paid in full_(1)

I don’t know what on earth possessed me to think that going into business with Bryan Snyder was a good idea. He was the kind of guy that figured out early on that he wasn’t cut out for a legitimate job, and so by the end of freshman year he dropped out and started selling weed. Three years later, he’d moved on up from dealer to supplier, selling large amounts of everything from perks to acid. This meant more money for him but also opened up a spot for a new dealer around the neighborhood, and I’d jumped on the opportunity. Oh, stupid, stupid Nate.

I went to him and asked him to front me a zip, nothing too major I thought, I’d sell to all of his old clientele and have the cash back by the end of the week. That was the deal. Until those fuck heads robbed me. And now, here I was standing in my bathroom examining the black eye and split lip in the medicine cabinet mirror.

I wasn’t a big guy, I had a wiry build that made me appear far weaker than I was. I had a shock of jet black hair, and my skin was just a few shades above sickly pale. My eyes were my best feature, that’s what I’d been told my whole life, a bright blue that had charmed plenty of women into my bed. Not that they would do me any good now.

My phone rang again, I’d come to dread that awful tone, I glanced down at where it sat on the counter. Blocked number. Oh god it was him again. I ignored it, for probably the fiftieth time, and breathed a sigh of relief when it eventually quieted down. I nearly jumped out of my skin when thirty seconds later someone started pounding on my door.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. My brain repeated this until it became a mantra. I weighed my options, he was going to get a hold of me sooner or later. But he was exactly the kind of wolf to wait outside, and I didn’t too much like to think about the conversation I’d have with my parents when they came home to find the neighborhood delinquent camped out on the porch. It was only an ounce, I thought, trying to reassure myself, He wouldn’t kill me over that would he? No, no he’ll just beat the shit out of me and tell me to get his money.

I took three deep breaths and left the bathroom, heading down the hall to my front door. I could see him the moment I turned the corner, he peered in through the half-circle window panes. He gave me a menacing smile, and it took what little courage I had left not to turn tail and flee the country. I reached the door, and opened it slowly.

“Hey man, was that you that called? I left my phone upstairs and-” I started to say in my most casual of voices, before he shoved the door open and strode into my house.

“Where’s my cash Nate?” His voice was deep and gruff. I reluctantly closed the door and turned to face him, taking him all in. He wore a tight black T-shirt, and a pair of heavily worn jeans. He was a big guy, standing a full head over my 5’10” and almost entirely muscle, someone in his line of work had to know how to be imposing I suppose. His skin was tanned from hours of hanging around on corners and outside of gas stations, his knuckles were scarred from all of the stupid punks before me, he had a wide jaw covered with stubble and a pair of dark brown eyes, his hair was a messy pile of red-tinted brown. And at that moment, he may as well have been a fucking grizzly bear he was so terrifying.

“I got robbed, dude. Just look at my face. I swear, I’ll get you the cash I just need a few more days–” No sooner had the words left my mouth did he slam his fist into my gut. I dropped to my knees and looked up at him pathetically.