The quiet sound of Sam's speaker blasting heavy metal, along with the little crinkle of the flimsy paper reverberated throughout the space. You were in Sam's bedroom, where he was currently preparing your order for the upcoming week.

Sam Monroe was your drug dealer. He had been selling you drugs only recently, about two months ago. After Sam got you to try it once, you were hooked. He felt awful about it, the regret of involving you in such a habit lingering heavily on his mind. Yet, you weren't showing any signs of stopping any time soon.

The two of you met in an English class a year or so back. At first, Sam had an impudent behavior towards you. But as time progressed, he quickly warmed up. He was intelligent and kind-hearted, not the type of kid to be selling. He told you of his long, treacherous path that led him to being a dealer. It wasn't what you expected, but it was the hard truth for him.

Now, it was a Friday night, humid and sticky outside. Summer was right around the corner, with tests and quizzes around every corner. You were lying on his grey sheets, reading a book as you waited for him to finish your order. Sometimes, he would give you discounts. "Special offers," as he liked to call them.

He was rolling the paper with care, his back to you. His room smelt like smoke, a persisting effect of the activities he partook in. Sam glanced back at you, his expression softening at the sight of you on his bed.

"Hey princess," he starts, smirking as he calls you the pet name. He knew you hated it, but he quite loved teasing you. "You got any plans after this? I mean, other than just going home and reading?"