Harsh voices cut through the hazy blanket of her sleep, and Angel swam up slowly. She'd never been able to sleep deeply, especially not with Jerome. There was something off about him, but she could never place her finger on it. She told herself to trust him, but every time she tried, he'd pull something weird on her. Her eyes not quite open yet, she heard them, Jerome and another man, a voice she couldn't place, and certainly didn't trust.

"Why the fuck's he here?"

"Who?"

"The kid, in the bed."

"Angel? She's cool, don't worry about her."

"Her? I don't know how to tell you this, but that kid's a boy."

"Shut the fuck up, let's just go, get this over with."

Hearing the door open and close, Angel uncurled from her place in Jerome's grimy bed and got up slowly to make some tea. She wondered what they'd been talking about, where they'd gone as she sipped the hot liquid from her cracked mug. Regardless, she figured they'd be back eventually.

After an hour or so, Jerome did return, alone. He set aside the paper bag under his arm and went to her.

"Hey, what're you doing awake?" he asked, his voice solicitous as usual.

"Where did you go?" she asked, rising from the battered couch.

"Out," he said elusively.
"Out where? What's in the bag? Did you bring me ice cream?"

"With a guy I know," he said, shifting his weight. "And I got something better than ice cream."

"What?" she asked, craning her neck curiously to see in the bag.

"S'gonna make us a million dollars," Jerome told her excitedly, picking the bag up and setting it on the couch.

"What is?"

In reply, he pulled out a large plastic bag filled with lots of tiny little bags, all full of white powder. Angel's eyes widened.

"Huh-uh, no way, Jerome," she said, mentally backing away from him. "That shit's poison."

"Not this," he replied, reverently picking up one of the little bags. "This is just the best. 100 pure. You should try this, Ang," he suggested, turning his glance to her. "This shit makes everything ok."

"I . . ." From time to time, words failed Angel. This was one such moment. She simply stared at him for a long time, then nodded slowly. "Ok," she said. He'd fed and kept her for the past two weeks. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd need to stay. Arguing with him was probably not in her best interest, she reasoned. "You do it first, ok? Wanna see how it works."

"Right," he said, excitedly dropping the bag next to her on the couch and hurrying to the kitchen. He came back with an assortment of items, a spoon, candle, glass of water, lighter, and another bag. She watched with trepidation as he lit the candle and dipped a small amount of water into the spoon then opened the baggie and shook some of the powder carefully into it. Holding the spoon over the flame, he turned and grinned excitedly at Angel, who smiled nervously back. She watched with him as the liquid in the spoon turned yellow, then amber and felt his excitement growing. With his free hand, he reached into the bag and pulled out what she recognized as a cigarette filter. He dropped it into the liquid and glanced at her. "Just to be sure," he said. "Can't take any chances with you."
Angel smiled genuinely at that. Somehow that struck her as very sweet.

Jerome dumped the rest of the contents onto the couch cushions. A syringe, bit of rubber tubing, and various bits of junk fell out. To distract herself, Angel watched as one of the filters rolled off the couch and hit the floor. When she'd looked back, Jerome was drawing liquid up into the needle one-handed. She flinched slightly, having never been a fan of needles. He carefully set the spoon aside, propping it on the wadded up empty paper bag to keep from spilling the rest of its contents.

"Think I'd better do you first," he said. "I don't want to fuck it up. Gimme your arm." When Angel hesitated, Jerome sighed impatiently. "C'mon, Ang, I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. It's just a needle. Trust me, ok?" Angel didn't, but she sensed it would be bad if she argued with him now, so she pushed her arm in his direction. He tied the tourniquet around her bicep, tight enough to hurt, then smacked her arm, looking impatiently for the vein. Angel only felt the initial pinch when the needle slid in. After that, she no longer cared what Jerome did. She turned and looked at him, her mouth falling open at the immediacy of the rush. An instant later, her whole body was pins and needles numb, then suddenly warm and cozy. Jerome had been right. Why had she mistrusted him? The man was a genius.