass. Time seems to go by so slowly; I feel like I’m barely even crawling. I turn around to see how much I have withdrawn myself from that ‘perfect’ Stepford-like town. I start to wish I had jacked a car so I didn’t have to walk all the damn way to train station, when all of a sudden I hear a car slow down behind me and flash its brights a couple of times. I turn around to find myself facing a beat-up Jetta with its purple paint slowly rusting away. A young, built, blonde, possibly in his early twenties, sidles out of the driver’s side door and slowly edges his way up next to me. He is wearing brown, faded cargo shorts, a pink polo, and sandals—classic prep. His hair is cut short and is gelled up in the front; that’s the style these days, apparently. A few patches of zits are visible on his tanned skin, but who doesn’t have a few blemishes? Nobody’s perfect, but this guy was pretty damn close in the looks category. Even his teeth were straight and Crest Whitestrips-white when he grinned at me. I’m generally a fearless person, so the confrontation didn’t make me nervous at all.

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doin’ out here all alone on the freeway, at two in the morning nonetheless?” the nameless man questions.

“Oh, not much I suppose. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” I inquire with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“Well, aren’t you a little smart ass,” he retorts. “I just saw you alongside here and thought I would offer you a ride to wherever it is that you’re going. Name’s Jason,” he states, offering his hand as a sign of peaceful welcome.

I take his hand and reply, “My name’s Cassidy, but I go by Cass.”

He gives me a smirk and wrinkles up his nose, as if the sound of my name brings the thought of vomit from yesterday’s hangover swimming back to his mind.

“And what, may I ask, are you doing out here at two in the morning?” I continue. He went around my question. It was as if he had selective hearing, along with selective answers.

“Would you like to go for a ride? I’m not a creeper or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just bored shitless, and it seems like you have nothing better to do yourself.” He was absolutely right.

“Sure, I’ll come along,” I said as I opened the dented passenger-side door and crawled in. The interior was just as torn up as the outside was. It smelled of must and stale French fries. A varsity letter jacket was thrown across the back seat along with a couple of Sports Illustrated magazines. The ash tray in the car was overflowing with cigarette butts; the smoke hung in a fog inside the vehicle.
“Excuse the mess; I’m not really one for cleaning up after myself.” He didn’t have to tell me that twice.

“It’s fine; I’m kind of used to this sort of thing.” I replied nonchalantly.

It was the damn truth. Even though we lived in the town that we did, my mother was a mess inside the house. She would rave and rant at night, throwing empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s at my head as I ducked behind coffee tables. Shards of glass and bits of trash littered the house from her late night rampages. She could go on screaming forever about how I was such an imperfect child and how it was my fault that my father had left us. I’m sorry, Mom, but it is not my fault that you went and screwed your employer and several of your coworkers after that.

That was how it had happened, too. I’m not just shooting bull to make my mom seem like some super bitch. No, it was the week after Thanksgiving when I was eight years old. Dad was at work, working late to make sure he could pay for all the wonderful Christmas presents he and Mom were planning to buy me. I was home alone with Mom when the doorbell rang. I went and opened it to find a tall, older guy standing there. He said he was from Mom’s work and asked to see her if she was in. My mom saw who it was and hurried me away to my room so she and he could ‘talk business.’ I, none the wiser, went and played with my Barbie dolls and drew pictures for an hour or so. A little while later, Dad came home, a little earlier than I think Mom had expected, and he found her screaming the name of some guy named Chuck in their bed. He was horrified, as most all husbands would be, and he walked out. I haven’t heard from him but a couple times a year since that incident. Clearly, I was not the cause of the disband of their marriage.

Jason turned off the radio that had been playing ear-splitting pop music for the past half hour and gazed at me with a questionable look on his face. With his focus only half on the road, he nudged me on the shoulder and asked, “So, Miss Cassidy, you got a boyfriend?” I immediately knew then where he thought this car ride was going, and I knew I had to straighten things out. I had never come out to anyone, not even to my closest friends, but I supposed it was better telling a stranger who I would never see again and who would have his lips sealed.

