A LaLa Land Addiction (14 page)

Cinco pulled out a bag of weed and a cigarillo. “Sit down. Relax,” Cinco said as he rolled up. “Give me the shit.”

He laced the weed with the rocks and Bleu shook her head. “I don't mix it,” she said. She was antsy. Her foot tapped nervously against the floor as she crossed her arms and watched him work.

“You don't really got a choice now, do you?” Cinco shot back. It was the first time he realized how bad she had it. He had thought her drug use was recreational. All the times he had seen her high, she had been the life of the party. Dancing on tables in clubs until 5:00 a.m. or partying with friends. It had all been social. Everybody in L.A. got lifted. It was a way of life in Hollywood, but the girl he saw in front of him was so desperate to get high. Too desperate. She was a crackhead, and if Cinco had a conscience he would have thought twice about what he was encouraging. He had zero fucks to give, however, and handed her the laced blunt.

“Enjoy,” he said sarcastically.

“You not on this with me?” she asked, trying to pretend as if she didn't want every single morsel to herself.

“Nah, that's not my preference. You have fun now and I'll have fun later,” he said, grabbing himself obnoxiously and reminding her that there was a hefty price to pay for getting high off his supply.

Bleu fired up and within minutes she was in outer space. It felt so damn good. So much pleasure … intense … sinful … unadulterated.
Oh shit,
she thought. She had forgotten what it did to her. Her clitoris swelled and she felt herself orgasm without any stimulation. If this was the sin that would send her to hell, it was worth it.

Cinco's manhood hardened at the sight of Bleu. She had forgotten he was even in the room. Cinco was going to keep her high until he was ready to use her to get back at Iman. In her right mind she would never go against Iman, but with Cinco in her ear, slowly filling her with animosity, it would only be a matter of time before she agreed to the plot Cinco was manufacturing.

 

11

“Bleu!” Iman's voice carried through the condo as he entered. It was the middle of the day, but nothing moved inside. “You here, ma?” he asked. He walked back to the master bedroom to find the room cloaked in darkness. The blacked-out shades were drawn closed, letting no light inside. The smell of weed permeated the room.

A mixture of worry and fury pulsed through him as he marched over to the drapes and pulled them open. Bleu was sprawled out on the bed, naked, her face peaceful as her chest rose and fell softly with the rhythm of her breathing. His eyes fell on to the ashtray that sat on the nightstand. As soon as he saw the roach inside he gritted his teeth in anger.

“Get up!” Iman growled as he snatched the covers off of her.

“Hmm,” Bleu moaned groggily.

“Get up!” Iman repeated as he grabbed her feet and began to pull her out of the bed.

“Let me go! What is wrong with you?” Bleu screamed in alarm as she hit the floor with a thud. Iman had come by unexpectedly and her heart beat furiously as she looked around in anticipation to see what evidence she had left lying around. Seeing the disappointment in his eyes made her heart fall into her stomach. She was sick because now that he had come back around she could see that his intentions were never to harm her. She couldn't be trusted by herself for two weeks.
What have I done?
she thought.

Iman was usually a man of composure, but he was so livid that he picked up the ashtray as he shouted, “What's this? Huh, ma? You in here getting high?” He threw it aross the room, shattering it against the wall. Bleu jumped and stood to her feet in defense.

“No! It's just weed!” she lied. She knew she looked a mess. She had gone on a three-day binge, alternating between smoking and letting Cinco have his way with her. She couldn't even remember if she had washed Cinco's stench off her body before she had passed out in her bed. She stood to her feet and ran her fingers through her hair. Insecurity filled her as she saw the doubt in Iman's eyes. She had never seen him so angry. He had never spoken to her without love lacing his tone, but today the bass in his voice was terrifying. Bleu knew that Iman wouldn't strike her. She didn't fear him in that way. She feared being ostracized by him and having his love stripped away without warning. Despite her destructive behavior, she truly did not want to lose him.

“I don't give a fuck if it was a cigarette! You don't smoke shit in my crib. You know your situation. Weed ain't just weed with you, ma!!” He was shouting, something he never did. “How are you getting this shit? Huh? I don't leave you with no paper. Who sold this to you? You gon' make me dead one of these little niggas for bringing shit to my crib.”

