Chapter 20: Drummer Boys Take Too Much

The song --The Old Apartment by Barenaked Ladies. So good, and so appropriate....

Bodie

After leaving Darius, it doesn't take me long to track down Daemon.

It takes longer to walk to the trap than it does to ferret out his whereabouts from an OG who isn't all that swift upstairs.

The business that called Daemon away from his very first occurrence (according to Pat) of being responsible for Darius?

A single mom in the neighborhood came home to find her house robbed, so he went over to assess the situation.

Prez gives me a ride over there, and I abandon all pride and shoot up on the way. It's just a quarter dose. It doesn't give me the rush, or the haze after. It's just to steady me.

But the problem?

It's an extra dose to my normal clockwork addiction.

It's just a one time thing, I swear.

It's been a fucking night, ya know?

I tell Prez to drop me off and go. I ring the bell at this girl's place—I've been told her name is Delilah.

Daemon comes to the door, shirtless, in barely zipped jeans.

I can't tell you how fucking happy that makes me.

If Delilah is his new Dime, maybe he's not really trying to get back with Marley.

He crosses his muscled arms and looks me up and down, grimacing at me.

"Damn, you forgot the rules, Bodie. Green means go. X for sex. Pills for chills. Speed for need. But Horse? Makes a corpse."

I smile bitterly. Daemon was always big on his dealers not becoming junkies. Unfortunately, I have never been able to muster the self-discipline he always showed.

Until now. I may be a junkie, but I'm a junkie with a plan, and I'm gonna execute it. I've decided to channel Varrick. The best way to manage this situation?  From the inside. Yeah, I'm gonna be a gangster turned rockstar turned gangster.

I don't really have much choice. Daemon's got all the leverage. To get it back, I have to go double agent.

"Speaking of corpses, I nearly was one, tonight." I pull my arm across my chest, so he can see the bullet grazing.

"That's what you get, coming down to the hood to buy smack," he grins. "You come to make a complaint about neighborhood security? Cause that looks like a warning shot to me.You just pulled me out of the best pussy I've had since Jasmine. For nothin'."

It's a good thing smack has me incapable of overreacting right now. I want to punch him-repeatedly-for even saying Marley's name like that.

He has no right to call her that. He took the innocent girl who wore jasmine body lotion and twisted her until she didn't even know herself. He mind-fucked her. He abused her. He got her sent to prison—pregnant and alone and scared.

She doesn't wear jasmine scent anymore, because he burned that sweet girl down.

Marley rose from her ashes. Marley is a strong woman, a good mother, maybe the smartest and most sensible person I know, but there's not a lot of the girl I knew and loved left there. Except the jasmine tattoo he branded on her.

Yet, there's not much I can do about that, right now. I'm too high to beat the shit out of him for what he did. I take one swing, and I'll be the one laying on the floor.

I know that. I unclench my fists.

Behind Daemon's hulking figure, I can see a rifled room, and a very pretty mixed girl sliding into the kitchen, pulling a robe around her underwear, casting us a nervous glance.

"You slap that girl around, too?" I ask mildly.

"Naw. I treat her right. Like I treated Jasmine, until you pushed up in there. The reminders Jaz took? Those were all your fault. They got her back on track, though. She realized she shouldn't have been letting you follow her around the hood, giving a kid like you false hopes, just because I had business and couldn't hang with her all the time. She realized she needed to make some girlfriends, instead of a keeping a puppy. She was happy, when she found out about the baby, you know. That's was before she went to jail. We knew, shit...we knew a couple months before the raid. We'd even picked out his name—Darius."

I feel every muscle tighten in anger. I feel the gun I took from Darius shoved at my back.

Right here. Right now. I could kill this motherfucker and solve a lot of problems.

But then?

I would become everything I hate about him.

Through gritted teeth, I say, "I didn't come here to reminiscence. I came here to tell you...your son shot at me tonight."

That surprises him. The complete rounding of his eyes? Worth the agitation it cost me to call Darius his son.