“I’m a lesbian,” I replied to his query. “I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. I’ve never even so much as kissed a boy. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever told, so feel special.”

Jason kind of sat there in a stupor for a moment and then reverted his attention to driving. We drove on in silence for a couple more minutes before he turned back and asked, “How could such a pretty girl as you be a lesbian? I thought they were all butch-like. You know the type. The girls who wear their hair in funky-looking pixie cuts and are all broad and muscular. You’re just like a normal girl.”

“A lot of lesbians are normal.” I was kind of offended by his ignorance, but I tried to not let it get to me. After all, he was offering me a free ride as far as I was aware.
This was a brand new experience for me; I had never really been shown any sort of attention from the popular crowd before, and this guy was treating me like a friend. He had even told me I was pretty—more than once. I finally felt like I had been accepted by somebody.

Pretty soon, we pulled over at a rest stop. We must have been driving aimlessly for an hour or more. He leaned back and stretched and grunted loudly. I got out of the car and lit a cigarette while he went and relieved himself in the sorry excuse for a bathroom. Sitting there enjoying the warm night air, I took drag after drag, wondering where in the world I was going to end up going. I wondered what my mother would do when she went into my room to yank me out of bed in the morning only to find me gone. I was in my own little world thinking about my plans when Jason came back from the restroom. He had to tap me on the shoulder three or four times until I responded.

“Hey,” he whispered loudly. I wasn’t really sure why he was whispering; we were all alone in the parking lot and he didn’t appear to have much to hide. He glanced around to make sure that no one was watching him; this seemed kind of sketchy to me, but I let it fly. “Do you wanna go back in the woods here and chill out for a little bit? I’m gettin’ kind of tired of driving. Plus, I wanna show you something, Cass.” Of course I didn’t mind.

“Sure, let’s go.”

He fiddled with something in his car that I couldn’t see and then we were off on our way. We walked as silently as we could. He went first, and I followed him close behind like a lost puppy. Sticks crackled underneath our feet, making quite a racket. I became a bit disoriented; the moon was our only light, and all the trees surrounding us looked the same. I trusted this boy, though; it appeared that he knew where our destination was.

“Stop,” he demanded.

Apparently we had made it to wherever it was we were going. It was a small clearing in the midst of the masses of trees and overgrown wildflowers. There were a couple of dead tree logs covered in thick, green moss that we sat down on. Then, he looked into my eyes with his so piercing blue. Jason took my hands and asked, “Cass, are you a girl who is willing to try anything once?”

“I mean, I guess so. I love trying new things. You aren’t going to kiss me are you?” I inquired with a hesitant tone.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he replied with half a smile on his face. “Have you ever heard of the monster?” he continued.

“Don’t think you can scare me with any ghost stories; I’m fearless,” I said confidently.

“Not that kind of ‘monster’ you silly girl,” he laughed. “I’m talking about the monster.” I immediately knew what he was talking about.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. My friend Gracie from back in middle school did it once I think. She said it made her feel like she was flying; she felt like she was invincible. She never wanted to come back down.”

“Yeah, now that’s the monster that I am talking about. It just so happens that this could be your lucky day if you want it to be. I have an eightball with me, and I’m willing to let you toot some if you want.”

“Do you really snort meth? I mean, really. I’ve seen pictures of full-blown meth-heads. They look like crypt keepers. You look more clean-cut, no offense,” I stated.
“Nah, none taken. I don’t use, I just deal. I’m willing to hook you up tonight for free, though,” Jason offered.

“Well, I guess it’d be fine. I mean, it’s not like I have to go home to my mom or anything. Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

Jason broke out a bag of powder, a razorblade, a plastic straw, and a small glass plate from his back pocket. I guess that was what he had been messing around with in his car before we came out to the woods. Using the razor, he meticulously broke up the crystals into the finest bits I’ve ever seen. He finally formed it into a long line for me. “Ready to crank?” he asked with a grin on his face.

Handing me the straw, he held my hair back as I bent over to snort it. I’d seen people do this in movies, but I had never expected to find myself in this situation in real life. I was shaking a little bit, since I was nervous. He steadied me with a stable palm on my back, reassuring me. Finally, I placed the tip of my finger over one of my nostrils and with the other, I inhaled half of the first line through the straw.