Bleu was glad she had thought to hide her last few rocks beneath the mattress. If Iman knew just how badly she had fucked up he would really flip his lid.

“No one!” she shouted. “I bought it from some white kid at the mall!” Bleu was making it up as she went along, adding false details to make him believe her.

“Wake the fuck up, Bleu,” Iman said passionately as he grabbed her shoulders, trying to shake some sense into her. “You're an addict. I've been sugarcoating this shit and trying to help you through it, but I'ma give it to you real, ma. You're a fucking crackhead. You're no better than bitches on the street that swallow dick in order to get high. You can't smoke weed. You can't smoke shit. I can't even trust you around a medicine cabinet. The shit is serious. Do you know what you're doing to me, ma?” Iman released her and stormed out, headed for the door.

Bleu ran after him. “Iman, wait! Please!” She grabbed his hand as he reached for the door, squeezing her body between him and the exit. He pushed her out of the way, but she stood her ground, refusing to let him leave.

“Move out of the way,” he said in a lower tone.

“No,” she said sternly.

“Move,” he said again, losing patience.

“No! Iman, no!” she shouted, this time pushing his chest. “I was stupid. I was bored and I did some dumb shit. I was going crazy here. I hadn't heard from you. You didn't come by. You weren't answering my calls. For the first time since I met you, I felt like I wasn't important to you. I acted out. I didn't even like it. It was just something to do and I'm sorry. I promise you, Iman, I'm not going back to how I used to be. You have to believe me!”

Iman stared at her. His mind told him one thing while his heart said another. The two were in direct conflict when it came to Bleu. This young, wild, reckless girl had her hooks in him so deeply that he was acting out of character. All the signs were there to tell him that she had fallen off track. She couldn't be saved. He had never been a sucker for love type of nigga, but Bleu had snuck her way into his heart.

“I'll never do it again,” she promised.

Iman grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her to the couch.

“Sit down.” He said the words so sternly that she had to comply.

He sat across from her and tented his fingers under his chin. His forehead creased in contemplation as he let silence take over the room.

She dared not speak. She barely wanted to breathe. Anger radiated from him.

“You got to decide what type of woman you're going to be, ma,” he said. “Cuz if this is who you are, I can't fuck with you. If you gon' keep making the same mistakes, over and over, we might as well call this curtains. If you can't shake this shit solo you can go back to rehab. I'll finance it, but I can't make you. I can't be here every minute of every day—”

“But you weren't here at all,” she interrupted. “You keep trying to ship me off to rehab. Do you know how much support it takes to make it through rehab? I have no friends, no family. Just you, and you just dumped me there like I was supposed to just magically come out cured. No more crackhead Bleu!” she argued.

“I know and I apologize for that. I'll be better for you,” Iman said as he sighed in exasperation. “But you got to be stronger than this, ma. I can't be with a weak woman.”

“What don't you get? You're not with me anyway!” Bleu shouted. “You're with her! You're with your wife! So if I smoke weed, or meth, or crack, it doesn't matter! There's no reward for good behavior, Iman. Don't you get that you completely abandoned me?” she yelled.

He is my trigger,
she thought as the stress from it all just made her want to say fuck the world and get high.

“What do you want me to do?” Iman asked.

Bleu was spent. Mentally and physically, spiritually and emotionally … loving Iman drained her in every way. Sitting here arguing with him, lying to him. It all just took too much effort. It was futile.

“Right now I just want you to go. Or can I even put you out? Seeing as how you own everything in here,” she said sarcastically.

He didn't respond and she stopped her tirade. “I do love you, Bleu,” he said.

“I know,” Bleu replied. “But you just can't choose me. So what are were doing?”

“I don't know,” Iman said.

Bleu stood and walked to the door. She opened it, letting him know it was time to leave.

