by Elbie Dee
Keeping my stare in the bathroom, he replied as my back faced him. “You can put on some of mine.”
Stopping myself from feeling offended, and opposing to his wishes, I thought about what Neakah said when she hugged me at Nordstrom. With that memory, I sniffed into the air and caught my dull scent for the first time since I left the hospital. In agreement, I released my stance on the carpet and strode toward the bathroom.
I stepped onto the marble floor while grazing my left hand along the wall, searching for the light switch… until I realized there wasn’t one. After joining my right foot into the bathroom, the motion light activated itself. Feeling aggravated, I moved forward enough to be able to slam the door closed.
“Don’t slam my shit!” the man yelled on the opposite side of the door.
Knowing my sudden rage possibly came from lack of drug use, I sighed before turning away from the door. Inside of the bathroom was humongous. The large mirror held the same length as the marble countered vanity with the his and hers sink on its countertop. Past the elegant toilet paper holder, and at least two feet away from the sink, was the toilet.
Placed on the wall in between the front of the toilet and the stand-in shower, was what looked to be a wine rack holding the towels. A gold-plated basket was attached to the matching wine rack which held rolled up washcloths, all with the same color of white.
Stripping my clothes and allowing them to lay on top of the full-length mat in front of the sink vanity, I turned to stare at bare self. My once perky, D sized breasts began to sag. The ribcage that used to be covered with my abdomen muscles, became my abdomen muscles. The full bush of pubic hair replaced the clean, shaven one I used to sport. Turning around to view my backside, I had enough of an ass to be able to cuff three fingers under it, but not enough to grab a palmful of. The thigh gap became invisible as well, due to my leg muscle disintegrating into sticks and bones.
I was a mess. For the first time, I was able to fully view myself after a journey of drug abuse, thanks to the enormous mirror in the man’s bathroom. Preventing myself from further disappointment, I swiped the single tear from my cheek and turned away from the mirror. A steaming hot shower was what I needed to stimulate my nerval system and release some tension from within me.
Moving forward, I paused at the shower before sliding the ceiling high, glass door to the left… until it overlaid its matching piece. After reaching my left arm to the center of the thirty-six-inch wide shower, while maintaining my balance with my right hand propped on the outside wall, I turned the stainless-steel dial to its highest setting.
From the ceiling, the water released pressure from the raindrop showerhead, and onto the stone shower base. Once steam caused fog to form on the glass door, I shifted the sliding door closed. Yielding myself from looking toward the mirror, I faced the shower door as I slid toward the rack of linen. I leaned sideways and pulled a rolled washcloth from the basket. From my position, I slid the opposing door to the right, before welcoming myself into the shower.
“Ahhh,” I released, after moving myself to the center of the shower once the sliding door was shut.
Holding the cloth in my hand, I stood underneath the steaming hot water for at least seven minutes before deciding to lather it with soap. Breaking loose from the hottest shower I’ve had since becoming homeless, I inched to the wall opposite to the one which held the shower dial. Without options, I spread the cloth across my palm before placing it underneath the spout of the thirty-ounce bottle of Ivory body wash. Three pushes down and I took my hand from the spout and folded the cloth. After brushing one side against the other, the linen piece was covered with foam.
Starting from my neck, I began to clean my skin until I got to the bottom of my body. After resting the washcloth on the shelf next to the hygiene products, I picked up the Head & Shoulders, two-in-one hair product and placed a pea sized amount onto my palm. I placed both palms together before running the shampoo through my thin, dirty blonde hair.
Once I was finished, I walked until I reached the water in the center to rinse everything off. Before shutting the water off from the dial, I reached to grab the washcloth and strained the soap out of it. Refreshed is an understatement. As I stood on top of the stone base in the shower, I took a sigh of relief. Really, it felt good to feel good again.