He recovers quickly. "Well, you look like a twitchy, sketch junkie, Bodie. I'd shoot at you too, if I knew what Darius knew. That there were robbers in the hood, desperate enough to break in on people at home." He gestures behind him to the girl, huddled at her table in the kitchen with coffee, watching us nervously.

Ah. I get it now.

Daemon told Darius where he was going. That a single mom had been burglarized while she was at home. That there were bold and dangerous robbers in the hood.

"You give him this gun?" I ask mildly, pulling it from behind.

It weighs heavily between us.

He grins and shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't give my thirteen year old son a gun."

"You gave me a gun when I was fifteen."

"Different situation. Different boy. Different man." He slaps his chest. Then he points to the weapon. "That's TJ's gun."

"Bullshit. TJ would not leave a loaded gun layin' around his house."

"He don't leave it layin' around, asshole. Not with Darius and Jory there. He keeps it in a lockbox, of course."

"Then how did Darius retrieve it in about thirty seconds flat, after I knocked on the door?"

Daemon shrugs as he stares at me. "The way you say his name. Darius. It's so—"

"Hostile?" I jump in. "Yeah. The kid shot at me!"

"Hostile..." Daemon repeats, searching me. "That's all this is? You're pissed, and you want me to discipline him?"

I stare down Daemon, because there's no backing down now. I fucked up already, using Darius' name so...familiarly. So possessively.

From Daemon's view, I don't even know the kid.

I don't have to know him, for him to be mine to protect. He's my son.

But I have to think about Marley, too. I can't give too much away to Daemon right now. I have to talk to Marley first.

"Well, there's no fucking doubt that boy needs some sense knocked into him," I shrug.

Daemon grins. "You right, but since I'm still trying to make a relationship with Darius, I'll leave sense-knocking to Pat. Besides, I'm sure Marley's way of dealing with it will be a fate worse than death for Darius."

"Yeah?" I say coolly. "You think she'll come down hard on him?"

He snorts. "Hell no. She'll send him to counseling."

I pretend to laugh with him, but honestly, I figure counseling is exactly where the kid ought to be. The anger that runs just beneath his surface...it reminds me so much of Trace.

I hide my own anger so much better.

I drown it in drugs.

Can barely feel it at all.

"What were you doin' around TJ's house this time of night, anyway?" Daemon challenges.

"Lookin' for you," I lie. "Went by your old place, nobody home. Figured I'd find you there."

"Yeah, I heard you were in need of some...help." His gaze zeroes in on the track marks in my elbow.

Huh, this is working out better than I hoped. Daemon is putting together the pieces...just slightly out of sequence.

He's heard I've been hard up for smack tonight. He's assuming I came to his mom's house first, looking for him as a way to gain drugs. He figures that's when Darius shot at me, and afterwards I was really in need of a fix, so that's when I connected with other Sixers. Either Malik or Preston has let him know I found my way to the trap.

One good thing about gangsters. They all act cool and give vague information. Ain't nobody up in this hood synchronizing their watches and relaying detailed reports on people's whereabouts.

I can probably get away with frontin' Daemon's assumptions.

I shove my hands in my pockets and stare fixedly at a point past Daemon, inside Delilah's place.

"Yeah. No point lyin' to you. I picked up a bad habit in Thailand. It was a long damn flight back, and I couldn't exactly bring my stash through customs..."

Daemon raises a hand. "No worries, man. I get it. Rock star troubles," he laughs. "I'm just glad Sixmob could help you out. Again."

"Yeah, me too."

Daemon gives me a hard look. "So where you goin' now?"

To Marley's, to wait for her. If I can get an Uber to roll down into this hood.

"To a hotel to crash. Probably see my mama tomorrow before I head back to LA," I lie. "I'm just here because it was a direct flight from Thailand."

"And a direct line to what you need," Daemon points at my track marks again. "What's the matter Bodie? Your pretty LA pusher ain't loyal? Afraid he'll tip off TMZ to the fact that Soundcrush's drummer is shootin' smack?"

