If You’re Offered A Drug Called CHC, I’m Begging You Not To Take It

When the brother left the room on a search for paper towels, Felix asked me what I saw. Even though I knew he had been watching the movie version of my memory on the computer, over his brother’s shoulder, I still told him about the fight. About the knife. About the blood. About how the miniature version of me just sat there as my sister talked my mother into suicide. About how I was the one to pick up the phone and dial 911. About how the memory ended when the sirens started up.

And then I asked him if he knew how his brother created the drugs. If he could create an exact copy of what I’d just watched without attaching wires to my head again. Maybe by downloading that movie that was transferred to the computer. The movie of my memory.

Now that it was a permanent file on his computer, like the Yellow Submarine, he could make the product again and again and again, right? A controlled hallucination that anyone could watch, not just the person with the original memory in their head. Right?

I actually was.

He said the information he’d need was still stored on the computer, so it shouldn’t be all that hard to duplicate the drug. That he’d do it for me if he could take me on a date.

It would be worth it, I told myself, so I agreed.


I met up with him at a burger joint the next day. He was late, but I didn’t notice. My mind was elsewhere.

I was so unbelievably, uncontrollably pissed at Emma — filled with so much hatred that I thought every organ in my body would burst.

Ever since mom died, Emma had been the good sister. The successful sister. The sister with a job and a checking account and a happy little family.

But she didn’t have the right to a good life. She was responsible for the death of my mother. She didn’t hold the knife, but it wouldn’t have made a difference to me if she did. So what if she was a teenager with raging hormones? She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what she was doing. No, maybe she didn’t know mom would kill herself, but she knew she was hurting her. She knew she was being a manipulative bitch.

My drug-fueled hallucination ended with the sirens, with the ambulance showing up, but I had an extra memory of Emma leaving me with our aunt later that night. And she didn’t come back until the next morning.

Now that I knew what happened, I wondered if she went out with that boy, anyway. The idea that I was crying my eyes out at home while she fucked some boy against mom’s wishes made me want to strangle her. No. To slit her stomach with a knife, so she’d feel the same pain mom had felt.

But I wasn’t a murderer. I wasn’t her. I’d settle for a little revenge. Revenge I’d get with the drugs Felix handed me under the table during our ‘date.’


It turned out Felix had a car – or his brother had so many cars that he actually allowed Felix to borrow one – so I asked for his help again. This time, he did it without holding a date over my head. I think he was just happy to spend a few more minutes with me.

He dropped me off at Emma’s apartment around midnight. I needed to get there after the sun went down. When she was finished with her chores for the day. When her glasses would be on.

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