“Holy shit, mother of god! Jesus on fucking ice skates!” I screamed and cursed, as I stumbled back, trying to catch my lost breath. My nose was on fire and my eyes were watering so much that it probably looked as if I was crying. My brain felt like it was flying.

“Ready for the next hit? It only gets better from here, baby girl.”

“Sure thing,” I answered. I didn’t want to look like a flake in front of this guy. I bent over for another toot, and then another. After the third time, it no longer seared my nostrils. I felt invincible, just like Gracie had. I felt like I could conquer the world. It was the greatest feeling I’d ever experienced. That was how I met the monster.

What seemed like only minutes later, was actually hours later. It was already light out, and Jason recommended that we head back to his car. He offered to buy us breakfast at the Bob Evans that he said was right down the road, and I accepted even though I wasn’t hungry at all. I had found another curb for my appetite, only this one was tenfold better than cigarettes.

We got to the restaurant and everything looked brighter and more colorful than I had ever seen anything before. It was as if I was seeing the world for the first time. All the words on the menu seemed to stand out like bold, block letters. Pictures of food looked almost three-dimensional. I felt almost as if I was in a cartoon. Jason saw me glancing around and just laughed to himself; obviously I wasn’t the first person he had taken meth virginity from. I watched him eat his blueberry pancakes and sip his orange juice. We sort of sat there in silence for awhile until he cleared his throat and asked, “So what are you going to do now?” He said it in a tone that implied he was ready to go on his merry way without me, forgetting Cass Krevins ever existed. This worried me a bit.

“I’m not really sure,” I replied.

I hadn’t really given it much thought, and, since I was just starting to come down from the crank, I wasn’t exactly lucid enough to give a proper answer.

“I guess I was just hoping to kick it with you for a bit,” I said boldly. “I’ve got a little over one hundred dollars, I mean, I could give it to you for gas money. Where the hell are you going, anyways? Where are you from?”

“I’m from New Mexico. I’m actually headed on my way back there now. You’re welcome to come with, if you want.” He dabbled his silver fork in a thick pool of sticky, maple syrup while he stared at me.

“How would I pay rent and stuff? I don’t have a job or that sort of money on me,” I replied shakily. The bright lights were starting to get to my head, making it feel fuzzy. I felt really sick, as if I was coming down with the flu.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ve got ways for you to earn your keep,” he replied with a sinister grin. I hardly noticed; only he knew what he was getting at.

“Jason, I feel absolutely awful. Are you sure that meth was okay?”

“Yeah, this is just all part of coming down, sweetie,” he cooed.

“Well, if this is coming down, I don’t think I ever want to come down,” I moaned in pain.

“Well,” Jason ventured, “the only way for you to never come down is for you to stay up. If you give me some of your hundred, I can give you a couple more toots off of that eightball. It’s expensive stuff, you know. I normally don’t shell it out for free.”

“I understand,” I replied, craving the monster more than I ever thought would be possible. “I would do anything for this stuff right now.”

“Anything?” he asked incredulously.

“Anything,” I confirmed.

“I’ll keep that in mind, missy,” he smirked.

Jason seemed to be getting more and more of an attitude as the time I spent with him wore on. He had started out as such a genuine guy who wanted to just give me a ride; now it seemed like everything I said could be held against me at any time in the future. I started getting a little paranoid, but then figured it was just the meth that was fucking with my head. I let it all go.

He paid the breakfast bill while I went into the restroom and dry-heaved the lack of food in my stomach into the ceramic toilet basin. The patterns on the bathroom floor and walls were getting to me. I had to lay down on the hard, tile floor for a few minutes and breathe slowly so that I wouldn’t pass out. Coming down was a bitch and a half, and it was something I didn’t want to experience.

I was addicted, legitimately addicted. Who would have known it would only take one toot from the line to get me whipped? As a baby, my mother said I was addicted to Gerber’s mashed carrots baby food—gross. As a child, my father thought that I was addicted to cherry Kool-Aid because it’s all I would drink. As a teenage girl, I thought I was addicted to chocolate because I craved it all the time, especially around that lame time of the month. I had never been seriously addicted to something like this in my life. Sure, I have to have my nicotine fix from my cigarettes every hour or two, but I never feel like I’m in hell when I don’t have one.

