These Lonely Streets

"I guess I'll be going."

Miles turned on his heels and headed for the alley's exit, leaving the knife in the dirt and me in confusion. I stared after him, watching how he sulked and strutted in the same way from the bar.

"So that's it?" I called.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me. He tilted his head a bit, wondering why I was summoning him.

"That's what?" he asked. In the few moments he had turned to leave, something had changed in him. The grin that filled him with amusement but filled me with annoyance had vanished, as did the playful tips to his words.

"You're gonna leave? Just like that?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't gonna kill me?"

"No."

A stupid question slipped from me.

"Why?"

Miles laughed; a soft laugh, one that was clearly entertained by my stupidity. He took a few steps toward me, kicking the knife in my direction in the process. The knife skittered to a stop at my feet, its black rubber grip the only visible part.

"Why would I?" he asked.

"Oh, must I repeat myself now?"

"From the other night?"

"Yes."

He sighed as he lifted the hat on his head and ran a hand through his hair (which I now could see was a dark brown, almost a black). "Look," he began. "I told you straight up why I didn't. You've got your pretty little princess head all wrapped up in this brother against brother shit that you forgot to check your pulse. Girl, you're alive."

"I know I'm alive, b--"

"But it ain't gonna be so if you keep up with this shit." Miles took another step toward me so that we were only a few inches apart. He reached out and brushed his fingers against my jaw; I flinched back a bit, wincing as though I was in pain. Miles's eyes softened.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"No," I replied defiantly. Mentally, yes.

"You're weak."

"Speak for yourself."

"I'm not the one who spent a year in rehab, hun."

My fists clenched at my sides, but his eyes flickered toward them. Miles knew I was ready to punch him; his muscles tensed and he leaned back a few inches. His arrow had struck the center of the target, right where my heart was positioned. I glanced at the sky again, wanting to count stars to free my mind of the wall of anger that was crumbling piece by piece.

"You never answered my question," he stated suddenly.

"What question?" I asked, still staring upward, refusing to look at him.

"Didn't you learn a thing?"

"I've learned not to trust my enemy."

"I meant from the other night."

Giving in, I looked him dead in the eyes. His sharp jawbone was set in stone, his eyes staying with mine. Camden had fallen into a serene setting, its soundtrack of sirens lowering to a volume of nothing and allowing our breathing fill its place.

"Well, that's what I learned, even though I knew that already," I replied.

"And what does getting ambushed tell you?" he asked.

"That things are the same as they were back then."

Miles groaned in frustration as he ran a hand over his face.

"Stay off the streets," he snapped.

"No," I retorted.

"You best listen to me."

"Why should I?"

"Cause it's the best thing for you."

"You don't have a clue on what's good for me."

I snatched up my switchblade from the ground, quickly brushing the dirt from it and storming past him. Who the hell did he think he was? There were no footsteps coming behind me as I rounded the corner and started for home. A cool breeze blew past me, fluffing my hair up and raising goose bumps up and down my arms. There was a strong hurn of betrayal rushing through me; one, for talking to Miles without even a forceful attempt at slaughtering him, and two, for stealing drugs from my ex-boyfriend.

Every upcoming wall made my urge to curl my fist and punch it greater, but I knew the wall would win in that situation. I didn't need to return to the hospital for a broken hand that was self-inflicted. I remembered putting my fist through a wall at the rehab center, which was easily patched up with some spackle and paint and earned me a special chat with the doc. Bricks? Not as feeble as sheetrock.

I checked over my shoulder every couple minutes, then checked the sides of me, in front of me, and jus to be certain I wasn't overlooking someone, I checked my blind spots as well. I wasn't a car, but I was looking out for others that might be coming at me to ram my ass up into a wall.

And if Miles was running after me, I'd give him something to run from.

