Dancing with the Devil on Coke

I was 22 when I first began my love affair with coke. I still remember the highs cocaine would give me: thoughts of grandeur consumed my mind, Inhibitions waned, and conversations always seemed so much better with strangers. The days and nights spent skiing through the cocaine slopes were boundless and intense. I suddenly became the person I always wanted to be but didn’t have the courage in my sober state.

That year, newly single, and recently fucking some guy named Jared who was straight out of rehab for a coke addiction. He decidedly made the mistake of introducing me to his somewhat so called best friend Danny. Danny was short, 5”6 to be exact, blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, gap toothed, and a modern day apothecary. I remember first meeting Danny thinking “oh he’s cute” and then he opened his mouth, eviscerating all levels of attraction with his voice. Not only did he sound annoying but his whole demeanor echoed trailer trash.

Thankfully my drug needs did not discriminate against the dealer, just the drugs. I wanted drugs and he had the palette that satisfied my cravings.

Danny and I became instant friends, so close that we chose to excommunicate Jared from the mix because he was broke, a giant of massive proportions with a lot of needs to which neither of us had the bottomless pockets full of cash to satiate. So we cut our losses and formed our own little clique.

Danny opened my eyes to the world of cocaine – what started as a recreational habit of once a month quickly graduated into skiing on his wooden coffee table three to four times a week. Being my friend first and dealer last, Danny always covered the cost of all my drug needs, never expecting anything in return. He knew he could never get with a girl like me but having me around as arm candy raised his social profile. And since I raised his stock value it only made sense he satisfied all my coke needs.

Our relationship didn’t quite have a solid foundation. We didn’t share any common interests, we didn’t share the same friends, and frankly I never cared to learn his interests. But that didn’t seem to matter because he was looking to spend time with a pretty girl and I was looking for free drugs and through that our friendship flourished. Cocaine was our only and common denominator. We both loved it. He had it and I wanted it.

Months into our relationship however, I noticed Danny becoming irritable and angry. I always excused every male behavior with being horny and needing to get laid. I was right – Danny did need to get laid, and I happened to be on his radar. One night, consumed with frustration and hopped up on a cocktail of drugs He felt he was due his turn with me. Our noses deep in coke, he cornered me. Pushed me against the wall, Pressed his body against mine, stared deep into my soul with his piercing blue eyes and demanded that it was his turn. His words reverberating in my mind,

“When is it gonna be my turn Malice. When will be my turn …!”

Acting surprised and oblivious, I pretended I had no idea what he meant. What turn! I never agreed that sex was on the table in exchange for drugs. Yet, he continued to press me and said, “You talk about fucking all these losers all the time, meanwhile I take care of you like no one else. It’s only fair you fuck me too.”

Taken aback but not surprised, I pulled him off me and said I needed time to reevaluate our relationship. However I never did reevaluate it. I didn’t even think twice. I brushed it off as a bad drug night and hoped the next one would be better.

A few nights later, once again enveloped by a cocaine hurricane and feeling nice, that exact feeling of grandeur and rage overcame Danny. This time however he didn’t corner me, he just said calmly and non-chalantly and almost like a psychopath, “I’m going to wait until it’s my turn Malice,” again those words echoing through my mind – like Hannibal Lecter’s, “Hello Clarice” yet very cool and collected continuing to say, “I don’t know how long I can wait without just taking it. And you can’t blame me for what I’ll do bec I’m a man and you’re a sexy girl so either you put out or get out!”

Feeling concerned over his statement, I began to heed his warning. Maybe it was time to cut ties with Danny. Had I exhausted my love affair with coke. Was this the end? No, it couldn’t be, Not yet, at least. Seduced by the cocaine drip and in fear of losing my personal concierge coke dealer, I made an offer, significant enough to quench his thirst but insignificant enough to still retain some semblance of my dignity. I stipulated, In exchange for him covering the cost of our extravagant cocaine nights, I’d strip down to my bra and underwear each time, giving him just enough to keep him at bay.

Gluttony and lust driving our dynamic, that night I made a deal with the devil on coke. Little did I know that the devil and Danny were in cahoots and my little charade of “you can look but you can’t touch, you can touch but you can’t taste” would only temporarily satiate his insatiable hunger.

Parading around half naked only intensified his longing and desire. A month into our new arrangement, and spending the night at his place doing lines of blow into the morning, he cornered me again. This time pushing me onto his bed, his body firmly laying over mine, restraining both my hands, angrily staring into the core of my existence on coke and firmly saying:

“I don’t think this is working for me anymore. You’re probably fucking mad dudes on the side yet you’re my coke whore! So when is it going to be my turn…”

Brushing him off me and awkwardly laughing at his comment I said “Danny I’m not fucking anyone” — Lie!

“I’m actually celibate right now” and that was another lie.

“I don’t even have time to entertain any guys” — the lies just pouring out of me, meanwhile I fucking my next door neighbor every other weekend.

He seemed to believe me enough to not harass me the remainder of the night. Feeling relieved and satisfied to have extricated myself from his grasps, I went home thinking I’d milk this relationship for as long as I could and cut ties shortly after.

A few weeks passed before I saw Danny again. Life took over and My coke mistress was on hold. In that time, Danny incessantly pestered me for a chill coke night assuring me that he wouldn’t misbehave, he wouldn’t act up, he’d pay for the whole thing, etc – he just needed to see me. Drawn to the cocaine siren and missing her white luster, I decided to accept Danny’s offer.

We met early Wednesday evening, in February. It was a chill night as Danny said. He met me by the train station after work and took me to his place.

Arriving at his apartment, something felt off. The lights were dimmed, apartment was clean, and two eight balls on the table with lines neatly cut. The scene was set…

First few hours went by smoothly. We talked about all that transpired in the time spent apart. We were finally having a real conversation. Doing line after line however became redundant. It didn’t feel the same. Maybe I was phasing cocaine out of my life and hadn’t realized it yet. Maybe this was the pinnacle in my life where I realized that I needed to sever ties with coke and with Danny. I wasn’t sure what state I was in but I no longer felt that high that once consumed my mind and body. I started to feel paranoid, tired, internally exhausted, as if my body and mind had just completed an obstacle course and could not go any further. But I kept doing lines as Danny kept offering, chasing that luminous high, furiously chasing it because I needed to understand why it wasn’t there.

Feeding me line after line, Danny looked at me and said:

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I laced this coke with heroin and watched you die, and then Raping your lifeless body… I guess then it would finally be my turn Malice.”

That was the last time I did coke. But not because of what Danny said but because of what he did. He didn’t cut his coke with heroin like he said but with something else. Something I was allergic to.

Shortly after I became sick. Blisters on my skin resembling warts and welts. I couldn’t understand what was happening and I didn’t make the connection – suffice it to say, that was the end of my love affair with coke and the beginning of my exclusive relationship with Molly.

Although Coke was my mistress, Molly became my curse.

3 thoughts on “Dancing with the Devil on Coke

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s