Jason helped me out to the car, managing to let me fall twice. Once we were back in the car, he made me sit inside listening to music full volume while he stood outside making some sort of phone call. He told me he was just talking to his mom or some bullshit like that. I sat there shaking impatiently, waiting for my next fix, while he took his precious time on the telephone.

Fifteen minutes later, we were finally back on the highway, and he brought out the sack of powder. Two toots cost me fifty of my precious hundred. This shit was super expensive. My money was dwindling faster than I had ever planned for it to. I was flying high again, though, and it felt good. My migraine and stomachache went away and I was feeling better than ever. I realized that I was never going to be that Cassidy Krevins I came into this experience as. I was forevermore Cass, monster’s best friend. Then reality dawned on me.

“Shit, Jason, I’m not even 18 yet. What if they come looking for me? They’ll have a warrant out for my arrest as a runaway.” This didn’t seem to faze Jason one bit.

“We’ll get you a new identity. You can become a whole new person; you’ll never have to be tied back to the awful mess of a life you were in before. I mean, you did have an awful life, didn’t you? You ran away after all.”

“That’s an awesome idea!” I shouted excitedly. I was stoked to leave life as I’d known it in my dusty tracks. Everyone I had once known could kiss my pale ass. Starting over fresh was a new idea; and who doesn’t like to try everything at least once?

A couple of hours down the road, I was once again coming down off my high. This time, I realized I only had fifty bucks left, which left almost no money for anything. I could only get two hits of crank. I decided against buying any more; I would just deal with the downfall.

Jason drove in silence, not paying an ounce of attention to me. The only time he said anything was when he asked if he could bum a cigarette off of me—of course, I said yes. I dragged my weak, exhausted body into the backseat of his car and let the rhythm of the movement of the car speeding down the highway lull me off into the deepest sleep I had ever experienced.

The monster tricked me into thinking I had only shut my eyes for a brief second, when in reality I had dozed for a couple of hours. It was dark outside again, and I heard talking and laughing outside the car. I figured we must be at another stop. I sat up, but only for a brief second. My head was spinning and I could hardly feel my body. I tried sitting up again and succeeded this time. I crawled slowly into the front seat and opened up the mirror that flipped out from the visor. I was appalled by what I saw staring back at me; it looked like I had been deprived of sleep for a week. There were bags under my red, puffy eyes. Sweat protruded from my glands and I was shaking with a need for the monster. As I sat there, rubbing my face, Jason opened up the driver’s side door, demanding to know what I was doing.

“Are you stealing my stash, you little shit?” he questioned angrily. “That’s for the customers, not a greedy little wannabe meth-head like you.”

Since when had I expressed a desire to become a meth-head? Then I saw the rest of the bodies who must have been producing the voices I had heard when I woke up in the car. Jason saw them staring at me, and then he looked at me as if I was an alien. “Uh, aren’t you going to get out of the car and introduce yourself? Or do they not teach manners where you come from?”

“My bad,” I hurriedly replied as I stumbled out of the car, almost tripping over my feet and falling on my face as I did so. “My name’s Cassidy Krevins, but you can just call me Cass. Good to meet you all.” I then offered my hand as a symbol of peaceful welcome, just as Jason had done with me hours before. The two new boys snickered and looked at each other and then at Jason, whispering things I couldn’t hear.

The first one, who was shorter and much fatter than the other, stepped forward and introduced himself as Carlos. He had extremely tan skin and his hair was jet black; I think he was of Mexican descent, but I couldn’t be too sure. After all, it was dark. His eyes were piercing and dark; they looked like eyes that had seen a lot. He stared me up and down with his head cocked to one side, licking his fat, bulbous lips and nodding with approval. It made me a bit nervous.