2
Ocho
I kept my stance, a few feet away from the bathroom door, until I was able to confirm that Bayleigh had the water running. With five minutes passing without the sound I was waiting for, I was tempted to take my focus from the door. With the thought of her possibly escaping, I chose to remain where I was.
Finally, the sound of water running through the pipes of the house were heard. After walking out of the den and re-entering the kitchen, I pulled my cell phone from my front pocket. Scrolling through my contacts, I finally found the number to an old plug of mine.
“Yeah,” Cezar answered.
“What’s up, bro?” I acknowledged who I was.
Since he was a big-time drug dealer, he wasn’t about to agree to drop off a bag for anybody. We hadn’t spoken in many years, after I decided to refrain from smoking weed once I began my athletic career. Based on the lingo we once used with each other, I was sure he would catch on.
“Ocho?” he voiced, just as I suspected he would. “How the fuck you been man?”
“Good man. Got caught up in something minor, but other than that I’m good.” I replied.
With time ticking, I chose not to engage in a deep conversation. I wanted to ask how his two daughters were, but there was only a limited amount of time before Bayleigh was finished with her shower.
“I need a favor really quick if you can do it for me,” I stated. Without hesitating, he replied.
“Sure. What’s up?” he asked.
After explaining the situation and disconnecting the line, he agreed to pull up to my house with a blunt sized bag of Mary J. With Bayleigh being an active drug addict, I figured the marijuana would help kill her cravings for a stronger substance. Ultimately, I hoped it would open up her trust for me.
I cracked the door to the den open before leaning to place my ear in the doorway. With the water still going, I had time to run upstairs and get her clean clothes to throw on. With it being almost one o’clock in the morning, I doubt she cared what she wore. Hell! She probably wouldn’t give a damn about wearing a pair of my boxers and wife beater in the daylight either, based on the filthy, rugged clothes I picked her up in.
Once I made it to the top of my staircase which led from the living room, I ran to the end of the hallway. After I scorched a right into my master bedroom, I shot past the bed before tugging on the door handle to my full sized, walk-in closet. Stepping a few feet toward the built-in drawer system, which was installed next to one of my shelves, I pulled a pair of boxers from the square, middle drawer.
I slid the drawer along its side mounts until it was shut. Afterwards, I repeated the exact steps with the drawer beneath it… pulling out a crisp white, wife beater. I jetted out of the closet and through my room until I was met with the hallway. After sprinting down the hall, I sped down the stairs and through the living room, stopping in front of the den door.
“Please still be in the shower,” I whispered to myself, before opening the door from its handle.
With the clothes in my left hand, and after walking in to the sound of the water decreasing, I sighed. Making it back into the den in just enough time before she was finished, I strode across the room and took a seat on my two-toned, Ashley sectional. Facing the flat-screen, I turned my head toward the bathroom door once I heard the door crack open.
“Where’s the clothes?” she rudely asked, being sure to catch a high-pitched tone at the end of her sentence.
“Right here,” I replied after holding the set in the air for her to see.
She chose to hold her attitude, so I chose to hold her clothes above me. If she would have asked simply, the gentleman in me would have broug
ht the clothes to her. Staring in my direction, she huffed before opening the door until she was able to slide her body out of the bathroom.
Wearing one of my white towels around her torso, while her hair laid down to the middle of her back, she crept along the carpet until she was in arm’s reach of me. Giggling aloud as she snatched the clothes from my hand and strode back toward the bathroom, she paid me no mind. Instead, she slammed my door once again, causing me to yell at her once more.
Ding!
I heard the doorbell sound and knew it could only be one person: Cezar. For a second, I forgot I dialed him, but remembered once I realized that not a soul would show up to my house unannounced. Not even crazy ass Zaiya, although she wasn’t aware to my knowledge on where my new house was located.
Getting up from the couch, I jogged out of the den and across the living room until I approached the front door. When I opened the door, Cezar stood directly in front of the ledge, causing me to jump back.
“Shit man!” I voiced before we dapped each other up.
