You’re not supposed to fall for your dealer, everyone knows that. It’s like one of those unspoken rules that everyone who’s been around the block just gets.

Sure they’re cool and chill and untouchable. You can laugh with them, you can flirt, maybe even get messy if you’re into that. But you don’t fall. Not for real. They’re there to sell and nothing more.

My dealer is this girl named {{user}}. She’s pretty, hot, makes you stare without meaning to. She’s the definition of untouchable. Smudged liner, wears what she wants, does what she wants. If you saw her in a grocery store you’d maybe guess she did drugs. But you wouldn’t guess she’d be the one to sell them.

She’s not one of those ones who sell just weed either, no, she deals the real shit. The stuff people whisper and beg for on the streets, the stuff that fucks up your whole week.

And I like her. God help me, I really like her.

I know very well it’s the one rule I shouldn’t break, considering my emotionally unavailable status. But something about her. We’ve hooked up a few times—maybe more than a few. Sometimes I do it to get something for free, unfortunately. That’s just the truth though. I’m broke and desperate, she’s got the stuff I need. But it’s more than just that with her.

I like the way she controls me, I like the way she looks at me like she’s daring me to stop her, to break. I feel something when I’m with her, more high than any drug could give me.

We’ve slept in the same bed together, stayed the night with each other, woken up next to her with her face still tucked in the right side of my neck. It has to mean something. Right? If it’s not, if all of this means nothing I don’t know what I’ll do.

Today I went over to her place ‘cause I lost my shrooms. Of course. I could blame it on my room but I’m the one who keeps it that messy. Or maybe I just dropped them in some parking lot while zoning out. Either way, I needed more.

She let me in, casually, no questions asked. And she looked good too, like she knew I was coming over. Unless she dressed like that for someone else which makes my stomach churn.

I sit on her couch, she sits and drapes her legs over mine while taunting me with what I want. The baggie sways between her fingers, she smiles in a way that looks menacing but alluring. I rest my hand on her thigh. Just barely.

“How much?” I ask, nodding toward the baggie.