The other guy introduced himself as Scotty. He seemed to be nearer to my age. He also appeared to be stuck in the ‘80s punk rock era. He was dressed in a shredded up ‘Misfits’ t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, a pair of faded and ripped jeans, and black combat boots. A spray-painted mohawk that was sagging to the side a bit topped off his entire get-up. Scotty didn’t shake my hand, but instead just stood there staring alongside Carlos. The two of them put me on edge with nervousness. Then Scotty jumped in with a bunch of questions, while Carlos stood silent.

“Dude, where the hell did this chick come from? I hope you’re not expecting us to keep her around.”

“Man,” Jason sulked, “I thought you said you could keep her with you for awhile. I thought one of your other girls was gone missing anyway. I think Cass here would make a nice replacement. I’ve got to get back to New Mexico; my girlfriend is expecting me home.”

I had no idea what was going on; I couldn’t even make out half of what they were saying. It was all a foreign language to me.

Scotty retorted, “Yeah, I have an empty room, but she’ll have to put out to stay in. All these meth-head girls are expecting good ole’ Scotty to just come up with mass amounts of crystal for them, and that’s not the way it works. I’m not their sugar daddy. They have to work just like everyone else.”

Jason looked at him nervously. “Dude, this bitch is a dyke. She’s never even so much as kissed a guy. You’re gonna have to teach her everything she needs to know. It’s not like she’s the whore of the town where she comes from; it’ll take practice.”

Scotty rolled his eyes and then turned to me and laughed. Of course, I wasn’t lucid enough to grasp what was going on, and I just started laughing with him, harder and harder until I thought I was going to pass out. He gave me a grin and said, “Alright, girl, Jason here says you’ll do anything for meth. Is that the whole truth and nothing but?”

“Uh-huh,” I said shakily. I stumbled and Carlos caught me by the arm, steadying me.

Then Scotty turned to Jason and said, “Alright, Jay, I guess we’ll take her, but you’ll be hearing from me if I’ve got any problems with the bitch.”

“Sure thing man,” he replied. “I’m sure there won’t be any problems whatsoever.”

At this point I saw Jason getting into his car and followed him. “Hey, Jason, where are you going? You can’t just leave me here!”

He got back out of his car and slowly walked over to me with a serious look on his face. He placed his hands on my shoulders, stared me straight in the eye, and softly said, “Cass, you’re going to go stay with Carlos and Scotty for awhile. I have some more business to attend to, but they’ll take good care of you and make sure you get everything you need. I’ll come by and get you when I’m free. Don’t worry; I’m not leaving you forever. It’s just going to be for a few days.” I believed his damn lie.

So, with that we parted. Jason zoomed off into the night in his beat-up Jetta, never to be seen by me again. I followed Carlos and Scotty into their vehicle, which was a very old and rusty white Ford truck. It looked a lot like Jason’s car on the inside, what with the overflowing ash trays and magazines strewn about. However, their ash tray held other things, such as roaches from joints and bits of loose powder.
We bounced down the highway for the next hour and a half or so, stopping once because Scotty had to take a piss. They wouldn’t let me out of the car; I don’t really know why. Maybe they thought I was going to run on them. Who knows? It started drizzling a little bit, and it sounded peaceful. It lulled me off to sleep for a little while until we arrived at our destination.

We pulled up into a gravelly driveway. I saw a dilapidated two-story house that looked like it was ready to collapse. There was ivy growing up all sides of the residence and the thick bushes were way past overgrown. Cigarette butts littered the front lawn, which was hardly even a front lawn at all; dandelions and random bits of broken glass covered the majority of it. One lone girl sat on the steps of the creepy looking house, smoking a cigarette, proving that there were indeed inhabitants in this sorry excuse for a home.

Carlos looked over towards me. “Welcome to your new home,” he said with a sinister smile.

“Um, thanks, I guess,” I offered in reply.

“You guess?” Scotty asked incredulously. “We’ve done so much for you.”

They really had not.

“We’re offering you a room where one of our old bag whores used to stay. She ran off into the black of night one day; we haven’t seen her since.” I didn’t blame the poor girl. This looked like one hell of a place to call ‘home.’

