All Strung Out Read Online Free PDF

longer didn't mean I didn't want to be sober. Trent would remind me how much detox sucked before. He would try every trick he has to pull me back into the AA fold. He's been a pretty cool sponsor. I should call him now. I really should. But I won't. It would be a waste of his time and mine.
    I scroll past Trent's name and tap the number of my dealer. I just need a little—a couple of lines—to get me on track with my music.
    I go for a walk in Deep Ellum to meet my girl. At the World in a Day Cafe, I order their #3 breakfast. A few minutes later, the waitress brings me a plate that could feed a family of four. I jump into my eggs with fervor.  
    My girl shows up when I'm halfway through the plate of protein in front of me. She looks like she just came out of Sunday school, complete with a baby blue cashmere sweater and a little gold cross dangling around her neck. She's the smoothest dealer I've ever met, and she makes damn good money. She treats it like a business, not a lifestyle, and she hasn't been busted once. It's all about appearances.
    She orders a coffee and gives my breakfast a look of disgust. "I'm vegetarian," she says. "It's much healthier."
    "You're kidding, right?" I say.
    "No, why would I be kidding?"
    I shake my head in wonder. "There is not a single person like you."
    She gives me a patient smile and slides the coke to me across the table in a plain envelope. No cash exchange. I already paid her online. It's the new reality of the drug business.
    She sips her coffee and watches people in the cafe as I finish my breakfast. We don't talk. We really have nothing to talk about. When I'm done eating, I throw down a twenty, and we leave the cafe, walking in two different directions. It's that easy.
    At home, I go to my bathroom and pour the coke on a hand mirror. It looks like enough for four lines. I arrange the powder into neat rows with a credit card. Then, I stare at it. Is this really what I want to do? I've only had a bump since I left rehab, but it was fine. It was better than fine. Why am I being such a scared little bitch about this?
    I decide to do two lines now, and save the other two for tomorrow. Once I start snorting the rows, though, I don't stop. Within two minutes, it's all gone. Shit. I never could save it for later. I rinse off the mirror and shove it back in the drawer.
    Within seconds, I have energy, more energy than I could possibly ever use at one time. As I watch myself in the mirror, I can see the change. The confidence in my face is unmistakable. I look stronger and more intimidating. My tattoos are not just ink; they are symbols of my tribal heritage, my hard-core ancestry. I dare anyone to fuck with me. I will take him down and trample on his pathetic, bloody carcass.

Scene 10 ~ Sophie
    Saturday morning. I have a crying hangover and nothing productive planned for the day. I sit up in bed and hold my head for a minute, trying to decide which painkiller to take. If I can medicate myself, I should be able to make it through the day. I don't want to spend all day half-conscious in bed.
    I tie my kimono around me and walk into the kitchen. It's strange not to see Nicole sitting at the kitchen island. I'm so used to her being there. Today isn't a Cole day, either, so I go to the fridge to look for breakfast. Half of our refrigerator has been taken over by small, labelled plastic boxes. I've never seen someone as neat and precise as Cole. Forget chef. He'd probably be a great husband. The containers with my name on them are stacked on one of the middle shelves. I smile when I see the label on today's: Sophie's Super Special Saturday Sustenance.
    I warm up the three-egg omelet with red and green peppers and bacon in the microwave. I know I should avoid this kind of food for my future heart health, but eggs are the food of the gods. I'm willing to trade in a few years for them.
    After I heat up the omelet, I sit in Nicole's spot at the kitchen island. The food makes me feel more awake.