A LaLa Land Addiction (18 page)

Bleu was in despair, and if she didn't get out of this hotel room soon she would lose her mind. She went to the window and pulled the curtains back just enough to see that the police were posted outside.
I told that stupid-ass bitch I didn't need protection,
Bleu thought. She picked up the cell phone Iman had given her and looked up the number to the hotel. She pressed *67 before dialing.

“It's a great night at Red Roof Inn. How can I help you?”

“I'm a guest at the motel and I heard gunshots from the room next door. I'm in the back building, room four-one-four,” she said. “Please. Oh my God, someone is screaming. You need to call nine-one-one.”

Bleu hung up and darted to the window to see if the officer assigned to guard would react. She knew that the clerk would call it in and the officer would be the first to respond to the scene. She needed him distracted so that she could get out of her room without him noticing. She waited anxiously until she saw the red and blue lights flash on the top of the cop car. He pulled off in the direction of the back of the property. Bleu grabbed her cell and slid out of the room, running down the stairs and away from the motel as fast as she could. Relief flooded her as she slowed down to avoid suspicion from people passing by. She didn't know who was serving in Flint, but she did know exactly where to go to find out. When Bleu was little, her mother had dragged her all over the city, going from one dope spot to the next looking for somebody to throw her a bone. If it was one thing Bleu knew, it was where to cop from and, more important, where to find hustlers who would give her something for next to nothing. It paid to be a pretty girl on the streets, and as much as Bleu wanted to get high, she would do just about anything for it.

 

16

Standing in front of the abandoned apartment building was like déjà vu for Bleu. A lot had changed over the years. The complex was now run-down and dilapidated and there was no one in sight, but from the dirty needles and used crack pipes that littered the parking lot she knew that other aspects of this place had remained exactly the same. She had been here so many times before. The complex sat in the middle of one of the city's busiest streets, but the dilapidated building in front of her was a place where only the scum of the city dared to roam. Its boarded-up windows were tagged in gang signs and doors kicked in. The winter winds whipped through the hallways so briskly that a whistling sound could be heard coming from inside. Some of the walls had holes big enough for the homeless to just walk right through, roaming from apartment to apartment. A shiver went down her spine as her mind drifted back to the last time she had wandered inside.

*   *   *

It was dark. Bleu hated the dark. It was always in the pitch-black that the bad things happened, and as she sat at the kitchen table waiting patiently for one of her parents to walk through the door she shivered slightly. The last time she had been in the dark, she had been asleep when she woke up to fingers that didn't quite fit in between her legs. Occurrences like that were common in her household. Her mother would often tell her she was sick, make her drink medicine that made her feel sleepy, only to wake up too groggy to fight off the predators who came into her room at night. Bleu still hadn't quite figured out if it was all a dream or if it was really happening, but either way, she had hated the darkness ever since. Bleu saw the other apartments out her window. Their lights shone brightly as if perfectly normal people lived inside, and jealousy filled her. She wished she lived in one of those houses where paying the light bill was a priority over smoking dope. She wished for a house like Noah's, which was filled with love and sometimes fussing but never fear. She stood to her feet and walked over to the kitchen, pulling out the junk drawer. She knew they had a lighter. They had those all day, but finding a candle proved more difficult. Her hands finally landed on a round wax candle and she lit it, sighing in relief as it cast a small glow. It wasn't much, but she could see in front of her now and that made her feel slightly better.

Bleu pulled out her homework and laid it out on the kitchen table as she focused. She squinted but kept going, despite the fact that she was working under the hardest of conditions. Bleu felt like her schoolwork was the only thing in her life that she could control. No one could take the things she learned away from her, and she valued that. Coming up in a home where everything came up missing, she made sure that she had one thing that no one could ever steal away. Her smarts. Her father could pawn TVs, her mother could turn in jewelry, and the local hustlers who served them both could come take a piece of Bleu's body, but no one could take her mind.

