Page 51 of A Tragic Melody

“I mean I highly doubt someone who uses as much as you do would be inclined to share with anyone.”

“I’m not an addict.” I shrug. “I’d rather share and have a good time with someone than do it alone.”

“Prove it.”

“You want to do a line?” I lift a brow at him. “I’ll make you one right now.”

“No. Prove you aren’t an addict.”

“How?”

“Give me your drugs and go twenty-four hours without using.”

“I’m not handing you my drugs. If you want some, ask. But I’m not giving them to you to hold.” I laugh. “If you relapse, you don’t get to hide behind trying to test me, but good try.”

“So, give them to Quinn,” he counters. “But prove to me you aren’t an addict.”

“Today?”

“Sure.”

“We are stuck on a bus for the next two days. I’d go crazy with boredom.”

“I’m sure you could find something to do,” he offers. “Unless of course you’re too scared I’m right.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven in the morning.”

“So, no more drugs until eleven tomorrow?”

“Make it noon. You just did two lines.”

“What do I get if I do it?”

“To tell me I told you so.”

“And if I fail?”

“Nothing. If you fail, you get nothing—except knowing you are in fact an addict.”

“Fine,” I groan. “I won’t do any more drugs until noon tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.” He laughs.

I roll my eyes, packing up my compact mirror and container of coke in the bag I keep all my drugs in. This isn’t going to be a fun road trip to the next show, but I’d endure anything to prove this man wrong.

I skip down the rows of bunks until I get to Quinn’s.

“Good morning!” I say, poking my head behind the curtain around his bunk.

“Go away,” he groans.

“I need you to hold my drugs for the next twenty-five hours.”

“Why?”

“Trying to prove a point. Help me out, okay?”