Disclaimer: I don't own "Blow" or any of the characters in the movie. I know the movie was based on a true story and that there was no "Manhattan Meg" but this story came to me and wouldn't leave me alone.

Blow:

Addicted

I left my heart in New York City. At least a piece of it. Just one other place that I would like to forget. But then the memories come back and I don't want to forget the important parts. I don't want to remember to ending of that story in my life. My biggest mistake.

She woke up in the middle of the night, a strangled scream that woke me up had died on her lips long before my mind even rid itself of the remnants of sleep. I listened to her strangled breathing for a few minutes to see if she was going to be alright. Then I heard her sniff and realized what dream it was she had. I rolled over and slid my arms around her, pulling her against me.

"I had that dream again, George."

"It's just a dream, Meg."

"I could feel it though. I could taste the blood and I knew I was dying."

I pressed myself against her even tighter and placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. "You're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you here." I was pleased to hear a short laugh come from her.

"If you say so, Boston George."

"I say so, Manhattan Meg."

She was unlike anything I had ever encountered, or ever will in my life. I met her in her a back street bar in the Bronx. I had never been to New York City. I didn't know the drug scene. And what makes this so ironic was, neither did she. We swapped our sad stories, mine with a few alterations of course, but she laid herself bare for me.

She was a piano teacher at a local high school and also did private lessons with those who showed talent and dedication to the art. She was married to a man who managed a local garage. She told me over a lime and vodka how she found her husband with one of her piano students. She had come home early to tell him that she just found out she was pregnant when a sweet young thing of eighteen wandered out of her bathroom in her robe, none the less. She lost the baby three months later, along with her husband, house and job.

So, I made her a proposition. I told her what I really did for a living. I had just started the whole importing cocaine from Columbia and was looking for new territory to spread the wealth. She looked me dead in the eye and stated that she would help. I told her of the risks involved, threats on her family, having to move frequently, travel even more possibly, and even attempts on her life. She gave me a smile that I saw myself reflected in and stated she was board and this was exactly what she was looking for.

I gave it to her even though I knew I shouldn't. The deal was for Escobar to give Diego and me the cocaine, we fly it into the US of A, and I give some to Derek and I take care of the rest. Technically, I saw this as taking care of the rest. Meg and I agreed that she would only keep 25, just enough to pay for an apartment, clothes and food. It was the best deal I'd ever been offered. Then it got even better.

Whenever I came to Manhattan, she picked me up at the airport and let me stay at her new apartment on the Upper East Side. By the second visit, she was letting me stay in her bed. I was making more and more trips to Manhattan. Diego was getting nervous, not knowing what held my fascination in the city at the center of the universe. Derek had his suspicions but kept them to himself. I could see it in his eyes though, the gratefulness and relief that I had moved on from Barbara's loss.

Meg wrestled with the blankets and wiggled her way out of my arms, breaking my concentration on things past. I watched her through the semi-darkness pull a t-shirt over her head and pull her jeans on. She sat down on the end of the bed and shoved her feet into her sneakers.

"Where you going?"

"I have to go out, George. I have to get out."

That statement could be taken many different ways, all of which I didn't like the sound of. "Get out where?"

"Out of the apartment. I need some fresh air."

I tugged the covers off myself and reached for my jeans that were on the floor next to the bed. "I'll come with you."

"You don't have to. I just need to get this dream out of my head."

But I noticed that she had taken enough subway tokens off the dresser for me to ride it with her. I grabbed my shirt that was still hanging from the lampshade and buttoned it up as she locked the door. It unnerved me somewhat when we entered the elevator, how she pressed herself into the farthest corner from me.

I knew the dream that was plaguing her. It was an oddly recurring dream, one that she could describe in every gory detail which unnerved me to no end. She was in a courtroom, with me of all people, when a man walks into the room. She watches as he pulls out a gun and aims it at the judge. He fires two shots but the judge is protected. She pulls a gun and immediately drops it at the killer's feet. He turns to face her and she holds her hands up, stepping in front of me. The killer acts like he's going to walk off but quickly turns and fires three shots into her stomach. She always wakes up, swearing she is choking on her own blood, the taste of copper in her mouth.

We're silent the entire way to the subway. I don't pay attention to where we're going and I don't think Meg does either. We sit in an empty car and watch the underground lights blink past. One person gets on while we sit there, lost in our thoughts, and when he leaves Meg breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry, George."

