Wanted drugs stories

mollyfaith9 Bit of a witch
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
I lift my arms in the air, twirling. The bass thrums through my feet, my calves. I sway my hips, tip my head back. Laugh.


I lift my arms in the air, twirling. The bass thrums through my feet, my calves. I sway my hips, tip my head back. Laugh.

I'm laughing

I'm laughing laughing

I'm laughing laughing laughing.

Addictive. This feeling is addictive. I want to live in this bubble forever, happy and light and free.

I tip my head back even further, feeling the sweat bead on my skin. The air is grey and hazy from the smoke machines. I can hardly even see my own hand in front of my face.

I take a sip of my drink.

When someone comes up behind me, I let them. I let them dance close. I don't stop them when they place a hand on my waist, when they whisper filthy things in my ear.

Why would I? Why would I stop them?

It is nice, to be wanted.

The hand on my waist pulls me in, turning me around. We dance front-to-front, the strobe lights playing across our bodies in a kaleidoscope of colour.

The glitter on my face is wet, like tears.

The boy dancing with me leans in close. "Come with me," he says.

I follow him from the dance floor and through into a back room. A karaoke set sits abandoned in the centre of the space, along with a small coffee table.

A few girls in skin-tight dresses sit on the sofa that hugs the far wall, cradling their drinks.

"Here," says the boy, a hand still on my waist. He leads me to the coffee table, then pulls out a little baggie, filled with a white powder.

He tips the powder out of the baggie and sets up a few lines on the glass coffee table, then produces a straw from his pocket and holds it out to me.

I waver for a moment, unsure. "I don't know if I should," I say.

"You will," the boy says with confidence. "Girls like you always do."

I take the straw from him, place it in my right nostril, and inhale.

I lean back on the sofa, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. Already, I swear I feel the effects of the cocaine. Electric. I feel electric.

The boy beside me sets up his own line and snorts. His eyes when he glances up at me are bleary. "You're so hot," he says.

I laugh. "I'm fucking electric," I tell him, then laugh again. I'm happy. So happy.

It won't last. But I'll enjoy it while it does.

The boy places a hand on my waist and leans in.

I let him.

As I said, it is nice

As I said, it is nice to be wanted.

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