“Well, thank you, I appreciate your hospitality,” I reassured them. It was a lie, though. The extent of their hospitality had been a bite off of one of their stale candy bars back when we had stopped to let Scotty take a piss. I was hungry, tired, and lost in my own mind. But, most of all, I was craving the monster.

“Do you guys have any crank?” I ventured. They looked at me like I was insane.

“Little girl, do you know where we are?” they asked.

“No, I just know that I don’t feel very well, and that I could really use some crystal.”

“You can’t just go out and expect to get it for free. How much money do you have on you right now anyways?”

“I think I’ve got about 50 bucks.”

“Fifty!” Carlos shrieked with laughter. “That’s hardly enough to even get two toots of the powder. Besides, you owe us gas money for coming to get you.”

I didn’t understand how I owed anyone any such thing. I had never signed any sort of contract saying that I was going to pay two men named Scotty and Carlos 50 dollars for picking me up in the middle of nowhere and then dragging me to what looked like a whore house. I couldn’t be bothered to fight with them, though, so I handed over the 50 bucks. They pocketed it without any hesitation.

“So,” Scotty said with an official-sounding voice, “May I show you to your room, Miss…uh…what’s your name again?”

“The name would be Cass,” I offered, rolling my eyes impatiently.

“Right, right,” Scotty choked out, clearing his throat. “Right this way, Miss Cass.”

We walked up the stairs of the front porch, past the girl who was smoking a cigarette. She gave me a look of pity as I followed Scotty and Carlos into the house. I had no idea what to expect.

Carlos opened the door for me, and as soon as I entered the dimly-lit house, I was shocked with things I never would’ve expected. The odor hit me first—a mixture of piss and vomit, so strong it made my stomach lurch and my eyes water. The stench of sweat hung in the air and followed me no matter where I turned. This was legitimately the most disgusting place I had ever been in. Also, I’m not saying I have virgin eyes, but damn. I looked to my left and saw a boy and girl having loud, obnoxious sex on a fainting couch that was situated right by the damn door; even the loud techno music couldn’t drown out the noises they were making. I looked to my right and saw people snorting finely-ground meth through a rolled up dollar bill; they laughed and took turns passing the bill around. Small strands of blood had begun to leak out of one girl’s nose; it was obviously not accustomed to habitual snorting. This looked like danger to me; after all, don’t people get diseases like HIV sharing stuff like that? That was something I didn’t think I wanted to be a part of. I looked in front of me and saw a broken, wooden staircase leading up to my new life. I wasn’t sure if I was ready; I was wondering if I had made a big mistake by trying that meth for the first time. Oh, well. It was too late to turn back now.

“Ladies,” Scotty announced, “We have a new inhabitant in our humble abode.”

Humble my ass.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Even the girl who had been fornicating on the paisley-embroidered couch stopped what she was doing for a minute. The guy she was hooking up with groaned and told her to keep going, but she wanted to get a good look at me. I felt somewhat important, but at the same time, I felt extremely awkward. Here I was, in a house full of girls having sex with a bunch of smarmy guys to get what they wanted—meth.

Finally, Carlos took me by the arm and led me up the dim, creaky staircase to what they called “the office.” What they called an office, I would call an adult video store, minus the buying and selling part. Hardcore porn littered the floor, desk, and computer screen. Calendars weren’t filled with holidays and birthdays, but with who was fucking who at what time and for how much meth. There was even a bed in the room. What the hell could that possibly be for? Do they have tryouts for places like these? It was a meticulous mess of drug deals and prostitution.

“So, Miss Cassidy,” Carlos sneered, “I hear you’re a lesbian.”

What a way to start off a conversation.

“Uh, yes, I am. Is that a problem?”

“Actually, it most likely will be a problem, at least for you anyways. We don’t get a lot of lesbians calling up here for a lay. So, if you really want that crystal powder, you’re going to have to change your ways a bit, chickadee.”

“I don’t even know the first thing when it comes to pleasing guys,” I stuttered. “I haven’t so much as…”

“…even kissed a guy,” Scotty finished my sentence. “We know. Jason told us. We’re willing to teach you anything and everything you’ll need to know while living here with us.”