I rub my hands over my eyes. "Fuck you, man. I ain't go no time for your hate..."

That's when Daemon steps onto the porch, slamming the door behind him at the same time he slams me against the wall.

"You better make time for me, motherfucker. I've been waiting patiently to hear from you. All my calls going unreturned while you rot yourself from the inside with heroin? I'm out of patience, Bodie. I'm sick of petty poison dealing to people like you. It's time for me to become somebody. Somebody other that a banger who runs twelve blocks in a neighborhood nobody cares about. It's time for you to return the favor you owe me."

Ah. So there it is. All this bullshit about raising Sixmob out of crime?

It ain't about helping his boys. It's about Daemon's egomania.

I hold up my hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll have my guy look over that business proposal you sent, when I get back to LA..."

"No. You'll invest. Directly. Tomorrow.I need eight hundred thousand dollars start-up money to buy a business property and equipment."

"Daemon, look—I can't just...hand over eight hundred thousand dollars to you without a record of transaction. There's...implications to me burning that much cash..."

It's true. Rich people can't spend that kind money without accounting for it. A few thousand dollars here and there spent as petty cash—bar tabs, tips...yeah I can absorb that without getting much of a glance from the IRS.

But I can't front like I paid eight hundred thousand dollars cash for some luxury item without a sales receipt to turn into my accountant. Taxes have to be paid on the expensive shit I buy. Sales tax, import tax, property tax. If I simply say I invested in a business, my accountant will have a fucking fit to know the details, for income tax purposes.

"So record it," Daemon spits. "The plan makes you an investor and gives you a percentage of the profits."

"Fuck that. I'm not getting in bed with you ever again."

Daemon shoves me harder against the wall.

"Well, you better figure something out or the good Sheriff in Davidson County, Tennessee is going to get a tip about a dead body in the woods. An anonymous tip, delivered with the gun that killed him. Plastered with your prints."

"Get the fuck off me, man!"

Despite the pathetic state of my wasted body, I manage to shirk him. We circle, bowed up against each other, but it's just my ego flaring.

I don't have a choice, and I know it. Not if I want to play this game. This double-agent game.

Still, I can't fold too easily. He knows me better than that.

"I'm done with your junkie distractions, Bodie," he warns me. "You're gonna come through on this, or you are gonna go to jail, man. It's that simple."

"I swear to fuck Daemon, if this new business is a shell for dealin' or some other illegal shit..."

"You think I'm stupid, Bodie? I was put away by the DEA and got released on a procedural technicality. You think I don't know they are watching my every move? I can't be connected at all to the current petty drug dealin' in Sixmob. I've made sure of that. Right now, all I am is a high-end car salesman employed by my brother. But I know, the minute I file for a business license, that shit is getting flagged in a DEA database. You think I haven't planned for twelve years? You think I haven't set this up right?"

Set it up right, he says. I note he did not say legal.

I want to scoff, but the truth? My judgement? It's hypocrisy, and I know it.

I'm not better than Daemon. I didn't murder Cain Priestly, but the man's death is on my hands.

What's more...not reporting his death, obstructing the investigation that should have followed, burying his body, hiding evidence...I'm a criminal too.

I can tell myself I'm a double agent, working an angle for a good guy outcome.

But the truth is, I'm still a junkie and a criminal.

There's no walking away from this.

I let my angry posture relax into the baseline ache I'm already beginning to feel, coming down from my mini-high. I put a shaking hand to my brow, wiping away the sweat.

"Okay. Okay. Tomorrow. You come around and get me. Take me to the property. Walk me through the business plan. I'll figure out how to make it happen--"

"You better—"

"I will. I fuckin' swear, okay?"

Daemon gives me one hard glare.

I break away and stumble down the steps.

"Where you gonna be?" he yells.

I pause.

Fuck if I know. It's not like I can surface in my world. Riley, Trace and Adam would probably wrestle me into rehab at this point. Or maybe they would just let Ariadne do it herself.

And my plan of seeing Marley?

