I drove Scott to Justine’s house that night. He had no other place to go. Justine wasn’t there anymore. She had become an addict and was gone all of the time.
The next day, Scott and Justine’s dad sat me down. They explained that Justine was cripplingly addicted to meth and that they were worried about her. They asked if I would be ok if they shared a room together. Her dad would rent a room at a music venue, mostly used for traveling bands. I protested, but her dad promised that their relationship would be platonic, and Scott told me that I could choose for him to either live in a park bathroom or a real place with a roof and a bed. My choice.
They flirted a lot for just friends. I felt like such an idiot sitting there. But most of the time she was gone. And these were special times. Just the two of us. Against the world. And one day, Justine moved out.
Scott bought a blunt from someone he barely knew and we smoked. I sat watching a pink laser show and later finding out that the blunt was laced with PCP. Oh.
Everyday, I picked Scott up in the morning, and he would wait for me while I was in class. He wanted to be nearby, in case I slipped up and talked to someone. I didn’t dare. For all I knew, he still had spies.
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