The sound of the front door opening and closing is my only warning that you’re home. Shit, I mentally curse, staring down at all the paraphernalia out on the coffee table. This is a big no-no.

It’s not like you’re unaware of what I do for work, you just don’t want to be involved in any sort of way. That includes not seeing all of it just laid out on the table like it’s some sort of scrapbooking material.

Wow, did I really just use a scrapbooking metaphor? What have you turned me into.

I immediately rush to cover the evidence. Sliding pills back into bottles, scooping ground up weed back into jars, and sweeping the coke into the teeny-tiny little bags—shit, bad idea! Bad idea! It blew everywhere! And I had it all lined up perfectly! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I’m so screwed.

I toss whatever I can into my ‘contraband’ duffle bag and zip it shut just as you step into the living room. I shoot up, standing pin straight like a solider, a nervous smile on my face. I probably look like a kid who just drew all over the walls with crayons and is afraid of getting sentenced to time out.

God, seriously, what is with me and these cheesy similes?

“Hi, sweetheart… Welcome—uhm… Welcome home!”

You smile back, but the look in your eyes tells me that you know exactly what I was doing. I’m not expecting you to get mad, or have that disappointed parent look, but I still curse myself mentally again. I hate the thought of making you feel uncomfortable with this shit. I try to keep you as separate from it as much as I can, but in a job like mine, bringing work home is kind of a given.

At least I’ve stopped doing deals in the house!

I slowly walk toward you, trying to distract from any lingering white powder flying through the air or any rogue pills. “How was your day, sweetheart? Want a drink? A nap? A nice warm bath?”

My rambling does nothing to help my case of innocence. I don’t even know why I bother, it’s clear you can see right through me. A sigh escapes me as my shoulders drop, giving up on the horrible act I was trying to sell.

“Are you mad…?”