That was just a damn pipe dream. How can I show up at her place high as fuck, and tell her I can't check into rehab right this minute, because I've got to figure out how to set her ex up in "legitimate" business or else he will rat me out to the police and I'll go to prison for the murder of my girlfriend's stepfather?

Oh and by the way, Marley: Bells and I aren't really together anymore, just faking it for real now. And I think I have feels for you. And can we talk about me becoming a parent to your son, whom we both damn well know is mine?

Jesus Christ. Maybe at this point, Daemon is a better baby-daddy.

"Bodie," Daemon growls. "Where you gonna be?"

Only one option comes to mind.

"I'll be at my old place," I growl.

His derisive laughter floats down the sidewalk after me. "I see you met KeeKee already. She's a...good time. What's your famous girlfriend gonna say when she finds out?"

"She won't find out. She's in rehab. Where I'm supposed to be. So I guess I'm on the DL until you and I are settled up."

"Ah. You better stay away from the fucking windows then. Marley's over at TJ's all the time. And she's pretty fucking tight with those Soundcrush boys of yours. If she sees you..."

"She won't see me. I'll go in and out the back. The bushes are so overgrown back there...no one will see me."

Daemon laughs. "You right."

I start walking again. "Bodie," Daemon calls after me. "How the hell did she get hooked up counseling your band boys anyway? She swears it's professional..."

I turn, walking backwards on the sidewalk. "It was just...fate that we reconnected. When we played the Benz last year, we stayed at the hotel across the street from the club where she bartends. But don't worry, Daemon. She is strictly professional with me and my boys. Adam's married and the faithful type. Leed is in love with somebody and doesn't know it...so he just drowns himself in tequila and fangirls."

"What about the pretty boy? The one she counsels?"

"Trace? Pffffft, naw. That song of ours— Little Sister? He's in love with that girl. Always has been, always will be."

"What about you, Bodie? Are you like... what's his name? Leed? In love with somebody for years and just don't know it?" He taunts me.

Motherfucker is talking about Jasmine.

Reckless anger loosens my tongue.

"Naw. I'm deep with my girl, Arabella. Just like Marley is deep with Kade."

My words lure Daemon off the porch. "Who the fuck is Kade?"

"Marley's perfect, rich, white boyfriend. He's a surgeon, but he swaggers like a rock star. Probably why she likes him. Reminds her of somebody," I grin, slinging my hands wide and then slapping my chest dramatically.

Wow. I didn't think I could get Dae seething so easily.

His fists clench. His jaw tightens.

I laugh.

"What? You don't know about Marley's boyfriend? Shit, that surprises me, you being her BabyDaddy and all. They've been together for awhile now. I figure she'll probably marry this one. She's a smart girl. She knows a keeper when she sees one."

"She ain't marrying nobody and going out of state. She knows where she belongs. Here, with our family."

"I guess we'll see how it plays out."

I swing around to face front before I can give away a bitter smile.

I only walk about a block before I'm seriously regretting what I just did.

The last thing I want is Daemon angry with Marley.

What the hell was I thinking, taunting him like that?

Truth is, I wasn't thinking.

I'm high and I'm pissed and I didn't stop to think, there could be serious consequences for Marley from the way I just ran my mouth.

Goddamn, I'm such a fuck-up.

I pull out my phone.

It's a risk to turn my phone back on. Riley's new sidespy has my account information. It wouldn't be hard for her to track my phone's location. But she can't be on Find My Iphone every single second, right?

I walk in the opposite direction from my old house. I power up. I send Marley a quick series of texts.

I just wanted to let you know...

I spent a little time with Darius.

Jam session.

We got right, with the accident.

Then...I saw Daemon.

That didn't go so well.

I fucked up big time.

Let slip you were with serious with Kade.

He's pissed.

Don't go around him alone, okay?

Keep TJ in the mix.

The entire time I see three little dots firing, but I text in such rapid succession she keeps pausing to continue reading.

I get one text back.

It reads,

Thank you, for Darius.

She's writing more, but I power down the phone.