I drape my arm around shoulders, waiting to see if she's going to accept the touch. I'm relieved when she does. "Sorry 'bout what?"

"Letting a stupid dream get to me. It just feels…"

"So real?"

"Like it's going to happen."

I definitely do not like the direction the conversation was taking. I pull her into my lap, which was not very difficult given how petite she was, and cradle her like I would a child. "We'll just have to stay out of courtrooms then."

"We shouldn't be together, George."

I remember feeling indignation and fear at those words. Now, looking back, I wish I had listened to her. It would have saved us a great deal of heartache.

"What? Why?"

She heaved a sigh against my neck. "I'm addicted."

"I thought you told me you didn't use the cocaine?"

"There's stronger things to become addicted to, George."

"Heroine?"

She drew back and laid her hands on each side of my face. "You, George. I'm addicted to you."

I tried to tell myself that she was addicted to my position, the power that I was steadily acquiring. But the look in her deep blue eyes told me a different story. She was addicted to me as a person, as a man. And all I could do in response was kiss her and I did it as thoroughly as possible. We made out on the empty subway car until it came full circle to where we had gotten on.

She didn't shy away from me as we made our way through the sunrise lighted streets. She stayed laced to my side, our hips bumping in unison as we approached her apartment building. I had a plane to catch at eleven that morning to fly back to California to have a meeting with Derek. As soon as the elevator closed, we had our hands all over each other. My shirt was completely unbuttoned by the time she had opened the apartment door. I locked the door again behind my back and went to work on her clothes. By the time we had reached the bedroom, a trail of clothes was scattered throughout the living room and down the hallway.

The one thing that I do not regret is making love to her that last time. I didn't know it was going to be the last time. I didn't know that when I said goodbye to her at the airport that it was going to be forever. If I had known, I wouldn't have gone. I would have kept her in bed for the rest of our lives, holding her close and letting her know that I had an addiction of my own. But I didn't know. So I got on the plane and went to my meeting with Derek that night.

I knew something was wrong when I walked through the door of the salon. He was sitting in front of the small television set with an almost sympathetic look on his face. He pointed to the TV screen.

"Tell me you don't know this woman."

I stepped over to the chair that he was sitting in and watched the live news report. I swear my heart stopped beating. I didn't even know that my knees had buckled underneath me until I heard Derek string a long line of curse words together. I didn't hear everything he said. My eyes and ears were glued to the TV report.

"Sources say that the young woman was walking down the sidewalk when a dark sedan pulled up next to her and fired three shots before speeding off. She suffered three gunshot wounds to the stomach and was already dead by the time ambulances reached the scene. Witnesses say they saw the gun and took cover but that the woman just stood there, making no attempt to move out of the way. The reason for this murder is under investigation."

"Can it come back to you?"

I heard Derek speaking but I couldn't for the life of me understand what he was saying. "Wh-what?"

"This woman, can the police trace her back to you?"

"No," I answer. "I was the only one who knew about her."

Derek shut off the TV and I jerked from the suddenness of silence. "What was her name?"

"Meg. Meghan Davis."

"Well, next time, George, find someone who's already in the group. It makes life that much easier. This Meg, was merely a lamb being led to the fucking slaughter."

I gasped on the words that I had never said to her that suddenly appeared on my tongue. I love you. I miss you. You're my addiction too. I bowed my head to the floor and sobbed. It was my fault she was dead. All I wanted to do was sell drugs and now I was responsible for someone's death. I had blood on my hands. But it wasn't just anyone's blood. It was my Meg's blood. My Manhattan Meg.

I realized the Derek was right. She was an example set before me so I would realize my place. I didn't call the shots in this deal. The power I had was a house of cards that just got blew down. I pulled the shattered pieces of me back together and pushed my hair back.

"I'm sorry, George."

"Me too. You would have liked her."

"I'm sure I would have." Derek stood up and motioned towards the back. "Come on, George. I think you need some of your own product tonight. What do you say?"

I rubbed my face with the sleeves of my coat and shakily got up to my feet. I followed him into the back where he pulled out a brick of coke. I watched him open it and set up six lines of the precious white powder.

"Like a lamb being led to the fucking slaughter," I murmured, picking up the razor blade for the first snort.