Cocaine Hearts

Chapter 2

As we strolled through the charming streets of Ashley's neighborhood in Los Angeles, California, the gentle warmth of the fresh air enveloped us, providing some solace from the remnants of our hangover. In an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, I casually lit a joint, its fragrant smoke wafting around us as we ventured down an alleyway, our steps echoing against the walls. The previous night had left a chill in my bones, and I couldn't help but ponder if it was merely the effect of lying on damp grass.

"I must admit, I'm not particularly thrilled about returning to school," I confessed, exhaling a long puff of smoke before passing the joint to Ashley, who eagerly took a drag.

Her laughter filled the air as she teasingly responded, "Well, that's probably because you managed to rub every teacher on campus the wrong way last year."

I chuckled, trying to defend myself, "Hey, it wasn't entirely intentional..."

Ashley halted abruptly, her hands planted firmly on her hips, a knowing look in her eyes that spoke volumes. She knew me all too well.

"Okay, perhaps I did have a slight hand in it," I conceded, accepting the joint once more from her outstretched hand.

"But seriously," I continued, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "Mr. Watkins and Mrs. Burns totally deserved it."

Her expression softened as she handed the joint back to me, acknowledging my point. "I guess you have a valid argument there."

I shifted the conversation to a more optimistic note, attempting to find a silver lining amidst our impending return to school. "Well, at least we won't be freshmen anymore. That's something to look forward to, right?"

Her response carried a tinge of sadness, "True, but it's Zeke's last year of high school."

Perplexed, I quizzically inquired, "Wait, I thought he was just a summer fling for you. Do you actually have feelings for him?"

As I took a final, lingering drag from the joint, passing it back to Ashley, a sense of surprise washed over me. Ashley had always distanced herself from the complexities of relationships and labels. It was a wonder how we had become such close friends, given our stark differences. She excelled academically, maintaining a spot on the honor roll, while I preferred partying outside of school on the weekends. Nevertheless, our friendship had endured for over a decade, defying all odds.

"Yeah, a lot," Ashley responded, her voice filled with a mix of uncertainty and hope. "We decided to give it a shot and see how the school year goes together. If we have to part ways after that, well, I guess it is what it is, you know?" As she spoke, she struggled to suppress a cough caused by the lingering m*******a smoke.

I nodded, understanding her perspective all too well. "Sometimes, it's for the best," I agreed, memories of my own past relationship flooding my mind. Leaving Dallas had been one of the scariest and most challenging decisions I had ever made. Yet, it also brought about a sense of liberation, allowing me to finally embrace my true self and find enjoyment in life once more. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't let another relationship trap me until I was thirty, or maybe even never. I had had enough of those complications and expectations. f**k all of that.

Ashley looked at me, concern etched on her face. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened? I'm your best friend, you know I can sense when something is wrong."

I let out a heavy sigh, realizing that she would never let it go unless I shared the truth. "He was just being an asshole, that's all," I confessed, the weight of my past relationship settling on my shoulders once more. "He didn't like my guy friends or how I dressed or how much I partied. Eventually, it became a problem, and I had to end things. Simple as that." It wasn't entirely a lie either; the control and abuse had slowly escalated during our last few months together.

When we first met, Dallas seemed like the epitome of what I wanted in a guy. Tall, dark, and handsome, with tattoos and a motorcycle. He even had his own apartment. But as time went on, I realized just how terrible of a person he truly was, and I couldn't bear to be with him any longer.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out for you two," Ashley says, her voice filled with a genuine sympathy that made me feel strangely comforted.

I shrugged in response, a small, self-assured smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I'm not sorry. I'd much rather be single and content than trapped in a relationship that makes me miserable."

Ashley burst into laughter, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Spoken like a true stoner," she teases, throwing her arms around my neck in a friendly embrace.

We both turned around then, deciding to retreat back to the sanctuary of her house. We wanted to make the most of our last few days of freedom before the rigors of school life descended upon us. As we walked, I felt my earlier hangover start to fade, replaced by a sense of relief and light-heartedness that seemed to lift my spirits. At least one thing was going right today.

Those few precious days of freedom seemed to slip through our fingers like sand, as Ashley and I indulged in a blissful escape from reality. Nestled in the comfort of her room, we devoured junk food while binge-watching our favorite Netflix series. Time seemed to melt away, and before we knew it, the night before the dreaded first day of school had arrived.

Reluctantly, I bid farewell to Ashley's sprawling, picturesque abode. Her house was a haven, boasting a sparkling pool and a balcony right outside her bedroom, offering breathtaking views. In stark contrast, my own humble dwelling consisted of a cramped two-bedroom setup, housing just my mom, stepdad Martin, and myself.

It hadn't always been this way, though. We had endured a tumultuous past, marred by the presence of my biological father. His violent tendencies had nearly cost us our lives, but justice had prevailed, and he now languished behind bars. Martin, my stepdad, had entered our lives six years ago, bringing stability and a sense of security. As the Chief of the LA Police, he had built a reputation for being a compassionate and helpful officer, dedicated to assisting those in need.

