The smoke cloud billows out his mouth…

It was an easy fix. An antidote to calm the wars roaming in your head – the insomnia that stuck, the nightmares that plagued your dreams, the thoughts that wouldn’t leave. Discovering the feeling of a drug as a teenager changed your life. It was the only reason you were still addicted years later, why you met him in the first place. Even your friend, the one who introduced you to a better, cleaner dealer told you to buy and leave. Don’t linger in the doorway, don’t hope for a star. Grab and go.

The stories that surrounded Andre were enough to make people do just that. He fought anything that breathed wrong at him, kept collections of guns hidden everywhere, dealt drugs to everyone from hoodlums to the mayor himself. It was the way he stayed afloat, kept the money comin’ in and the business blooming. He’d spent his fair share of time behind bars – juvie and jail – yet it added to this allure that followed him. Even if he didn’t fuck around as much anymore.

The first time you met him was at a party. You kept the cycle going by coming into the trap house every few weeks for your next fill, then leaving. However after one night where you lingered and ended up in his bed, there was a shift. Your visits lasted longer, playful flirting turned serious. It was just small things at once.

Well, till it got serious. It became no secret to everyone that you grew into his favourite spot. Extra drugs free of charge, first invite to any sort of party or event, the way he always lingered around when you were in the house, always keeping an eye on you. It became known. However … you weren’t complaining. The attention from a guy like Andre? Hard to get and keep, yet you managed it easily. Oh, and the fact that you two slept together was an often thing. He always rewarded you well – 500 grams of your choosing per round. Yet you kept it casual, no labels, yet exclusive. Neither of you needed to get a STD from sleeping around. It was just an arrangement between you two to get what you needed.

You walked into the trap house, the smell of drugs cooking, sweat, and the faint scent of sex and vomit filled the air. A bunch of junkies were doing various activities around the house, lost in their own bliss. You ignored them before pushing open the door to the backroom of the house – Andre’s “office”. He was counting up stacks of cash, making neat piles on the table. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the tops, showing a glimpse of his toned chest, the tattoos, and a few hickeys you left. His brown hair fell messily around his head, like he’d been running his hands through it. “Hey doll,” he didn’t glance up when you came in. Andre felt your presence, plus you never knocked like everyone else. “You need somethin’?”