Crank Series: Crank Part 14

Love is overrated. Besides ...

I couldn't believe his confession: No one can measure up to your mom.

I Even Spent Time at the Bowling Alley

He Hadn't Changed After All

But he wasn't such a bad guy, really. Not ambitious, true.

In fact, you might call him lazy, at least when the drug of the day was green.

Been smokin' pot since I was 13, couldn't quit if I tried. Besides, why try? It keeps me happy, mellow. Makes me eat too much, but oh, well.

The white stuff was a different story. He'd stay up all night, eating zip, bowling and snorting line after line.

Rent money, right up the nose.

We used to do c.o.ke, till "Just Say No" put the stuff out of reach. Now it's crank.

Meth. The monster. It's a b.i.t.c.h on the body, but d.a.m.n do you fly.

You Fly Until You Crash

Two.

days,

two.

nights, no sleep, no food, come down off the monster, you crash real hard.

Dad Crashed

Slept twelve hours, got up for a drink and a pee, slept six more.

Good thing it was his day off.

But was it always his day off? Or did he sometimes go to work, mind folded down around exhaustion?

Did he sometimes blow off work completely, call in sick, notating on his calendar the Illness of the Day?

No bowling, no small talk, just plain, empty time, I walked down to the corner store for Pepsi and Cosmopolitan.

Guess who was buying cigarettes, copper skin glistening bittersweet summer sweat. One look, I was Play-Doh.

He Knew It, Too

He turned, flashed a drop-dead-in-your-tracks gorgeous grin.

Hey, Bree.

His voice dripped honey and cream, irresistible poison.

You been avoiding me?

I plead not guilty, argued spending time with my dad.

All-night bowling?

He knew too much. I fumbled for change, came up short.

No worries. My treat.

He paid for my Pepsi, asked if he could walk me back.

I'll be good. Honest.

Hip brus.h.i.+ng hip, his hand slipped around my waist.

You on your own today?

Heartbeat bombs went off in my head.

Spectacular.

Can we talk awhile?

His Mom Was at Work

We went to his apartment, a nice quiet place to talk awhile.

Mind if I light up?

What could I say? It was his apartment.

His lungs.

Bad habit, I know.

I watched hands, hard and etched like granite, light a match with finesse.

Do you have any bad habits?

I could have made up something.

Instead I shook my head.

Want any?

I wanted him. Bad enough. I reached for the cigarette in his hand.

You don't smoke, do you?

I took a small puff. Struggled like h.e.l.l not to cough.

Or throw up.

Careful. You'll get sick.

So I did the sensible thing. Took another drag. Felt better.

Come here, Bree.

He pulled me close, locked my eyes, tilted his face just a fraction.

Then I really felt queasy.

He Wanted to Kiss Me

I felt it with every nerve, every fiber, every molecule of my being.

I wanted him to kiss me, with every nerve, every fiber, every molecule of my being.

But I was scared to kiss him.

Every nerve, every fiber, every molecule screamed!

He leaned forward, parted those perfect lips.

At that exact moment, every single thing about my life changed.

Forever.

First Kiss