Vein Fire by Lucia Adams

said he gave him a discount. Marcus didn’t sell out of Matt’s house—it was Matt’s territory. Since he was a good customer, Matt didn’t mind that he hung out a lot, shooting heroin up his veins, and then spending an hour afterwards with his head doing a drug nod as he stared at the television.
    Hannah knew Marcus was waiting on Matt’s porch, but she didn’t bother to let him in. Matt got off of work early on Wednesday and when he arrived home, Hannah heard him unlock all three locks before they entered the house. She was lying on the couch, half-asleep, her arm dangling down and resting on top of Skye. Skye jumped up to greet them, but Hannah didn’t move.
    Matt took the gun, went upstairs, and brought down a few buns. Marcus took them and held up a needle, “Do you mind, man?”
    “No, go right ahead. I’m all sweaty from work. I’m gonna go upstairs to shower and then I’ll be down.”
    Matt bound up the steps, two at a time, with Skye running behind him. Hannah opened her eyes and saw Marcus cooking his heroin in a spoon. She longed to inhale the fumes.
    He saw her watching and he nodded towards her, “You wanna hit?”
    Hannah nodded her head, but didn’t move. As he methodically prepared the heroin for injecting, Hannah watched Marcus; it was the closest he’d ever come to her. The scent of his deep cologne traveled up her nose and she smiled. His skin was a lovely cocoa color and she noticed his impressive arm muscles. After he pulled the plunger back to suck up the heroin, he plinked the side of the syringe so he could force the air out. She nearly said, “Please don’t,” but knew the tiny air bubble wouldn’t have killed her anyway.
    Marcus removed his belt and tightened it around Hannah’s calf. He pulled her sweat pants up and smacked a blue vein on the side of her ankle. She held her breath, terrified he’d raise her pant leg higher and see her scars.
    The beveled end slid into her skin; a lightning strike of red flashed into the barrel and with a flick of his thumb, he pushed the heroin into Hannah’s vein.
    She felt it—a sticky warmth massaged her cells. Marcus took the tourniquet off and it swam through her body in a flutter. Hannah was in a waterfall of orange welding sparks again.
    Sitting on the floor, Marcus hit himself, but in a large bulging vein in the crook of his arm. His body fell back against the couch, his head rested on Hannah’s abdomen, and he closed his eyes for a few minutes.
    The shower started and the rhythm sounded like rain. Marcus peeled the blanket off of Hannah in slow motion and crept a hand between the waistband of her sweatpants and her skin. Hannah was still swimming. She didn’t care who was touching her because everything felt like cotton candy.
    Marcus explored her and pressed his lips to the small mound beneath her belly button. Hannah smiled. Somewhere, behind closed eyes, she was floating on a little raft on a stream, surrounded by veil-tail goldfish. The rain stopped, and so did the touches and kisses. She wouldn’t tell Matt. She had come to expect this sort of thing when he left her alone with one of his customers. She wasn’t sure if it was part of his plan, or if they were all just opportunists doing things opportunists did.
    Hannah kept secrets from Matt—things she should have told him. Marcus left and she didn’t mention the hit he’d injected into her. The prick was on her ankle and he’d never notice it. He brought out the last of the tar and smoked it with Hannah, who was still high from what Marcus had given her.
    Hannah sucked the smoke up like a good girl. When Matt told her to take her shirt off, she did that too. When someone knocked at the door and he laid her down and covered her with the blanket, she was still. When he let Jared into the house and argued with him in the next room, Hannah pretended she was asleep.
    Hannah was under a tree with paisleys for leaves. They were fall colors and spring colors. They were delicate,