Sharon starts hanging with tweekers

I was living in an apartment with Sharon, and she was able bodied, if not employed. I think I was, which added to my indignance when I discovered that she was having a couple of shiftless loser druggies over while I was at work. 

 

It started when I saw the glass pipe sitting on the little table in our bedroom. I sniffed the pipe but like good tweekers they had cleaned or smoked the residue right down to nothing. But as a pot smoker, I was savvy about the difference in the equipment. 

 

I went into the living room and found Sharon cleaning the walls with Windex. Yep. Tweeking. 

 

I began the unpleasant chore of confronting her about the drug usage. As a jealous husband type, I wondered about the possibility of a sexual component to the already duplicitous arrangement of having guys over for drugs behind my back. I mentioned it, and she somehow allayed my suspicions. 

 

I was somehow aware that I wouldn't have been that easily convinced in real life. Sharon really liked sex. She wouldn't be just doing drugs if there was an opportunity of doing drugs AND having sex. She was just that kind of animal. But somehow we got past that for the moment, and I just focused on my dissatisfaction with her choice of friends.

In a few minutes they arrived back. There were a few moments of unpleasant introductions where I was a few seconds from tossing them out just on general principals. I didn't abide tweekers, as I don't in real life. But I didn't want to be an unreasonable dick, so I waited to see what their plans were. 

 

They tried to assuage me with promises of beer and empanadas. They told me to chill, and they'd buy some dinner, and I could just kick back. But if I did so, I'd be approving of their other activities, and I wasn't having it. So, I sat there, kind of pouting and not really taking part but not quite willing or able to eject them from the apartment.

Presently, they had to make their "food run," which I knew was code for drug acquisition. It turns out I was right. 

 

"Fine," I said, "Just go." 

 

But Sharon wanted to go with them, and I wasn't too happy about that. 

 

"Why do you need to go?" I asked her with displeasure in my voice. She offered some kind of less than reasonable excuse, but I was forced to buy it out of respect for our relationship of trust.

I became like a disembodied observer, not present but able to see their little escapade of drug acquisition from some etheric vantage point. They were breaking into a prison by climbing over the electric fence. 

 

I watched, amazed at their determination as they climbed up and over, enduring the shocks but saying, "Ouch. Ohh. Owww," the whole way. Even the inmates in the prison yard were impressed. No one climbs the fence to escape, and here these knuckleheads were breaking IN.

Meanwhile, the guards noticed that something was afoot, and out came the automatic weapons. Someone, I believe it was Sharon, had begun firing into the yard as a distraction. 

 

Soon there was a full on gun battle and melee ensued. This was the diversion for which she was conscripted. It was like watching some terrorists trying to achieve some objective through the most desperate of means. 

 

I tried to protest but my ghostly observer status prevented it. I got mad and started planning my escape from this reality back to my real life, the one where I knew I'd be writing this down before the memories faded. This one. Here, now. Ughh.