“You really putting me out my own shit, huh?” he asked as he walked up on her. There was no such thing as personal space when it came to their interaction. He was so close she could smell the scent of his aftershave. She could feel the tickle from his growing beard. When he exhaled she absorbed his breath, wishing it could give her life … strength.… Oh, how she wished she could be half the woman he thought she could be.

“I can leave if you don't want to,” she suggested

“I'll let you cool off,” Iman said. He kissed her. Deeply. The type of kiss that made her soul stir and caused tickles to creep up her spine.

“Come back when you're ready to make me number one. I can't do this, us,” she said, pointing between them, “not like this. So you have to choose. Tan or me.” A sadness swept over her. She knew what the outcome would be. Pitting herself against Tan, a woman he had been with for years, would end badly.

Iman left and she closed the door before she embarrassed herself by begging him to stay. Bleu headed straight to her bedroom and retrieved the rocks from under her mattress. She couldn't sit here feeling the things she was feeling. The despair, the heartbreak, the loneliness.
Fuck that.
Not when she could just make it all go away with one little …

 

12

Bleu didn't feel anything … not anymore. This had happened to her so many times that she was no longer disgusted with herself. She had given Iman a choice to make and apparently he had not chosen her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and to mask the sorrow that threatened to drown her she relied on drugs to see her through it all. It was either that or blow her head off. She figured self-destruction was better than suicide. Cinco gripped her hips so hard that his fingernails left impressions in her skin as he humped furiously from behind. There was nothing gentle about him. He fucked her. This wasn't even mutually gratifying. She was just a hole for him to get his rocks off and he inflicted more pain than pleasure as he pounded relentlessly. His sweat dripped on the small of her back and the smell of him, ugh. The scent of his flesh was the worst. He wasn't a dirty man, but everything about him made her sick to her stomach. The cologne he wore caused her stomach to turn. The stickiness of his perspiring skin was torture. The patch he wore over his eye creeped her out. His mentality was disgusting. His arrogance was a turnoff. His cruelty was sickening. Vomit tickled the back of her throat, but she held it in as his grunts filled the air. She wanted him to finish fast. Her fists gripped the sheets from the pain. With every thrust he was stabbing her insides. She was so turned off that she couldn't even get wet. Guilt filled her, but she was at his mercy. He had the power because he had the dope, and he hung it on a string above her head like she was a mule chasing a carrot. Cinco knew that she was more manageable when she was high, and whenever he came knocking with that rock in his hands she complied with his demands. It didn't matter that they were in the bed that Iman had purchased for her. All that mattered was that Cinco left her reward on the nightstand before he left. If this was the price to pay for her high she would do it every time. If this was what it took to forget that she was utterly heartbroken over Iman then so be it.

Cinco had been spoon-feeding her crack cocaine since the day Iman had left. Bleu hadn't heard from him since.
He hasn't even called to check up on me. Ugh! Stop thinking about him. Fuck him,
she thought. Bleu reached for the pipe that sat on the nightstand. Bleu needed a hit immediately. There was no way she could stomach Cinco's strokes without a bit of incentive. She fired up like an expert without ever missing a beat. The rock sizzled and Bleu inhaled the smoke, closing her eyes as she began to feel it. “Oh my God,” she moaned as she came to orgasm.

“Damn, shorty. That shit got wet,” Cinco said as he slapped her ass, stinging her as he wrapped his fists around her hair.

The dick would be decent if he weren't such a pig,
Bleu thought. She was tired of feeling him inside of her. He had been chasing a nut for over half an hour and he still hadn't cum yet. Bleu sank her chest all the way to the bed, which caused her behind to stick up higher and her flower to open wider. She threw it back at him, matching him stroke for stroke.

“Damn. Hell yeah. Throw that shit,” Cinco cheered her on.

Bleu rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder. “Hurry up,” she said impatiently.

She could feel Cinco's pace quickening. “Pull out,” she said. She tried to get up, but he pushed her down, gripping her neck tightly. Flashbacks of the first time he had raped her erupted in her mind. That night on the beach when he had drugged her was the night that she had become his pawn, whether she knew it or not. “Pull out!” she cried. Simply because she had asked, he refused to. She felt him empty himself into her and she cringed.