“Damn, you done buffed the fuck up boy!” Cezar said after noticing the grip on my handshake strengthen based on the last time we saw each other.
“How much do I owe you? I gotta lady in the back,” I briefly admitted.
“This one’s on me. I know you don’t smoke like that anymore,” he replied.
Back in the day I was heavy on the blunts. Party after party, and in between sex sessions with Zaiya. Truthfully, I started smoking weed as a result of peer pressure. Learning it helped me cope with the PTSD I formed from my childhood events, I was for it.
When I had to put the weed down for good after beginning my career, it was a hard transition. I had gotten so used to the relaxation feeling that I forgot how to deal with my health issue on its own. Thankfully, after mood swings and anger outbursts later, I had it under control… which is a part of the reason I felt okay with buying the drug for Bayleigh. Even after being kidnapped during her drug journey, she was able to keep herself together for the most part.
“Alright, bro. I’ll catch up wi-,” I had my right hand held in front of me, with the bag in left, to dap him goodbye when I was interrupted.
“I know that isn’t who I think it is!” Bayleigh yelled from behind me. I turned back to notice her rushing toward us, sporting the tank top and plaid boxers I gave for her to wear.
“Get your ass back in the den!” I yelled, before she made her appearance next to me and let her head into the doorway to face Cezar.
“You fuckin’ with her?” Cezar asked, as he shot a look of confusion my way. Without having to ask, I could assume where he knew Bayleigh from. The streets of Miami.
“Please front me a bag! I promise to-,” I grabbed her by the throat with light pressure before she could finish her sentence.
“I’m helping her. I’ll hit you up a little later and inform you,” I took my death stare from Bayleigh’s light blue eyes and looked toward Cezar to reply, while keeping my fingers wrapped around the crevice to her neck.
“Sorry baby girl. Business has ended between you and me. Loyalty over everything,” Cezar stated, as he tilted his head and gave Bayleigh a puppy dog stare.
Without further questioning, Cezar backed up before walking from my front porch, and to the driveway until he reached his all black, Mercedes Benz CLA. After he jumped in and sped from his space, I inched Bayleigh backward while the bag rested in between her skin and my palm.
“I got something for you, but it looks like you don’t like to shut your mouth. Ungrateful maybe?” I touched my nose to hers after I closed the door behind me and refusing to take my eyes from her again.
Silence filled the air in my dark living room before I decided to release my light pressure from her. With her glossed eyes looking back into mine, I assumed she got the hint that she wasn’t going anywhere after storming off toward the den.
Leaving the living room, I made a pit-stop in the kitchen. Underneath the countertop next to the stove, I pulled open the skinny, junk drawer to pull out my small glass bong I bought from a smoke shop a few years prior. After rubbing the dust off from my shirt, due to it sitting for a large amount of time, I jolted across the kitchen to join Bayleigh in the den.
“You thought you were getting away with something, huh?” I asked, after I let myself down the step leading to the flat platform of the den.
“I don’t understand why the fuck you’re trying to control me. You don’t even fucking know me. My closest friend couldn’t even help me! What makes you think you can?” she voiced as she sat on the L shaped side of the sectional.
After bending my knees, I sunk into the cushion on the side opposite to hers. The lighting from the muted television allowed me to see the bag of weed, once I opened my palm and held it up in front of me.
“Pass me that envelope on top of the table,” I instructed.
Her demeanor changed after she noticed I had a drug. Without giving any lip, she leaned up to grab one of my bills from the coffee table between us. Once she had it in hand, she stood to her feet before reaching her arm toward me.
As I folded the envelope in half to get a crease, she kept a stare on me. Anxiousness took over her body language as she nibbled on her bottom lip, with her ass to the edge of the cushion. She was resting elbow to knees, watching me pour the bag of weed onto the envelope which rested in my lap. Once I had the few seeds wrapped back into the plastic and the herb broken down, I placed the bag beside me before I picked up the glass bong.