However, it wasn't long before I entered the complex and rushed to my apartment. Just for good measure, I locked the door behind me, something I had never done before in the past. If Wes's goons were running amuck and breaking into our places, at least it wouldn't be as easy here. I kicked my shoes off and flew down the hallway to my room, immediately dropping to my knees at the closet. I slid the door back and was greeted by lumps of clothing and clutter. Huh. Guess they missed this part. Buried beneath was my small, gray safe that housed my valuables. I fumbled with the lock, hoping the combination from my thoughts was correct, and to my surprise, the door swung open.

Inside sat a black velvet box, a wad of cash, and a few other small items I held close to my heart. I removed the heroin and remaining money from my pocket, carefully placing them inside with the other pieces of my life. As much as I wanted to melt down the heroin and inject myself, I decided against it. Besides, all my syringes had been swept away with the dust that the gang had cleaned out from here. I reached down and grabbed the velvet box, quickly popping it open and letting a smile inch its way onto my face. It held the silver diamond star pendant necklace Randy had gotten for my birthday one year. When he had given it to me, he had dropped down onto one knee and flashed me a huge grin just to annoy me.

I had only worn it a handful of times because of its value. If someone spotted it around my neck, it was inviting them to come over and mug me for it. The same went for huge, gaudy wedding bands some women liked to flash around these parts. It was needless to say that those rings didn't stay on their fingers for very long.

I shut the box and set it back in its place before closing the safe and locking it. I brushed a few articles of clothing over it, shielding it from the untrained eye.

I wanted so desperately to crawl into my cozy bed that was calling to me, but I jumped into the shower first and scrubbed my mouth with my toothbrush. I had to erase any smell of the bar and the beer on my tongue, even though I was probably on my own for the rest of the night. My stomach churned a bit from the sudden beer intake, at which I decided to pull my wet hair back into a tight ponytail. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

As it neared two in the morning, I curled into my blankets and stared into the blackness of my room. Miles's face painted itself into my thoughts, each of his features appearing one by one as though they were puzzle pieces putting themselves together. From the night he ambushed and saved me to now, he was confusing me. I hung on his every word in my head, trying to make sense of this mysterious man's reasons for all his actions.

In the end, I fell asleep.

Morning rushed to me like a shot of morphine, only without the calming effect. My heart thudded inside me as cold sweat stuck to the back of my neck and forehead. Swirls of colors spilled over from my dreams into my vision as soon as I opened my eyes. The ceiling was beginning to fold inward as the walls surrounding me grew rusty spikes and pushed towards each other. I jerked upward with a scream, rubbing my eyes and hoping to wash away the deep reds, blues, and purples floating among the room. Green slime crept up my fingers, encasing my skin in a shiny coat. The swirls dripped and oozed from cracks in the walls and covered the floor in an endless sea. I could see a few black spots creeping up my bed with a thousand tiny legs at their sides, at which I leaped onto the floor and dropped down into the fetal position.

"Go away!" I screamed, closing my eyes tightly to avoid the scene.

"Cory!" yelled a voice from behind the apartment door, followed by a rough knocking that sounded as though it would break the door down. I screamed hoarsely, feeling tears prick at my eyes as the colors expanded like amoebas. I looked up as a sharp crack rattled my ears, seeing splinters of white shoot from the doorway and two black masses waddle toward me. I screeched and squirmed away, but the walls were coming toward me.

“Cory, hold still!” A hand clamped onto my shoulder, jerking me upright. I closed my eyes and forced myself to the floor again, waiting, minutes ticking by in slow motion, until I finally opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the visions had gone.

The acid was back.

I raised myself from the floor and clutched the wall for support.

"What's the matter?" James asked as he touched my shoulder, my entire body shaking violently. He grasped my arms and sat me down on my bed. Apparently Jaycee had been swallowed up behind James's large frame, for she appeared beside him a moment late and reached out to brush away the loose strands of hair in my face.

"I saw bugs!" I shrieked.

"You what?" Jaycee replied.

"Bugs. They were everywhere!"

"Girl, that's impossible. We cleaned this apartment head to toe."