She didn't stop until the growl in her stomach grew too loud to ignore. Bleu knew then that it was time to go find her mother. She stood and checked the refrigerator just for good measure, but nothing but condiments and baking soda was inside. Nine-year-old Bleu was starving. She hadn't even eaten at school, because her mother had smoked up all her lunch money. She thought about going to Noah's to hang out, but Miz Monica would know that she had only come to eat. The last time, Bleu had scarfed her food down so fast that Ms. Monica had sent Bleu home with a plate for later. When her mother saw the food to go, she had given Bleu the worst ass whopping. “Don't put my muthafuckin' business in the streets. That bougie-ass bitch Monica sending you home with plates like I can't feed my own child,” she had said. Bleu had learned her lesson. She hadn't accepted a dinner invitation from Noah since. Bleu walked out of her apartment, headed to the hangout spot where Sienna and Wayne went to get high.

The apartments were alive with music and boisterous shit talking as the local dope boys stood outside, some enthralled in a craps game while others sat on the hoods of their nice cars. It was a party. They were living hood rich as their customers came to cop from them and then took their guilty pleasures into the basement of the building to use in private.

Bleu's young eyes bounced from face to face in search of her mother. Even Bleu's father would suffice, but he usually got high in private, so she didn't anticipate finding him. It was Sienna who liked to be on the scene. She was a beautiful woman with zero inhibitions, and whenever she showed up she smoked for free … or rather for fucks. She might not have dealt in cash, but she dealt in pussy, and each time she made a transaction she lost another piece of herself.

Bleu walked around to the back, not wanting anyone to notice her, but as soon as she rounded the corner she froze. The scene in front of her made her feel sick to her stomach. No child should have to witness her mother doing such things. Bleu didn't even understand or process what she was seeing. Her mother was bent over, her knees digging into the concrete so badly that they bled, as one man pounded into her from behind and her mouth wrapped around the length of another in front of her. A small crowd of young men cheered her on.

“Damn, she working for that shit. That bitch can smoke with me for free anytime,” one of the onlookers heckled.

Bleu was too horrified to do anything but run. What she had seen, happening outside, in front of everyone, frightened her. She ran all the way back to the projects, but instead of going home she went directly to Noah's door. She was crying, snot and tears mixing on her face as her small fists beat on the door frantically.

“What in the world…” Ms. Monica opened the door and Bleu ran into her arms, bawling her eyes out.

“Oh, baby,” Ms. Monica whispered, her own eyes misting as she held Bleu tightly. Ms. Monica was aware of Bleu's circumstances and could only imagine what Bleu had been through that had brought her there.

Noah came up behind Ms. Monica. “What happened to her?” he shouted, angry and emotional from seeing his best friend so distraught. “Ma!”

“Just go to your room, Noah!” Ms. Monica shouted as she held Bleu in her arms.

“But Ma—”

“Noah, now,” Ms. Monica snapped.

Noah gritted his teeth and stormed off, enraged, because he had never seen Bleu so hurt. The thought alone made him want to kill something.

Bleu cried her eyes out, for hours, unable to get the images of her mother out of her mind. They were burned there and would forever change the way she felt about not only Sienna but herself as well. Sienna was worthless, and because Bleu was her daughter she wondered fearfully if she was worthless too.

*   *   *

A tear slid down her face as she shook her head to clear her thoughts. Bleu had always been embarrassed by her upbringing. Thinking about it only allowed ghosts of her past to come back and haunt her. Her gut churned as she stood on the sidewalk outside the gate. She knew once she stepped inside she would never be able to save herself. Many souls had been lost inside these walls. Guilt filled her because as a little girl she had judged her mother for her choices. On the nights when Bleu had to rescue her mother from these raggedy halls she had felt nothing but hate and resentment, but she now understood. The monkey on her back urged her feet forward despite the fact that her mind was screaming no. She remembered her mother's words:
I'm sick. I can't help it, Bleu.
When Sienna had said those words, Bleu had dismissed her. It had sounded like nothing more than an excuse all those years ago, but today as Bleu stood, waiting to walk into hell on earth, she knew it to be true. Bleu had caught the sickness. Apparently it was contagious. The demon of addiction ran in her family. Two addicts had raised her and she had doomed herself to repeat the mistakes of her parents.

Bleu noticed that the habits of the local hustlers hadn't changed. They stood outside, popping big shit and laughing, carefree, as if the poison they peddled didn't ruin the lives of little girls looking on.

