Sooner Than Later, I'll Need a Saviour

I climbed off the bus with a huff. It had been packed and getting off involved bumping past a lot of people, something I never enjoyed. The bus left with a black cloud of pollution in its wake. I coughed into my closed fist, trying to clear my lungs of the disgusting air. I finally composed myself and pulled the straps to my backpack over my shoulders. I let my eyes trail over the crappy, rundown area I stood in. Since it was sunset not many people were out currently. I knew later there would be plenty out.

I started off in a random direction. It really didn’t matter where I went for now. Nothing would happen until nighttime here anyways. My friend in Los Angeles had vaguely told me how this area of Huntington Beach works before I left. It was a small world really. She had run away from Huntington Beach as a teen and here I was running to her hometown. A very small world indeed. I walked into a gas station, making a beeline towards the restrooms. I entered the small room and shut the door behind myself, making sure to lock it. I looked at myself in the mirror and cringed.

My usually soft and clean black/blonde hair was beginning to clump since I hadn’t washed it in two days. My grey skinnies and black tank I had stolen in L.A. were beginning to gather dirt and grim. My black Vans I had since I was sixteen were just waiting to fall apart. I tossed off my backpack to unzip it. I pulled out my prized bottle of strawberry shampoo/conditioner. It was probably stupid, but the two things I always made sure I had was this and deodorant. I guess I wasn’t a very common homeless teen.

I tossed my hair under the sink and wet it thoroughly. I then scrubbed in the hair care product before rinsing it all back out. I squeezed out as much water as possible before putting it under the hand dryer. Soon my hair was dry and smelt of strawberries. The reassuring smell and feeling made me smile. While I was in here I decided to do my ‘business’ before washing my hands and leaving. The cashier glared at me, as if he knew what I had done and it sickened him. I just smiled and left the building. I ducked into an alleyway a ways down from the gas station and plopped down on the ground.

I leaned against the wall after I had placed the backpack in my lap. I unzipped it and dug around in the small bag for my cigarette pack. I flipped open the lid and cursed quietly. I still had three cigarettes, but that was just the small shit. I only had one, small joint left. I huffed and glared angrily. Looks like I’m going to have to find some shit sooner than I thought. Fucking Derek stole two of my joints. The five cigarettes he took didn’t bother me, just the weed.

I popped the white paper in my mouth before lighting it up with my slowly dying Zippo. The one thing I had snug from Derek was already becoming useless. Much like its owner, I guess. I let my head fall back as the familiar smoke made its way down my throat. I breathed it out and smiled to myself. Soon the whole thing was missing and I was left with the pure bliss of not knowing what was happening in the world, and not caring.

In reality I was always this way. I struggled in school, barely making the low C’s that allowed me to pass. I had never cared for school or friends or anything. I only needed myself, not all this extra ‘attachment’ shit in life. I could only depend on myself and no one else. That was proven to be true when my parents kicked me out two years ago. Soon it was just me, the streets, and pot. Did I mind? No. Life was so much easier when you weren’t fighting to prove yourself. With no one there long enough to judge you, you didn’t have to prove anything. As long as you lived you were good enough.

“Hey there.” My eyes looked up to see a very tan girl standing above me. She was dressed in a tight, red dress that stopped at her mid thigh. On her feet were four inch high heels. Her light brown hair was teased and she looked mighty pretty for a woman standing in the middle of an alleyway in really skimpy clothes. I smiled goofily up at the woman who was also smiling.

“Hello,” I giggled. She smiled and sat next to me, not seeming to care that dirt will probably be clinging to her dress when she stood back up. She also didn’t seem to care that I was high and probably wouldn’t remember her in a few hours. Since my joint was now gone my idle hands were behind my head to keep it separate from the brick wall behind me. Usually I wasn’t a people person, in fact I hated them ninety-eight percent of the time, but when I was high a random stranger could become my best friend. Well, until I came down that is.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in an alleyway?” She asked curiously. I could hear the slight Spanish accent in her voice. I had met plenty of Mexicans in California; it was literally loaded with them. Much like Texas was. We had moved from Chicago to Dallas when I was two, but I still had the fast-talking Chicago attitude I always had. But in Texas was the closest to a life I ever had.

“Hopefully not getting hit on.” She laughed, an angelic sound to my ears. I wasn’t gay or even bisexual, but I could not lie that this woman wasn’t attractive. One of the most gorgeous women I had even seen. And I’ve seen plenty.

“Definitely not. Only the girls that like that,” this unnamed girl informed with a wink.

“Then I’m just relaxing,” I said simply with a dorky grin plastered on my face.

“Yes, weed tends to do that.” I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off with a grin. “You can smell it a mile off. But don’t worry, I won’t tell. It’s not like people care in this part in town anyways. But I’d be safe if I were you. If a really strung out druggie were to smell that, they’re be all over you in a minute.”

“Thanks for the warning. I get forgetful,” I confessed. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I had done it a few times to people when I had run out of my own junk. When you’re deprived after having it daily for so long you tend to act crazy.

“No problem.” She suddenly shot her hand forward with a smile still on her face. “Candice Ramon, but everyone calls me Candy.”

“Alice Wilkins.” I took her hand in my own and shook it.