"Not like that!" I sat up. "In my dreams. And then when I woke up, they were all over the place."

"Jay," James began, touching Jaycee's shoulder, "she's talking about the acid."

Besides my heroin streaks (and Vicodin, OxyCoton, etc.), acid played a significant role in my demise. I'd picked it up from a dealer outside of Camden in the form of three by three centimeter pieces of paper doused in the drug. The trips were mind blowing; having a rainbow of colors dance wildly before me made my outlook on the world different, but I felt it was in a good way. Unfortunately, it quickly turned sour to the point where I was afraid of my own shadow and was ready to gouge my eyes out with spoons.

Thankfully, Buster stopped that.

Jaycee gently wiped the few tears that escaped from my eyes away with her thumbs and took a seat beside me. The tears were out of fear, but guilt also mixed in with them. What the gang didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right? Well, it would hurt me.

I checked out of rehab several times during the year. I didn't check out every twenty-four hours, like that of Britney Spears, rather I checked out every month or two for about eight months. I had completed the 30-day program several times, but every time I checked out I would see a drug trade somewhere nearby, jump in on it, and relapse on the sidewalk a few blocks down from the clinic.

They'd find me, scoop me up, and carry me back.

I had found a lot of acid among the streets of Pittsburgh, and even though I had now sworn away the trips, the deposits of it that remained in me were pushing to the surface.

"Why can't she be released yet?" Buster asked.

"She's not well enough yet. I do believe she needs a few, good solid months here," Dr. Walker replied.

"Why?"

"She's weaker than ever."

The infamous phone call replayed in my head as I stared back at Jaycee and James, whom were saying something but were muted to me. I remembered the four month treatment I received, but it seemed to be no use. I was still weaker than ever.

"Dammit, Cory!" James shook me, allowing me to hear him again.

"What?" I asked breathlessly.

"Will you listen a minute?"

I nodded.

"We'll talk about your dreams later. Right now we need to know where the hell you were last night," James snapped.

"I was with Goliath . . . er . . . dealing," I squeaked.

"We know," Jaycee said in disappointment.

"We're gonna help you pay off the hospital bill, okay? So don't go running around dealing crack for money. Find an actual job," James said.

"Yeah right, like many people are gonna wanna hire a high school dropout," I hissed.

"Just look for a goddamn job!" James scowled.

"Alright! Calm the fuck down!"

James dropped himself onto the chair beside us, his lips locked together in an attempt to hold back any nasty comments. Jaycee stole a glance with him before turning her attention to me, gently placing her hand atop mine.

"So where else did you go? Goliath said he called and called but you never answered," she stated calmly.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. They must've known most of the details because I had completely vanished after the cops rolled around. I twiddled my thumbs nervously, feeling the rough, cracked skin at the tip of my fingernails.

"I ran home," I answered.

"Why didn't you answer his calls?" she asked.

"My phone never rang." I shrugged, clearly remembering my entire night: Almost a drug bust, the sketchy character at the bar who turned out to be the little hero from the other night, his second ambush on me, yada, yada, yada . . .

Nope, not once did my phone go off in those hours.

"Goliath got his ass handed to him."

My heart jumped.

"How? Where?" I asked frantically, completely forgetting about my attack that had just passed. Jaycee reached out, pulling my raised hands to my sides and keeping me against the couch.

"He said after you ran off, he headed the other way and some crazy crack head jumped him," she finished.

"Why isn't he here telling me this?"

"He's at home resting. Goliath took a nice clock to the eye and stomach if you ask me," James chimed in.

I relaxed against the cushions and placed my hand over my heart on the right side of my chest. Yes, the right side, the opposite side. It was my fault entirely; Goliath was hurt and I had walked away unscathed. The heroin stored away in my safe beckoned to me, each individual crystal joining in chorus to scream my name. I shushed it, trying to focus more on James and Jaycee rather my temptation in the next room.

To make matters worse, Miles popped into my head.

"What am I gonna do?" I asked.

