Memoirs of a drug dealer's girlfriend
Three things to consider when becoming romantically involved with a dealer (from personal experience)
ā¢ There are no such thing as work hours. It could be 2 am or midnight, and someone will still be desperate enough to send that text or snapchat begging for a dimebag or a bump of coke. And when they do, whether youāre on a date or fucking or eating dinner with his family, heāll get up and go because thatās his job. Heāll throw some cash on the table to cover the Buffalo Wild Wings bill or heāll kiss you on the cheek, grab yesterdayās jeans off of the floor, and get pissed when he canāt find his keys and wallet in the bedsheets. Youāll learn to hate the ringtone of his phone, as everyday activities are interrupted by druggies looking for their next fix. Eventually, youāll find yourself tagging along with him on car rides to meet strange people in quiet places, just so you can spend a little time with him. All of this is because dealing isnāt just a job. Itās a lifestyle, and itās one that knows no such thing as vacation days.
ā¢ Youāll be expected to adapt and mold yourself into whatever the situation calls for. When the two of you are alone, youāre the playful, sexy girl he met in psychology class last year. You bring him takeout food to his part-time job and feel him up while heās working on homework. Youāll roll blunts in bed together and hold his hand while youāre walking the dog. Youāll get into a tickle war, which turns into a full-fledged wrestling match from the bed to the floor to the couch, and only stops when the two of you roll into a stack of hundred dollar bills. Heāll jump up and start cursing as he obsessively gathers and counts his money, just to recount it again two more times. Around his family, youāre the sweet, quiet girl who works two jobs to put herself through college. His mom asks you questions about school and your family, and youāll answer even though you know she isnāt listening. His little sister adores you because you read her Disney books before bed and you curled her hair for her kindergarten graduation. Youāre the epitome of the girl next door. But when youāre around his customers, everything changes. Youāre a chess piece in a much bigger game. He keeps you on his arm to symbolize his strength. Youāre the polite yet distant girl with a nice ass, and his customers will simultaneously fear you and dream of fucking you. Youāre not just there for him to show you off, though. You provide a second set of eyes, ears, and intuition, all of which are vital to running the business and keeping the two of you alive.
ā¢ Regardless of where you are or who youāre with, paranoia will become a never ending shadow. It will taint the good times and make the bad times almost unbearable. You know that all of this will come to an end someday, whether he quits or gets caught or gets hurt, and you pray to God that itās not the latter. Every deal brings the two of you closer to the end, and you will push that thought into the back of your mind. Each van parked on the side of the road turns into an undercover cop, and youāll hold your breath each time you see car lights shine into your bedroom window in the middle of the night as someone slowly drives by. Every time his snapchat crashes or his iPhone restarts, it will be your job to convince him that everythingās fine and of course his phone isnāt bugged because that only happens in movies. You will eventually realize that you were trying to reassure yourself more than him. Part of you knows that any minute, everything could blow up in your face, but you stay. Maybe itās for the money, or the drugs, or the sex. Maybe itās something deeper; the fear of change, the love of your partner, or the primal instinct of survival. You tell yourself, āMake it through today, and tomorrow will be betterā. Someday it will either be better, or it will be over.
- m.n.
(Dating dealer of weed, wax, ecstasy, MDMA, prescription pills, shrooms, LSD, and cocaine)
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