“Fuck!” I snapped once I realized I didn’t pick up the lighter that was in the same junk drawer as the bong.
Without wanting to get up from my spot, I precisely instructed Bayleigh on where the lighter was located. Once I was finished giving her direction, she lifted from her seat and walked past me to get to the kitchen. There wasn’t a worry in the world that she’d try to escape knowing I had something to fill her system. Besides, with one drug dealer refusing her service, it would be harder for her to run and get her hands on a drug.
Not gonna lie, the view of her ass jiggling in my boxers as she strode past me, had my soft dick hardening. Luckily, I had jeans on so the print wouldn’t be too obvious. Fucking her wasn’t my intentions; at least not yet. All I wished to do at that point was to check her into rehab and get her off of drugs completely. Then, she could be mine forever.
“Here you go,” she voiced, after she walked to where I was sitting to hand me the lighter.
Instead of taking her previous place on the other end of the sectional, she went from standing beside me to sitting. Paying her no mind, I put a pea size amount of weed into the bowl. I placed my lips onto the stem before flicking my B.I.C. lighter over the weed.
As I released fire over the drug, I inhaled through the stem before allowing a cloud of smoke into my lungs. I had nothing to lose. With Zaiya drugging me earlier in the day, a detox was already planned. That being said, I planned to enjoy every bit of a drug of my choice.
“Here you go,” I said after passing her the bong and the lighter, before releasing the smoke which was followed by a few coughs.
Once I was stabilized, I watched as she leaned her back to the cushion. Tension released from her body after she took her first tote and released the smoke with her eyes being closed. Her relaxed body, and while wearing my clothes didn’t help my dick calm down. I doubt the sudden, sexual desire came from the effect of the weed. She was always gorgeous to me, but this time, she was the sexiest mother fucker in the world.
3
Chris
“What’s your name?” I decided to break the silence in the Jeep, after we were minutes away from my place.
“Zaiya,” she replied while keeping her stare out the window, and into the dark night.
“I’m Chris.”
“That’s nice,” she sounded depressed.
Without wishing to engage in further conversation at the moment, I kept quiet for the rest of the ride. Understanding her pensive mood from what I exper
ienced with Bayleigh, I didn’t want to scare her off. In my thoughts, we could be one another’s shoulder to lean on in a dire time of need.
A few minutes later and we were pulling into the complex of the building where me and my roommate, Xavior, resided. Glancing over at Zaiya, she seemed unimpressed as she kept her eyes facing the window. After parking in front of the leasing office, and with a lesser chance of getting towed without having a parking pass, I turned the ignition to her vehicle off.
Slowly, she reached her hand to unfasten her seat belt before pulling the strap from around her chest. After I removed the key from the ignition, I passed her the ring of keys. She grabbed it from my hand before we both hopped out of the Jeep. Before closing her door, she tapped the button on the passenger’s door panel to activate the locking system.
Zaiya drug her sandals against the pavement until she joined me on the sidewalk. Leading the way, she followed me to the staircase which led to my apartment. After climbing all fifteen steps, I reached my hands into my pockets. With my key fob being the only find, I realized I left my wallet, house key, and phone in the Camaro.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“You live with someone?” Zaiya asked as she stood behind me, and after witnessing me knock on the door.
“I have a roommate. I left my house key in the car downtown,” I explained.
Knock! Kno-
“I was coming dude,” Xavior said in an agitated manner while wiping the sleep from his eyes.
Without having the energy to respond, I stepped foot inside of the apartment once he made his way back to his set spot on the living room couch. Zaiya joined me in the apartment before I closed the door, locked the deadbolt, and attached the chain onto its latch. I was mentally drained as I walked past the kitchen and strode down the hallway. Upon entering my room and turning to face Zaiya, she looked to feel the same way.
“I can take the bottom and you can take the top if you want,” I expressed as I pointed to my unmade, queen sized bed.