“Well, for starters, where the hell is your phone?” James asked.

“It should be in my room,” I said as I stood. I hurried off into my bedroom, the sream of the drug becoming louder. I cringed and scooped my sweatpants from the night before off the ground, quickly searching for my phone before I fell victim to the tantalizing spell. My pockets – except for fuzzy lint – were empty. I dropped the sweats, a rush of panic overwhelming me. It was merely lost among the house, it had to be.

I rushed back out to the living room, and only then did I notice the door. It was nearly hanging off a hinge, brown and white splinters scattered amongst the ground. The paneling had been chipped and splintered, and the doorknob had left a gaping hole in the wall from its swing. I turned to stare down James; he instantly looked away with a sheepish twist in his face.

“What did you do?” I yelped.

“Your door was locked,” he replied.

I growled and began picking the large chunks of splinters off the ground. “Dammit, James. Why can’t you just wait like a normal person?” I muttered.

“Hey, at least we got here when we did. You mighta stripped yourself of limbs if we didn’t come busting in like that.”

So that’s what the colored splinters had been: the door.

I gathered the remaining pieces and tossed them, feeling a bit aggrevated that I was now without a basic burglar security. I dropped myself back onto the couch beside Jaycee.

“Did you find your phone?” she asked.

“No, I don’t know where it is,” I said.

“You lost it?” James looked surprised. “Where do you think it could be?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “It’s out there somewhere. I’m probably not gonna find it.”

Speak of the devil. Before I finished my sentence, a familiar tune whistled from James’s pocket. He fumbled to remove his phone, then stared at the screen with heightened curiousity.

“Uh, Cory?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“You sure your ass ain’t dialing me?”

“What do you mean?”

James leaned over to show me the front screen of his silver flip-phone. ‘Cory’ followed by my number flashed on the pixelated screen. I blinked once, twice, and then a third time, just to be sure neither of us were seeing things. I checked my pockets, but my cell phone wasn’t hiding in them, either.

James didn’t answer, allowing the call to fall through. He flipped open the phone and checked the missed call, wondering why my MIA phone was calling him.

“Why don’t you try calling my phone?” I suggested. James shrugged as he clicked through a few texts on his phone, then pulled up my number. Before he had time to press ‘Send’, another musical tone buzzed throughout the room.

“It’s mine this time,” Jaycee announced as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “It’s you again.”

“Answer it,” I urged.

Jayce looked unsure, but she flipped open her phone and answered. I thanked her in my head.

“Hello?” she began. She nodded to herself. “Yeah, she’s right here.” Jaycee pulled the phone away from her ear, covered the mouthpiece, and looked at me. “It’s some guy, he said he found your phone,” she added as she handed over hers for me to discover where my phone had landed.

“Yeah?” I said into the mouthpiece.

“Hello there,” said a familiar voice. I cringed against the back of the couch, feeling a prick of anger. As much as I wanted to scream, I kept my cool, knowing that my secret conversation would be revealed to the gang if I overreacted.

“Surprised to hear from me?” Miles asked. “I stumbled apon your phone outside the bar. I thought it was someone else’s, but when I scrolled through the contacts I found it was yours.”

“Oh, really? That’s great! I’m glad you picked it up.” I felt like puking at my sincerity towards Miles, but I had to keep my cover.

“I know that politeness isn’t being generated on its own. The only reason you’re saying that is cause you’re got a couple of friends in the room.”

How did he know it was a couple?

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go, but I’d be more than willing to give you your phone back. Meet me in the city at the café at 9?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, see you then.”

Click.

I closed Jaycee’s phone and handed it back to her without a word, but two expectant pairs of eyes were waiting for my response.

“So? Who has it?” Jaycee asked.

“Some guy named John,” I replied. Liar, my conscience screamed.

“Is he gonna give it back?” James added in.

“Yeah, he’s gonna give it back to me tonight.”

As soon as I had shut him out, he was coming right back in.