st_fornicate
Sinful Salvation
- Joined
- Sep 24, 2010
- Posts
- 2,129
Tommy was sitting in his old, beat-up pick-up truck just a few blocks away from the church. Today was the big day. It was his mom and step-dad's ten-year anniversary. They were renewing their vows in the church before God, family and friends that afternoon, there would be a big boring party for them at the house that evening, and then they were heading off on their second honeymoon.
Carefully, methodically, Tommy loaded his small glass hashpipe to the brim with some dense, leafy marijuana. He sparked his lighter and lit the weed, inhaling deeply of the sweet smoke, closed his eyes, held it in... The haze settled in quickly. Another big hit, and another, and then the small bowl was cashed out. He ashed it away out the window before putting the piece away in its secret hiding spot, then reached into the jacket of his blazer and pulled out a small metal "bullet", a little device that with a twist, a click, and a quick sniff would deliver a healthy small dose of cocaine right into his nasal cavity. He took one bump up each nostril, snorted heartily, and felt the rush.
Much better.
He laid his head back as his high took over for a bit. He sat there and smoked a cigarette; his parents knew he smoked and hated it, but it did a great job of masking the smell of the weed. He drank a slug of whiskey from his flask, which evened everything out, then keyed the ignition and headed up to church, arriving just on time. He ran a hand through his long, curly dark mop of hair, his brown eyes sharp in spite of his chemically-altered state. He had naturally deeply tanned skin and a devilishy charming smile that he hardly even knew he possessed. He stood almost six feet tall, and had the "skinny guitarist" build, because, well, he was a skinny guitarist.
His mom had married well. He had been eight when she had married Ken, and his memories of his biological father were few, as the man only ever showed up when he was sober enough to remember he had a son. Tommy hadn't seen him at all since his mother, Danielle, had married Ken. Ken was a vast improvement to their lives, Tommy knew that. He and his mom had lived in a tiny apartment before then, and now they had a big house out in the suburbs, and a decent upper-middle-class life.
So why the drugs? Tortured artist syndrome? Good old-fashioned teenage rebellion? Probably something in-between. Tommy had always been a trouble-maker (it was a miracle he never wound up arrested!), and this was a natural next step, perhaps. He was the bad kid in the family, while his step-sister, well, she never got in trouble at all...
Carefully, methodically, Tommy loaded his small glass hashpipe to the brim with some dense, leafy marijuana. He sparked his lighter and lit the weed, inhaling deeply of the sweet smoke, closed his eyes, held it in... The haze settled in quickly. Another big hit, and another, and then the small bowl was cashed out. He ashed it away out the window before putting the piece away in its secret hiding spot, then reached into the jacket of his blazer and pulled out a small metal "bullet", a little device that with a twist, a click, and a quick sniff would deliver a healthy small dose of cocaine right into his nasal cavity. He took one bump up each nostril, snorted heartily, and felt the rush.
Much better.
He laid his head back as his high took over for a bit. He sat there and smoked a cigarette; his parents knew he smoked and hated it, but it did a great job of masking the smell of the weed. He drank a slug of whiskey from his flask, which evened everything out, then keyed the ignition and headed up to church, arriving just on time. He ran a hand through his long, curly dark mop of hair, his brown eyes sharp in spite of his chemically-altered state. He had naturally deeply tanned skin and a devilishy charming smile that he hardly even knew he possessed. He stood almost six feet tall, and had the "skinny guitarist" build, because, well, he was a skinny guitarist.
His mom had married well. He had been eight when she had married Ken, and his memories of his biological father were few, as the man only ever showed up when he was sober enough to remember he had a son. Tommy hadn't seen him at all since his mother, Danielle, had married Ken. Ken was a vast improvement to their lives, Tommy knew that. He and his mom had lived in a tiny apartment before then, and now they had a big house out in the suburbs, and a decent upper-middle-class life.
So why the drugs? Tortured artist syndrome? Good old-fashioned teenage rebellion? Probably something in-between. Tommy had always been a trouble-maker (it was a miracle he never wound up arrested!), and this was a natural next step, perhaps. He was the bad kid in the family, while his step-sister, well, she never got in trouble at all...
