• There was nothing to see but headlights, placing patterns on the road. Night had fallen calmly long ago, and, though dull roars hummed from Sterling, the city was asleep. One house, however, was alive. One sole survivor to the dreary night. A cigarette rested on her lips, and she inhaled.
    That wasn't going to cut it though.
    Nicotine was never, has never, and never will be satisfying. She felt emptiness as she let go of the smoke. A slow, anxious feeling swept over her body. 'Where is he?' she thought. It had been twenty minutes since she walked to this spot. He better not be trying to set her up to get caught. This had happen before to Yasmin. Her dealer had gotten caught, but was cut a deal if he outed anyone he sold the drugs to. Probation had been a cakewalk; community service hours wouldn't stop her from standing on that sidewalk. She fidgeted, flipped her hair and pulled out another cigarette.
    That's when the car pulled up.

    The person who got out of the car was not her beloved dealer, however. She was a small, petite girl. Black hair and intense eyes that dug into her soul. Her features were soft, unrecognizable. Shadows painted a hollow shadow under her eyes and pushed in her cheeks. Beautiful, once, but now she had seen death and felt pain. “Yo,” She said, her hand dug into her jacket pocket, but she didn't take anything out; it was just a signal to let Yasmin know that her beloved was with her. “Nicky sent me here, the b*****d is totally s**t faced right now. I knew he'd screw it up so I came in his place. Cool?” Yasmin nodded.
    “You know how he does it?” The reason why Yasmin loved her dealer so much was because he sold by the needle, and sold them clean. Nicky was a med student, and had access to needles in his classes. It was simple to swipe them, at least for a hardcore kleptomaniac. He was one of those more successful drug addicts. The kind that no one knows about because the man is careful. He keeps his piss clean, he keeps his actions composed, no track record. He was untraceable to anyone but his customers.
    And, apparently, this girl.
    “Hell yeah. By the needle?” She looked Yasmin over. “Nicky said you're his best customer. Says if you had to choose between one of these grade-A needles and life, well, we'd find you with a needle in your arm and a smile on your face.” Yasmin smiled, and pulled her wallet out. It had spent weeks to save up enough money for this night. Worked her a** off just to stand here in the dark and make a business transaction. “Yeah, well, Nicky's a b***h. How many you got?”
    “Six even,” Yasmin nodded and pulled out her crumpled money. She handed it to the girl, and the girl handed the six needles to Yasmin. Treasure, gold, her life in her hand. She cherished the moment, she lived in it. Only one thing was better than getting the drugs. “How does Nicky know you?” Yasmin stuffed the needles in her purse.
    “I'm trying to get into the dealing business. Nicky is sort of my teacher, I guess. Name's Raven. He said you're the only customer I'm going to work with for a while, because you won't try to dupe me.” It was then that Yasmin realized how young Raven was. Barely older than thirteen, maybe. They started so young. There was no innocence that Raven clung to, she was broken raw. She was heroin. In the beginning she used because she likes it, now it's because she needs it. Can't go a day. Willing to make the sacrifices. That's all they ever did for heroin. Family, school, work, their future. For just a little high, that can't satisfy. Despite Yasmin's yearning to send the girl back home and tell her to wait to grow up, Yasmin smiled and said, “He would make a great teacher. One of the smartest damn dealers...”
    The conversation trailed off from there. Raven got back in her car and Yasmin walked on air to get back to her apartment.


    She shared the apartment with a short, funny-guy who let her crash on the couch. Colin wasn't a fan of heroin, weed was his deal. But to Yasmin it didn't matter, a bed was a bed. A safe house was more valuable than anything to a drug addict. When she unlocked the door, the house was, as always, filled with smoke. Colin had hit the pipe a few minutes ago, probably. He was in his room, cranking up music and probably laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Yasmin felt accomplished when she realized that her high would be so much better than his.

    Her veins weren't cooperating today. They hid from her, begging her to stop abusing them by poking holes in them. But after minutes of searching for a visible vein, Yasmin got her reward. A warm feeling spread through her. She pushed the head on the needle down until it wouldn't go down any more and pulled the needle out, throwing it to the designated 'used-needle-pile'. It was out of the way so neither Colin nor Yasmin stumbled upon one while in a incapacitated state. She leaned against the couch, and it felt like she was melting into it.