I can't do this with Marley right now.

I'm in no shape.

I'm all shame right now.

————

When I sneak up the back alley and knock on her back door, KeeKee lets me in with a big smile of satisfaction.

Her satisfaction diminishes when she realizes I only came to crash.

I take my old room, on the side of the house adjacent to TJ's place.Either by some miracle or some cruel twist of fate, the bush beneath my window has died, so I have a clear line of sight to TJ's front porch.

I see when Daemon arrives, shortly after I did. I wonder who's taking the most heat...Darius from Daemon, over wielding TJ's gun? Or Daemon, from Pat, over leaving Darius alone with the image of home-invasions running rampant in his mind?

I fight the urge to dose myself. I open the window and listen for sounds of conflict, because if Daemon smacks the kid around, I will go the fuck over there.

All is quiet.

Daemon leaves. There's no sign of TJ returning home, though.

I'm shaking from withdrawals and my back is arching in painful spasms by the time Marley arrives around 3am.

I see her drag wearily up the walk. Her face turns automatically toward me, and I let the curtain fall at once, so she doesn't see me lurking at the window.

I watch her expression blur as she stares at my old house.

Neither one of us are here in the now. We are both lost in the past. In the night we made Darius.

Her face crumples as she begins to cry. She collapses onto the step.

I just stand here. Apart. In the shadows. Watching her sob.

It takes everything in me not to go to her. But I'm in no shape to be the man she needs. Not right now.

And I can't say for sure when I will be.

As Marley gets hold of herself, dries her tears, squares her shoulders and enters the house to deal with yet another mess I caused, I pull a needle from my back pocket and surrender.

To my false love. The demoness that offers ecstasy, but  takes my soul one pull at a time.

I've faded off to oblivion before Marley leaves.

————————

The next morning, I wake and bake—KeeKee has decent weed and she is happy to share after I buy it off her at thrice the going rate. She's less enthused when I ask her if she'll run down to Wal-Mart and buy me a pair of jeans and a pack of black t-shirts, maybe some socks and underwear.

"How long are you planning to be here?" she asks with irritation.

"I don't know. A few days maybe? You got any bills to pay? I'll sublet from you, to help out," I tell her, noticing the stack on the table.

She ruffles up with pride."I've gotta good job, serving downtown. Rent and power are caught up. My phone's turned off, though..." she says softly, examining her gel nails which are overdue for maintenance.

"Gimme the bill," I say, gesturing to the stack and pulling my credit card from my wallet.

"You don't have to," she protests.

"No, it's the least I can do for you putting up with me and going to buy me some clothes and beer and shit."

"Thank you. You're as nice as everyone always says you were," she smiles at me.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, my girlfriend thinks I'm an asshole most of the time."

KeeKee takes the hint. "So you...still with Arabella Burns?"

"Yes," I say distinctly. "This?" I gesture around the old place. "This is just me...needing to catch my breath for a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, I get that. Your life must be...crazy." She bites her lip. "You can stay as long as you need."

"I really appreciate that. You're a real sweet girl. But just so you know, I'm tryna get...clear, not more complicated, okay?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I already got that when you locked your door last night."

I rub a hand over my face, embarrassed. I locked it so she wouldn't walk in on me shooting up, not because I was afraid she would jump me, Arabella style. I don't tell her that, though. Some things are just best left unsaid.

"You gotta work today?" I ask her.

She shakes her head.

I peel off a few hundred more dollars. "Look, after you come back with some fresh clothes for me, why don't you go get your nails done, maybe go shopping? On me, as a thanks for your hospitality."

She leaves happy.

Look at me, keeping a pretty little Shawty up in the hood.

Daemon would be so proud.

I spend the morning drinking coffee and smoking weed and eating cereal and failing to fight the urge to shoot up while I read Daemon's business proposal.

Technically it's sound. He has plans for three enterprises—a buy-out of his cousin's modest but successful landscaping business. Also a mobile car-wash and detailing business—the kind that services busy professionals in their work parking lots. The third business is a buy out and significant expansion of TJ's body-shop. That's the property he wants to buy—some dilapidated warehouse way the fuck down south...miles from the hood.