Bleu walked up to the guy who sat on the hood of his Benz AMG truck. He wore a Detroit baseball cap low over his eyes as he kicked shit with the men around him. Bleu knew this was his block. She could tell just by the way he carried himself. Bleu knew there was no point in approaching the others; he was the one who called the shots. She walked up to him, jittery and scared, not completely comfortable being back in the spot her mother had scoured for her next high. “You working?” she asked.

“Nah, shorty doo-wop,” the guy replied with a charming smile. “I don't know what you talking about.”

“Look, can you just front me something?” Bleu said, shifting from foot to foot as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I'll work for it. I'll do whatever you want. I just need a break, real bad.” Bleu had desperation in her eyes. Even thin and run-down she was still an attractive girl. It was just in her DNA to stand out. It was the one good thing she got from Sienna.

“What you doing out here?” the dude asked.

“Don't give me no shit. I'm out here buying what
you
selling. If there weren't niggas like you, there wouldn't be people like me. You feed the hood your poison. So are you really that much better than me?” Bleu shot back in frustration. She was tired of niggas acting like drug dealing was better than drug using. They were all trapped in the same game, in love with the same high; only difference was the dope boys got high off the power that they got from it. Bleu got high off the superpowers she felt when she used it. They all were hooked, Bleu just wore her addiction on her sleeve whereas the guy in front of her hid his inside.

“Not better, just different,” the guy said. “What's your name?”

“Bleu,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Messiah,” he replied.

“Now that the introduction has been made,” Bleu said, “you gon' help me out or what?”

“I don't want none of that dopehead pussy, doo-wop,” he said. “I'll look out for you, though. Pick your poison. You want H or C?”

“I ain't into shooting up,” she replied.

Messiah stood to his feet. “It really is a shame, doo-wop,” he said as he licked his lips and eased up off the truck. He got into his car, then hollered across the lot, “Yo, Tip! Bless lil' mama. Her credit on me.”

“Yup!” the young hustler called back.

Bleu stepped back, feeling the weight lifting off her slightly because she knew within a matter of minutes she would be back right. Messiah drove off and Bleu rushed over to pick up her package. No conversation was needed. Tip served her and Bleu walked around the back of the building as she looked for a place to enjoy herself in peace. As she passed the spot where she had seen her mother sell her soul Bleu's mind flashed back to that day. She shook the memory from her mind. The thought of it still caused a pit to form in her stomach.

Bleu walked inside, her heart sinking lower and lower with each step that she took. This was rock bottom. She knew it and somehow she still couldn't stop herself. She made her way inside, pulling back one of the boards that covered one of the apartment doors to squeeze through. The smell of trash hit her immediately. Rat droppings and dirty needles were scattered throughout. Her eyes were wide as adrenaline pulsed through her. She made her way to the back of the apartment and down the stairs that led to the basement. All the apartments connected to a shared space beneath the building. Bleu called it hell. It was where her mother used to come to party with her friends. Time had changed nothing. There were people everywhere, huddled in corners, some alone, others together, all chasing their own escape. The sound of broken glass crunched beneath Bleu's feet as she made her way inside. She grasped the dope in her pocket, holding on to it tightly. She was so anxious to smoke. She wanted to feel the euphoric rush so badly that it drove her crazy. She walked back toward the storage room where she used to find Sienna passed out. Time had caused the tables to turn. Instead of rescuing Sienna from a place she used to hate, Bleu now sought refuge there. There was something so devastating about the irony of it all. She found the room and entered one of the jail cell–sized spaces. Closing the door tightly, she sighed in relief before sitting Indian-style on the sticky floor. Her hands trembled as she loaded the straight shooter. The sound of the lighter flicking and the dance that the flame performed on the dark wall was hypnotizing. She got lost in the flame as she lowered her head. It was a process she had done so many times before that she no longer had to think about it. She barely even felt any pain as she took her first hit. The sensation hit her instantly, dulling the burn as the heat from the glass pipe sizzled her lips.
Fuck trial. Fuck rehab. Fuck Iman and California.
This was exactly where she wanted to be.