“I mean, I guess I can do it. I’ll do anything once.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re so open to newness,” Carlos cooed. “We are, too. It will be refreshing to have a lesbian here in the house with us,” he said, looking over to Scotty for approval. They both nodded their heads.

Scotty went over to the bed and sat down, beckoning me to follow him over there. “Come on, baby, don’t be shy.”

Slowly, I made my way over to him. I was shaking so hard, I’m surprised it didn’t register on the Richter scale. He invited me to lie down on the bed, so I did. I was exceptionally tired, so this was a welcome change. Scotty wasn’t about to let me sleep, though.

“Cassidy, I’m going to give you one lesson, and one lesson only. Usually girls who come through here are experienced already and don’t need me teaching them, especially not about kissing. But, oh well. Pay attention.”

That was the worst hour-and-a-half-long lesson of my life. I felt so violated; so out of place; so used. I had done things I told myself I would never do—not even if I was being held at knifepoint. My morals had been shot, and I was the bloody after-mess. The only good thing that came at the end of my “training session” was a bag of meth. That’s all that I wanted; that’s all that I needed. It helped take away how foul I felt inside after the encounter with Scotty.

That’s the thing about meth; it takes away everything bad and makes you feel so perfect that you never want to come down because then you will have to accept the imperfections of the world. That’s how everyone must become addicted. That must be how I became addicted.

Sitting upstairs on my uncomfortable, assigned mattress inside my assigned four, gray walls, I feel lonely. That’s the irony of this whole situation. At home, I was alone, but at least I was happy half of the time. I always wanted to be accepted by the “normal” people. Here, I had been accepted by the popular crowd, yet then I had been used and shoved to the back; back to point A all over again. Here, I am surrounded by people constantly, yet I am the loneliest I have ever been. I feel so abandoned and unloved.

The house is dark as I pad downstairs to find something to drink. I make my way to the dingy, green-painted kitchen and open up one of the sagging cupboards. The cups contain bits of grime, so I’m wary to use them. I turn on the faucet and tilt my head down so that I can drink directly from the lukewarm water stream. My thick, red hair falls down around my shoulders, and I use one hand to attempt to keep it from getting wet. After my drink, I walk out of the kitchen and into the family room—or the room of fornication. For once it is silent and peaceful. I peer out through the thick, mahogany window curtains and see the night. Oh, how I long to be back outside; back to my free will and away from pimps telling me what I have to do to help get a stash of powder. I miss the old Cassidy Krevins; the girl who was always outgoing and willing to help people; the girl who would give her life for the people she loved instead of giving it away for illegitimate reasons; the girl who had never met the monster.

I hear coyotes howl in the night as I slip silently out the front door, hoping to god Scotty and Carlos don’t wake up and hear me leaving. I suppose it wouldn’t really matter if they heard me; it’s not like I’m a runaway slave or something of that sort. I guess the thought of sneaking out brings more of a thrill to an adventure. The air is thick and muggy, and I begin to wish that I hadn’t worn long cargo pants and a wool sweater. The humidity is making my flat-ironed hair frizz and poof out into all sorts of weird waves and curls. Oh, well. I’m not trying to impress anybody anyhow. I’m never going to try to impress anybody ever again.

As I walk down the highway, attempting to figure out exactly where the hell I am and exactly where the hell I’m going to, I sigh with relief. I no longer have to answer to people trying to get me to sell my body for crystal. I no longer even feel like I should rendezvous with the monster; he’ll only get me into trouble.

I feel as if I should go home; sure, I have loads of problems there and I don’t get along with my mom, but if those are the biggest of my worries, then I have it pretty damn well there. It’s not as if she’s the one trying to sell me out for meth. At least I can partially trust her.

As I continue on my trek home, I hear a car rumble up behind me. I turn around to find a black sports car being driven by a young, white male. The guy turns off the engine and gets out of the car quickly, asking me if I’m in dire need of help. I silently shake my head, walking on. He follows me, asking if I’m sure I don’t want a ride. He says he’d be glad to give one to me, anywhere I want to go.

“Trust me, Mister, I’m positive,” I reply assuredly. I wasn’t looking for any more trouble.