The Things we do for Love. by Jesse Rawlins

Tucking three ten-spots in her boot, Jackie climbs into the truck behind O’Malley’s bar. And doggedly fights to focus on the single task at hand ….

She hears Reality knocking—

Though like a preacher hawking Jesus, Reality isn’t welcome here in Jackie’s world. The sooner she bobs these apples, the sooner she’ll get her fix. So practiced fingers waste no time and make a mad dash for the zipper.

With crude Reality jiggling at oblivion’s gate, she senses her latest date (she never calls them customers; nor does she call them Johns) desperately needs a shower. Or does the stench that smacks her nostrils waft from her crack-starved body?

Focus, Jackie thinks … squeezing sunken brown eyes tighter, on the simple task at hand.

Cruel fingers gnarl her tangled hair: and clamp vice-like round her throat, while long nails like a croc’s cruel talons rake and break her burning skin. Her rollercoaster-head wildly plunges down—then snaps backward in reverse. Faster than a hellish metronome bouncing to a devilish beat.

Warmth finally fills her mouth. But she repels the urge to gag. Because soon an even greater warmth will flood her rabid brain.

Stretching a paw behind her back, her satiated date flings open the passenger door—

And slings her past the maw—crashing to the blacktop: which indifferently claims two more of her once-perfect rotting teeth.

A meager price to pay—as she hums that 10cc song her mother used to sing—and scuttles like a cockroach to find the closest dealer. Today’s her sixteenth birthday. And damn she wants to celebrate.

So she may do this all again … before the night gives way to day.

*****

Jesse lives in Parts Unknown—where Crack and Heroin rule the streets. Zines in Britain and North America have graciously published her stories. You can learn more here: https://www.facebook.com/Jesse-Rawlins-Fiction-Writer-472903656414539/