The New Drug

Eyes of blue filled with lust for the needle she hovered inches above her skin. The syringe was filled with a purple liquid, the hottest new commodity on the drug market. 'Joy' they called it. Or, rather, that was the street name. The scientific name was much longer, some superfluous made up name that only geniuses can understand. It's cousins, which I also took tended to deal out, were Sadness, Love, Fear, and Anger. Their overall group name were called Emotions as they taught every student in middle school, these drugs had worse effects than narcotics and hallucinogens combined. 

I watched her with curiosity as she stuck the needle in the flesh of her shoulder, the purple liquid dissipating from the vial and flowing directly into her bloodstream. Her empty face soon turned into a wide smile and sparkly eyes in a matter of seconds. The transitions from sober to high was an transformation I never tired of watching. It always intrigued me, as someone who never shot up but only dealt, how quickly an empty expression can turn into something so different altogether, so different from the blank world around us. 

"Thank you so much!" The girl squealed--Erin was her name--and tossed her blonde hair behind her. She was one of my regulars, visiting me at least once a month.

"Er, you're welcome." I replied, cold as always. In a world where everyone was steady and calm, I still wasn't used to my clients' outbursts after they emptied their vials. She pushed towards me the remaining crinkled dollar bills she owed me and bounded into the night before I could count them. I stuffed the wrinkled pile in my pocket and watched it as she faded underneath the dark sky. I gave her a smaller dose this time, so she would probably be back in two weeks. 

I yawned and went to the back of my storage garage to check on my supplies. I kept them all in a freezer in the back, hidden from strangers or police offers. I counted the vials of purple, blue, red, pink, and yellow, nodding as the numbers added up in my head. I wouldn't have to restock for a while which was good. 

Apparently, our ancestors had these liquids produced in their bodies and had little control over them. Scientists wonder how they survived so long before the extraction, when they finally figured out how to remove Emotions for the better, leaving us as blank people. It was good, they insisted. And I believed for the most part it was. Crime did go down. After all, Anger had led to murder. Love led to adultery. Fear had led to assaults and hate crimes. Sadness led to suicide. And Joy? I twisted the purple vial in my hand. Truth be told, I didn't really know what crime Joy was associated with, but it belonged to the Emotion family so it had to be bad. 

After the extraction, there were some people who felt too empty inside. They claimed they were missing something. One of the men managed to get his hands on some of the extracted vials and he shot up what was inside. When he did so, he told everyone he felt euphoric. Since then, Emotions became the number one hard drug family on the market. 

Personally, I didn't believe in injecting Emotions myself. I didn't want my body to be in ruins like the horror stories they used to tell us in grade school. And I didn't sell because I was part of the weird liberal rally who protested the extraction. But I was desperate for money. When I was fourteen, my parents died in a car accident and I was forced to relocate to this stuffy garage unit, the only thing I could afford. After I graduated, I found a small part-time job at a pizza place, but I never made good enough grades to make a good pay. I needed more. So I started selling. Drug junkies paid good money, and I got to know my regular customers pretty well. People of every age and position came to me, wanting different vials for different reasons. I tried not to ask too many questions, but curiosity always did burn at me. 

The only risk I had was running into the police. Selling Emotions on the black market was punishable for up to 15 years in prison or $10,000 bail money. I couldn't afford that so I took my precautions, hiding the vials, only doing business with regulars and semi-regulars. I tried to avoid the suspicious neighbors, who didn't like me since my parents' accident. 

The next three days came and went without any customers. It was to be expected in the middle of the season. Summer was a dry time for drugs and I had already refilled all the usual summer clients. It was usually the stress of schoolwork and holidays that drove people to stick a needle up their arm. After the first day and a half, I decided to close the garage door to keep the heat at bay. The humidity tended to creep in every opening it could find and since I couldn't afford the Upgraded Ice Air Conditioning Unit every home had, I was drowning in sweat just sitting on my couch. I spent the next day sleeping, trying to find cool in my dreams whenever I could.

I woke to a loud banging on my garage door. I bolted up on the couch and curled myself into a ball, wondering if the police had found me. Fortunately, I left the garage light off to keep it cool, so maybe if I stayed quiet, they would leave, thinking no one was here.

The banging was incessant. Why wouldn't they leave? Maybe, I thought, starting to crawl on the floor, I should hide under the couch in case they found a way in here. 

Just as I was about to crawl under, I heard a voice squeak from the door. "Please let me in!" 

I paused. It was the voice of a girl. A teenage girl, no less. In fact, it kind of sounded like...Erin. What was she doing here? I just refilled her!

I hurried to open the garage door coming face to face with blue eyes that were brimming with tears. I frowned. That wasn't right. I was sure I gave her the purple vial, not the blue. She shoved past me and entered the garage, not bothering for an invitation. I turned around.

"What's wrong?" I asked, starting to wonder if all the drugs had adverse effects. My mind swept through all my clients I had recently refilled. Frankie, who needed Anger. Sergio, another Joy addict. And Willie, the only person I knew who liked to shoot up the blue vials. How were they reacting now?

"It's my parents, Declan," Erin replied, tears falling out of her eyelashes onto her lips. I watched the salt water bubble against her mouth and bristled at the sound of my name. I didn't usually give out my name; I had only told her once because she kept asking and she was high, so I thought she'd forget. "They...they kicked me out."

I didn't say anything for a moment. If I knew of anyone who had a rough time because of their addictions, they never came to me about them. But Erin was different. She was young, about two years younger than me, and different. Whenever she came to get Joy, she acted almost as if I were her only friend. But I did know how it felt to be without a home. I felt my chest rise with compassion. It was an unusual but not impossible feeling for someone sober. 

"You can stay with me for a while." I didn't realize what I said until I said it. But, I meant it. The sight of the crying girl addicted to Joy was something I couldn't soon forget.

"Really?" She brightened, heavy tears still trailing her cheeks.

I nodded.

Before I knew what was happening, she was wrapping her arms around me, hugging me tight. Cautiously, I placed my hands on the small of her back. 

"You don't know how I felt when they told me to say goodbye to my room and my siblings," she cried into my chest. "I never felt so lost in my own home."

My heart beat faster and I wrapped her in tight. My face flushed and I wondered what kind of response I was having. It felt like the symptoms I've read on the back of the pink vials. The Love Emotion. 

The worst part was I wasn't alarmed at my reaction. I rested my chin on top of her blonde head, wanting to cry with her, Maybe, I reasoned to myself, we should have Emotions. Maybe Emotions were good.