At first, I had been skeptical of Martin, unsure of his intentions and whether he could truly make my mom happy. Yet, over time, I had come to appreciate his unwavering support and love. Despite his profession, I had anticipated that his strict adherence to the law would lead to friction between us. Surprisingly, however, he and my mom had agreed to turn a blind eye to my rebellious habits - the smoking and drinking that had become my coping mechanisms.

They had given me a chance, as long as I promised to maintain good grades and keep out of trouble at school. It seemed like a fair trade-off, and I was determined to uphold my end of the bargain. After all, they didn't want a repeat of the infamous incident when I had hotboxed a school bathroom, risking expulsion.

That night, sleep eluded me, as I tossed and turned, haunted by nightmares of Dallas's piercing screams and his relentless grip on my arms. When my alarm for school finally jolted me awake, I felt utterly drained, devoid of any desire to leave the comfort of my bed. Is this the relentless grip of PTSD, I wondered, as the weight of the night's terrors clung to my thoughts.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, I let out a groan and reluctantly pulled myself up from the tangled mess of blankets. Stumbling towards my closet, I mindlessly selected a pair of black ripped jeans and paired it with a simple white tank top, adorned by my trusty leather jacket and sturdy boots. My usually wild, blonde locks remained untamed, cascading freely around my face. Today, I opted for a more subdued look, refraining from my usual dark eyeshadow, thick eyeliner, and voluminous lashes. It was a rare departure from my signature style, but I hoped that by blending in, I could avoid attracting any unwanted attention, especially from Dallas.

Although I secretly wished for his absence, the incessant barrage of messages on my phone over the past two weeks made it clear that he would be there, undoubtedly waiting for me.

With a sigh, I made a beeline for the kitchen, snatching a cup of black coffee in my disposable Starbucks cup. I made my way out of the door, just as Ashley pulled up in front of my house with Zeke in his big, battered red Ford truck. I hopped into the passenger seat next to Ashley, muttering a brief greeting to Zeke. As I lit up a cigarette and took a hefty gulp of my coffee, I braced myself for whatever drama awaited me on the first day of school.

Granite Bay High, a sprawling institution nestled in LA, was teeming with roughly 5,000-8,000 students and staff members. The vastness of the school had led me to lose my way between classes several times the previous year, and I anticipated the same for the upcoming year. However, having Ashley in most of my classes was a relief, given her uncanny knack for navigating the labyrinthine school corridors.

As we approached the imposing pillars of the school, I barely registered the firm grip on my arm before I whirled around in surprise, instinctively recoiling. Dallas stood there, his dark hair now brushing against his intense green eyes. He was clad in a leather jacket reminiscent of mine, a sight that now churned my stomach. "Can we talk?" he murmured.

"No, go f**k yourself," I retorted, resuming my way into the school. However, Dallas swiftly pulled me aside, causing Ashley and Zeke to cast worried glances in our direction. I waved them off, assuring, "I'll handle it."

They hesitated, their eyes locked on Dallas before eventually disappearing into the school. Knowing Ashley, I was certain she wouldn't venture too far without me, especially after witnessing Dallas's forceful grip.

Dallas broke into my thoughts. "You haven't responded to any of my texts or calls," he complained, standing uncomfortably close. His cologne, the one I had gifted him last Christmas because I loved its scent, wafted into my nostrils. I was infuriated by his audacity. Why couldn't he just accept that we were over and leave me in peace?

"I made it very clear when I broke up with you," I responded, attempting to sound brave. "We're done, Dallas. Like, really done. No going back."

"Oh, come on, babe. We've broken up countless times before. It's never permanent. This time won't be any different," Dallas insisted.

"But it is different. You hit me. In the face. I can't be with someone like that," I asserted.

"Didn't you read my messages or listen to my voicemails? I apologized. I was just really drunk that night, you know?" he pleaded. "It won't happen again, I promise. You know me."

"That's the problem," I snapped. "I do know you, and you're a bully with a terrible temper. I won't be your punching bag anymore." I turned away from him, but he grabbed my arm once more, pulling me back. Before I could intervene, another voice chimed in from behind.

"Is there a problem here?" a familiar-looking boy asked. He stood tall with sandy brown hair and big brown eyes, his expression filled with concern as he awaited my response.

"Yeah, we're good. This doesn't concern you," Dallas replied, still gripping my arm and attempting to lead me away. However, I managed to wrench myself free.

"No, we are not good. Just leave me alone, okay?" I said, fighting back tears of anger, embarrassment, and a hint of fear towards Dallas. I pushed past the boy who had come to check on me and rushed into the building, seeking solace in the girls' bathroom. I needed to cry and catch my breath before the first class bell finally rang. Fortunately, my best friend was already waiting there to comfort me.