My stomach fluttered at this new development. Cocaine. Up until this point, my friends had only smoked pot and drank beer, although Pete admitted they sometimes dropped acid or ate magic mushrooms, neither of which I desired to try.
A fresh wave of panic flew through me. Cocaine was a heavy drug, way bigger than weed. What would happen if I did it? Would I become a junkie? Was it like heroin’s reputation—one time and you’re addicted? I didn’t expect this. My emotions and thoughts started warring. The pressure. The choices, or lack thereof. The desire to appear cool.
With resignation, I predicted exactly how this would play out.
Pete leaned over and whispered, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
Was he actually being nice? “I’m good,” I lied. Besides, I was a big girl. If everyone in the room was snorting coke, then so would I.
Reese handed the mirror to Jake, who opened the small packet and shook out some of its white flaky contents. He used a razor blade to manipulate the mound into the center and began chopping, the blade making a tinking sound every time it touched the glass. Jake formed the white powder into long lines while Reese rolled up a dollar.
Jake placed the mirror on the coffee table and used the bill to snort a line up each nostril. Everyone took a turn, until finally, it came to me.
I took the bill from Pete. Even though I’d paid attention to the technique, my guts churned at the thought of shooting this stuff up my nose. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself or worse, accidentally blow the cocaine all over the living room, or you know, die.
Here goes nothing.
I gathered my long hair in a wad over one shoulder, inserted the makeshift tube into one nostril—that’s awkward—held my finger over my other nostril, and sniffed. Nothing happened. Great.
“Try it without the coke first, Anna. Just see if you can make air go up your nose, like this,” said Jake, demonstrating.
I tried. It worked, giving me a new perspective. I bent over and gave the real thing another go. The substance shot up my nostril, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. My eyes watered, and I blinked rapidly. I succeeded in getting the second line up the other side then swiped the residue off the mirror with my index finger and rubbed it on my gums, mimicking the others. I handed the dollar bill back to Jake and sat back on the sofa, relieved to have the spotlight removed. Except everyone beamed at me, like we all shared an inside joke.
My mouth went numb, and soon after, my neck. The burning subsided, replaced by a thick, unpleasant residue dripping down my throat. I swallowed repeatedly to move it along, not that it was in any hurry. Is this all there is? If so, it’s lame.
A rush of energy streaked through my body, as if Zeus himself had hit me with a thunderbolt. Everything receded, replaced with an intense laser focus for whatever was right in front of me. Sounds, shapes, movements—I tracked them all. My heart thumped, amplified somehow, and I inspected my chest to ensure it wasn’t beating out of my chest. It would have scared me if I wasn’t so intrigued. I gulped my margarita, wondering if everyone experienced the same charge. If they did, no one let on.
We snorted two more rounds. The volume in the room escalated as multiple conversations started. Eyes glittered excitedly. Adrenaline surged.
I suddenly needed to do something, anything. I got to my feet, unable to sit one second longer. “Who wants to dance?” Not waiting for an answer, I began gyrating to a Talking Heads song.
I couldn’t discern Pete’s expression, but Jaime sprang to her feet and joined me. Jake started to rise, but Mary grabbed his arm and kissed him hard.
“Do you like it?” Jaime asked.
“I think so. It’s trippy, for sure.”
“Me too. I’m flying.”
Yes, flying.
We danced with unconstrained energy, moving our bodies to the music, oblivious to anyone in the room as if tethered in our own mini-universe.
“Who wants another line?” Jake called out.
He lined it up again as we crowded around, waiting for our turns. We repeated that scenario many times, my heart rate increasing with every snort of the biting white powder. Would I ever come back to Earth—and did I even want to?
People split off, talking animatedly in small groups. I went back to dancing.
Pete grabbed me around the waist. “I want to talk. Somewhere private.”
I took his hand, and he pulled me upstairs into the master bathroom. The pinkish hues struck me as feminine. Maybe Reese’s mother had decorated it before she divorced his father. The lights glared, hurting my eyes.
“You’re driving me nuts,” Pete said, his voice husky.
I blinked. Focus, Anna—pay attention. Everything moved at warp speed.
“You can’t move like that in front of these guys. They’re all thinking the same thing I was.”
“Which is?”
“I’d like to bang her brains out.”
Pete’s jealousy reared its ugly head again. I guffawed, not a very ladylike sound. “I doubt that.”
“I’m a guy, and I can tell what they are imagining. Jesus, you were all but humping the furniture.”
I glared, my lips pursed into a tight line. “That’s ridiculous! I was just dancing. Not stripping or trying to turn anyone on.” But come to think of it, I do feel kind of turned on.
“I don’t want to argue; I want to bury myself in you.” He unbuttoned his pants and pushed my head lower. “Please.”
I sank to my knees, taking him in my mouth and pleasuring him. He groaned, grabbing my hair and urging me deeper. My insides churned with sensations, obliterating
