Third Strike

                                    

                                          
Derek and I made a stop at a gas station on our way back to Julian's place. I stood at the refrigerator section, trying to decide which dollar drink I wanted. There weren't a lot of options. The good shit was out of my price range if I wanted to get another high that night. Julian was holding my cut of the deals because of my debt and Kaylan was out. I'd have to figure out a way to get money and soon.
"Mr. Burne?" a woman's voice said behind me as I grabbed a lemonade out of the cooler.
I straightened and turned around. My heart dropped. "Mrs. Rosas."
She was frowning at me, holding a bottle of wine. "Where have you been?"
I looked over her shoulder to see Derek coming towards me. "I...uh...I just decided to take time off from school," I told her as I tried to skirt around her. "Listen, I have to go."
"What happened to your hand?" She reached out and grabbed the one I had scratched raw before I even knew what she was doing.
I jerked it away and stumbled back. "It's nothing. Just a rash or something. I have to go."
"Rafe," she said, turning around. "Your foster parents are extremely worried about you."
I shoved my hand into my jean pocket. "Well...I'm an adult, so they shouldn't."
She gave me a look. Always in charge. "Rafe, it's larger than that."
"Hey, you ready?" Derek asked, clapping me on the shoulder. "We got to get back."
"Yeah, I know," I said. I didn't know which one I was answering.
"Rafe, wait," Rosas said as I started to follow Derek to the counter. I stopped and reluctantly turned to face her. "You should think about what you're doing. This is only going to end poorly. Let me take you home. We can all work together to find a solution."
"A solution?" I said, barking out a laugh. "Oh, Mrs. Rosas, there is no solution. We all have to die sometime. Some of us just die sooner."
"Is that really how you feel?" she asked, frowning at me. "Or are you trying to hide something or hide from something?"
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I'm just trying to avoid getting a third strike, Mrs. Rosas. That's what this is all about." I turned away and then I turned back around. "For the record, a little compassion never killed a person. Maybe more people would be alive if that was a thing."
I put my drink on the counter and pulled out my money. I carefully counted it to make sure I had enough to give Julian, then pulled a crumpled bill off the stack and slid it to the cashier. I picked up the drink and headed outside to wait on him. As I leaned against the car, I pulled out my carton of cigarettes and put it to my lips. I lit it, watching as Rosas put the wine down and said something to the cashier. I took a drag as she walked out and stood in front of me.
"You look awful, Rafe," she said as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Your face is flushed even though it's freezing. Your pupils are so small I can barely see them. You've scratched sores into your skin. Even under your clothes, I can tell you've lost weight. Come with me. A relapse doesn't mean that it's the end of the road for you. Most people who are recovering addicts relapse at least once, especially from highly addictive substances. It doesn't mean you're a failure. It doesn't mean that you're worthless."
I wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve and took another drag of my cigarette, wishing that Derek would hurry his ass up.
"You were confined and had no substantial way of getting high, Rafe, for almost two years," Rosas said, taking a step so that she was directly in my line of sight. "That's why it took you so long to fall back into old patterns. Let us help you. Everyone understands that you feel like you owe these people something, like you have to pay for whatever you owe them, but you don't. There are ways to help you if you only let us."
"I'm not going to jail," I told her, looking down at the ground. "I'd rather die than go to jail."