The costs, the projections, the profit margins—they all look reasonable. But all these businesses raise a red flag with the ex-gangster in me.

The landscaping business? The mobile car wash? Both easy access for dealing to affluent users. And this auto-body shop? Could  easily be a front for a chop-shop to resell stolen cars or even a hub for muling drugs to other areas.

I bluntly layout my accusations to Daemon while we are driving to meet the commercial realtor at the warehouse.

"Damn, Bodie...what kind of skills you think these boys have? It's not like I can start a high tech business and employee Sixers. All these boys can manage right now is yards and cars. This plan ain't about shady opportunities. Its about putting boys who've never done anything but shady business to work in legit jobs they can succeed at and build on. Not every thug has a face like yours and some hidden talent for playing the drums."

"Okay, okay I get your point."

It's actually...probably fair. I mean, he's right. These boys, they gotta start somewhere.

"Look, let's just get this over with," I snarl as I drag my ass out of Daemon's car and flip on sunglasses.

After the warehouse, it's on to a commercial vehicle dealer, and equipment companies. I meet everybody Daemon's been talking to. I gather all the quotes, all the projections, then I tell him to take me to Staples.

"Why?" he sneers.

"Do you want your goddamn capital? Well then, I need a pen, a notepad, and a fucking calculator," I snap.

I drag it out for three days, while hiding out at KeeKee's--alternatively getting high and calculating during the in-between times.

I make my own projections--the bids, the quotes, the overhead, the salaries, the anticipated profits. Then I try to find the ways he could clean dirty money through these businesses.

Improvements to the properties? Shady sub-contractors? Equipment he doesn't actually intend to buy?

I reach the conclusion that either Daemon really does mean to go legit, or he's way the fuck smarter than I am, because I can't see too many ways for him to funnel significant money on this tight of a profit margin.

That or I am too fucking high to see what's right in front of me.

Still, I drag my feet. Even after I've decided, I spend a day getting high and telling him I'm getting the money together.

I don't have to get the damn money together. I don't even have to pull it out of other investments. I've got plenty of those, but I've also got millions in available cash sitting in an "emergency fund."

Yeah, I guess staying out of prison is as good an emergency as any.

I don't know why I'm dragging my feet. I need to do this. If I do what Daemon wants, if I build me a solid route into his life again, maybe I can find that gun with my prints.

And once I have that gun, I'll find a way to cut ties. I'll let him buy out my portion of his business for pennies on the dollar. I'll get me, Marley, and Darius far the fuck away from him.

Yeah, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Still, I linger at KeeKee's, getting high, not taking action.

Finally, when Daemon brings the gun that killed Cain Priestly over in a manila envelope labeled with the address of the Davidson County Sheriff's office, that's when I call the realtor and arrange for the wire transfer to buy the warehouse. The next day we go around with a bunch of Sixers and buy all the vehicles and equipment he needs. Then we go to the bank--where I transfer the rest of the capital directly to him.

And still I return to KeeKee's. I turn on my phone for the first time in days. There are multiple messages from everyone— from my mom, Riley, Marley, Leed, Bells, Trace.

Mac and Adam have only left one voice mail but their's hits me the hardest.

The way Mac bitches at me and then breaks down and cries. It breaks my fucking heart.

The way Adam sounds so fucking worried when he takes the phone from her and says calmly, Bodie, where are you, man? Just call me. Or Trace, or Leed. Just call, man. We'll come get you, wherever you are. No questions, no lectures, no ultimatums, no bullshit.

It throws me into a burning fever of shame, and as usual, there is only one place I can find relief.

I carelessly mix the dose and push my oblivion.

I know no more pain.

I'm dreaming of Marley's husky warm voice, when I feel the sharp, familiar pinch of a needle in my arm.

