Soul to Sell

I’m sitting at the Liaison Hotel, and I can see the capital building through the windows. I’m pissed because my client is on a mission in Chinatown. I shouldn’t have specified Ketel One. Really it doesn’t matter what kind of alcohol it is, as long as it’s over 40 proof.

I sell dreams for $400 an hour. Half the time is spent talking about literature and philosophy, I guess I’m an anomaly. The acts themselves are unremarkable. Married politicians, real estate tycoons, and lawyers are rarely into anything worth writing about. While they are thinking about me I’m thinking about which credit card I’m going to pay off.

I like the power I have over my clients. I can ruin their lives with a single phone call.

My nights are scheduled, but I spend the days lying in the grass on the national mall, stoned on Xanax and listening to music. I should be in class. I’m sleeping with my accounting professor though, and he doesn’t make me take the exams. The only flaw in the relationship is that my current enabler Pete almost caught us. Now we have to go to his house, even though the housekeeper creeps me out. I’m also pretty sure his wife knows what’s going on.

Pete visits me once a week from Richmond, and I struggle to get out of the king bed I share with Bentley.

That dog was the best thing I ever bought for you, it’s the only thing that seems to make you happy” he tells me one night.

My parents are paying $1500 a month for the apartment in Fairfax. They have a vague idea of what was going on in Richmond, but they never ask me outright. I guess they don’t want confirmation.

I’m back on the family payroll because I’m ‘getting better’, but I always seem to be running low on cash. I Western Union my dealer money so he can deliver pills to my apartment. Paranoia prevents me from leaving the house.

My dad comes down and we visit the monuments on the mall. I must put on a good show because he seems happy when he leaves. I guess he doesn’t notice the jingling noise coming from the pill bottles in my pocket.

I only applied to schools to make them happy. The applications were submitted online between crack binges with my friends. I get into a number of second-tier universities, and my parents are proud of me once again. When my mom takes me to Fairfax to look at apartments, I’m disappointed with the ugliness of George Mason’s campus. I hadn’t even looked at pictures of the school.

A couple months into the semester I take a train to Pittsburgh for my grandma’s funeral. I overdose on heroin the day after in a King’s parking lot. At the hospital I thank the paramedics for being so nice to me, and they tell me ‘We aren’t here to judge‘. The police inform me they will drop the possession charge if I testify against me dealer. Of course I agree.

My parents meet me in the ER, and they put me on a plane to Virginia a few hours later. They don’t know what to do with me anymore.

I have a client pick me up at the airport because I know he has painkillers. When we get to my apartment I rip all my clothes off because I feel like I can’t breath. He asks me why I have electrodes all over me, and I tell him I had some tests run in Pittsburgh. I peel them off my pale skin, and we hook up while Bentley chews his bone.

Towards the end of the semester I don’t answer my parent’s calls for 72 hours, and they send a family friend to my apartment. When I answer the door I’m wearing Brooks Brothers because I’m meeting a client for dinner at the wharf. I give her a look of disgust and gesture at my suit and the spotless apartment behind me.

Obviously everything’s ok here“.

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