I lean my clammy hands on the cold counter smoking my fifth cigarette that night. I feel my heartbeat at an unnatural rate. Maybe  it’s the vodka maybe it’s the Belmonts. My mind races and I feel a bit dizzy. I should leave but my feet won’t move.  My eyes are glued to the white powder on the bathroom counter. It’s so clean, so delicate, so innocent. Maybe that’s why they call it snow. My friends are all out with the rest of the party why am I in here? I know why I’m in here it’s that powder on the table; It’s an old friend of mine you see. I’ve seen what it does to people. I’ve seen what it did to my mom after dad died. I’ve watched my brother find her stash when he was supposed to be babysitting me. It kills. So why does it seem so friendly now? so welcoming. It’s just like the cigarettes no one asked me to smoke. I just did because I had to. A friend once called it an addictive personality. I call it fate. I’m still so nervous. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. This one time is okay. Just try it. No one will stop you. Maybe this is my fallen angel. My safety. Listen to me, I’m already addicted and I haven’t done it yet. I’m addicted to the idea of what it could do to me. Three steps is all it takes. I’m just visiting an old friend.
    I have to sit down. I’m on the floor my pounding head is leaning on the peeling wallpaper. The blonde guy with a green peace toque  asks me if i am okay. I swear if it wasn’t for his perfect teeth and leather shoes he would look homeless. He passess me a rolled up dollar bill like he’s passing me a pen at school. So natural. Some rave looking girl is setting up more lines with a beaten up debit card. I’ve got two minutes to make a decision. Now is my chance. It’s like an itch that needs to be scratched. A new obsession. My legs feel like elastic bands as i push myself off the floor. Some guy grabs my waist to keep me balanced. I’m ready. It’s my turn. Stop thinking.