I roll over. The dream blossoms, sexy and vivid. I'm buried deep in her, the feel and scent of her so familiar to me—from the night on Martha's Vineyard when I almost tasted her, and from the night after I dug a grave, and we shared a shower and a bed.

I groan and grasp for my pillow, but instead I'm grasping flesh.

"Baby?" I murmur. "Marley? You really here?"

Even in my haze, that doesn't make any sense to me. My arm is still burning. I doubt Marley would shoot me up.

I struggle to the surface of my haze to see Marley's curls hanging over me. Her freckles—the ones that were always covered with make-up when she was Jasmine--seem very sharp today.

"Bodie...Bodie...can you hear me?"

"I...I love...I love them," I whisper,reaching up to hold her face, running my thumbs over the faint pattern of tiny pretty decorations on her cheeks. She pulls her face from my grasp, turning her head.

"He's conscious," she says.

"I already called 911," KeeKee blurts.

"Good. Take my phone. Call this number," she says. "Answer anything he asks you. Then do whatever he says," she instructs.

"Don't call, Riley,"I groan. "Please...just...come to bed...sleep...I'm fine...we're okay...baby..."

I'm so fucking glad to see her, feel her, hear her voice, I reach for her head again, pulling her down to me.

She meets my lips once. So soft. Too brief.

Not enough. Never enough of this woman for me.

She pulls away, hovering inches from me, her gaze too penetrating, her jagged breath...uncomfortable for some reason. Her eyes swim.

"Marley? You okay, baby?" I sigh. "Don't cry, okay? It's okay. I'm...home. I'm fine. I... missed you. Every day. Hate Thailand. Hate heroin. Hate everything. But you. Don't hate you. Love you, maybe..."

She bursts into tears, and she grabs me in a hug so hard it's nearly violent. That's when I come fully awake.

And I mean, fully awake.

Everything is on fire, under pressure. Like I'm a bomb on the edge of exploding.

I feel the fear of knowing I'm about to die.

My heart is past pounding. It's thrumming out of control. Every nerve is agony. My gut is clenching and my brain is a firestorm, like a inferno inside my skull.

I push her away, scrambling back in the bed, grabbing at my arm.

She still has the needle in her hand, a tidy vial turned on its side on the bed

"Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?"I snarl at her."What the fuck did you give me?"

"Naloxone. To block the heroin. It's okay," she soothes, putting the needle on the floor and reaching for me.

I slap her hand away.  Flight fills me, like a trapped animal.

"Get the fuck away from me!" I roll awkwardly to the other side of the bed, toward the nightstand, searching for help in the drawer.

This is the worst fucking feeling I've ever felt. Like burning alive from the inside. I need...I need...

Marley's tears turns to fury. She climbs over me, wrestling me for the baggie of powder I've grabbed from the nightstand. "No, Bodie. No fucking more!!! Don't you understand? You weren't breathing. You overdosed! It's a fucking miracle KeeKee found you and came next door for help!!! You should be dead right now!"

"Jesus, I am dying right now!!!" I scream at her, flopping back on the bed, still fighting her to keep hold of the precious relief squeezed in my fist.

"Jesus, Marley..." I pant. "Whatever the fuck you did...you gave me too much...I'm gonna have a heart attack. You have to help me...I need to come down off this...get under this. I need what's in this baggie," I shake my fist at her. "If you care whether I live or die, get a fucking needle and help me come down off this shit you gave me!"

Her tears are back. She's snotty and red-faced now, but she won't yield my fist.

"Listen to me, Bodie! I did not give you too much. Kade trained me how much naxolone to give. Trained all of us. Just in case. We've been looking for you for days. The way you feel right now—this is normal. This is the naloxone saving your life."

"No," I shake my head. "Help me..."

"I am helping you."

"No," I say.

"Yes." Marley says. I can see her hand in mine. She must have taken my smack. I can't...I try to grip her hand, but I can't feel her grip, or feel if I'm squeezing back.

"Bodie...Bodie, stay with me, okay? I need you. Darius...he needs you. Stay with me..."

All I can feel is the final flare before my heart bursts and everything goes dark.