Page 37 of Fight or Flight

CHAPTER XIII

SINCE I DIDN’T HAVE time to take anything of use besides the gun that I already dropped in the first bushes I saw as soon we exited the bus, I decided to work with what I had, which was the narcotics stuffed inside my pocket.

Going to my dealer’s house was risky at best. After all, Christy is his regular customer, too, but I don’t think I have a choice. We need money. At least enough to get us out of Chicago and to last us the few days I need to work out what to do.

I’m the least emotionally equipped person to do all this, and there’s a big part of me that keeps whispering in my head to just give up. But every time I look at little Nora clutching at me and staring at me as if I’m her last lifeline – because I probably am, I feel a small sense of pride.

I’m doing the right thing. Wasn’t being needed what I always wanted? Didn’t I want to be brave like my best friend Jenny? Now is my chance.

The guy who usually sells to me goes by the nickname Rant, and I think it fits him very well because he is the biggest grump I ever met. To say he wasn’t happy with the fact I came knocking so early in the morning would be an understatement. His girlfriend, Misty, who looks halfway dead already, was more than eager to try the new stuff I came with after I exaggeratedly told a story about the greatest high I had.

To my relief, she approved, and Rant was prone to pay me a hundred for it. I laughed in his face and managed to negotiate two hundred. It was still laughable, but time was not on my side, and he was getting agitated.

Nora witnessed the whole thing, unfortunately, and I wish I could spare her more trauma by not coming to a drug dealer's lair. But considering that she probably watched her parents being murdered before getting kidnapped and then being shot at not even an hour ago, I assume she’s most likely numb to all of this. I know I am. Or maybe it’s just the drugs wearing off.

I tap the half-empty baggy in my pocket to check if it’s there and grab Nora’s hand as we walk toward the bus station. I’m looking over my shoulder way too frequently, and I probably look suspicious as hell, dragging the dirty, disheveled girl behind me, but no one even spares us a glance. The sun is barely up, and most people wandering around are half-asleep, rushing to get to work.

The station is busy when we get there, the strong smell of fumes and tires making me gag. Sweat runs down between my shoulder blades when I look between the ticket office and the entrance to the public restrooms.

Again, my addiction wins, and I prowl through the crowd with Nora, barely keeping up with my stride. I don’t care. It’s sad, but I need it, even if I hate myself more and more with each step.

I tell her to wait by the sinks and almost fall into the stall, barely caring about closing the door to the disgusting-looking toilet. I shake out the contents of the small plastic packaging onto the top of my hand and inelegantly sniff it with a loud snort.

This time around, it’s as if someone electrocuted me. I see everything turn brighter, the sounds coming from the station getting more distinct. But at the same time, everything seems to be further away and intangible.

There’s not much left of my remedy, but I carefully roll the plastic and hide it in my pocket.

When I leave, my eyes go to the sink, and my knees almost buckle when I find the space empty.

“Nora? Nora!” I cry just as the stall next to mine opens, and the little head peeks through.

“I had to pee,” she says quietly and goes to wash her hands.

I slap my hand on my wildly beating heart and try to stop my erratic breathing. This right here only proves that I am the last person on Earth who should take care of a child.

Jesus Christ, what if Ramirez followed us and used the first moment I lost sight of her? Shit, Claire. Focus. Focus, focus, focus.

Nora finishes and wipes her wet hands on her dirty pants before looking at me expectantly, seemingly oblivious to my freak-out.

“Come on,” I grab her hand and quickly walk toward the ticket office, high and out of my mind.

“Two tickets to Madison, please,” I almost yell to the clerk before I can even think it through, and then rush us toward the indicated terminal to board the already waiting stinky bus.

Just to be on the safe side, I move my back to the window and order Nora to duck until we’re not passing through the freeway and leaving Chicago behind us.

Great, and now what?