My parents suddenly decided that this was the perfect time to pay me a visit. I hadn’t told them about Marjorie—and I sure as hell hadn’t mentioned our shared usage of heroin. If they found out, they’d both have aneurysms on the spot.
I paced the apartment, heart rattling in my chest, trying to imagine how I was going to hide all of this. The coke was still thundering through my bloodstream, making the walls tilt and breathe like the place was alive. Great timing, Mom and Dad, I muttered under my breath, running a shaking hand through my hair.
The worst part? They always showed up unannounced when my life was at its absolute lowest, like they had some twisted sixth sense for disaster. And right now, disaster was sitting everywhere—in the air, in my veins, in the damn carpet.
I glanced a
