Plush by Kate Crash Read Free Book Online

suburban decay. I don’t know how I’m goning to survive two weeks of this. Even home felt more stable, because at least I had my own room. Here I have no space of my own. No place to hide.
    I feel a light kick in my back. I poke my head out from the under covers. Sketch’s Barcolounger is right above me. The room is in that dim, no-lights-on-but-neon-TV haze. OY! is dryhumping my leg. His tiny spike collar is too big for his neck and is digging into my skin. So I kick him off, and he flies with an “AYYYY!” I’m convinced he’s half rat.
    “Hey lil’ haze… You wanna get high?” Sketch.
    He’s got a triple chin and is sucking on something that looks like meat fat.
    “Um… with which drug?” I don’t know about the whole drug thing but I’m open to anything, I think. And all the rock-stars I worship all get high all the freaking time – live fast and die – right? His eyes are purpley puffy.
    “Well. Speed or maybe you just want some weed with Angel Dust.” He inhales the biggest inhale – deep like half the joint goes – but I guess when your that big your lungs are bigger too. Before I can say yes or no or even figure out what I want, his mouth is on mine blowing smoke, and I inhale so deep even though I don’t mean to.
    I feel gross, violated by those big fish lips. The smoke hits me hard and fills my whole body. And I can’t stop myself from breathing in. And shit is getting weirder and weirder . Then I cough hard – violent shake attack. Sketch pulls away his fish mouth. My eyes feel big. Too big. They are so heavy I can’t keep them straight. I feel fast and slow all at the same time . Am I dying? The girl and Draco LaLa are fucking on the Barcalounger next to him fully clothed, just her skirts hiked up. She’s on top riding him all rodeo, but she’s still smoking their fat joints as they rock back and forth, and his arms are around her body holding the joystick thumbing it around. I never knew people could fuck, smoke weed, and kill zombies all at the same time.
    Man this shit is hitting me hard. I feel really fucking weird man. What is Angel Dust anyway? I think I see the cops, man. The fucking cops. I try to speak, but only slurs come out. I hide back under the blanket, but I’m a corpse now. Death sentences are laced in my head. I hear laughter: the world is fucking laughing at me. I must crawl to freedom NOW, without anyone seeing! But I’m seeing! All the noise in my head is like a bad modern-art painting nobody even pretends to understand.
    I try to wrap the blanket around me and cover even my feet – not a finger out either. I must make it to the door. I’ll crawl like a slug. Slugs. I HATE SLUGS. Maybe they’re eating slugs. Door, Hayley, door. I slither, I slither, and I slither. I think it’s been 3 hours. I poke my head out from under the covers. Quick, so no one sees… Fuck. I’ve only moved three inches. No one is in their chairs, but I hear noises in the kitchen. Demons? I cry. And cry. But nothing comes out. I go under the covers and chew my nails. They won’t find me. Nobody will find me.
    I sleep for what I think is a year. A slow, fast year of nowhere but angry, crazy, freaky, broken thoughts jagged on the cliffs of my lost mind and broken soul . Or maybe it’s two years? But I look at my phone, and it’s only been less than an hour. And I’m not high anymore – well maybe just a little stoned – but no more freak paranoia parade.
    AaaHK! I’ve had it! My head is out of the cocoon completely. I look up; they all have cigarettes in their hands and meat on their plates. I can barely breathe in the smoke; the room is a heavy, neon-blue veil of it. I have to get out of here. And just like that, the front door opens and my boys show up: fast and wild and bugged. Jack hates video games, but likes the drugs.
    “We will rehearse in the yard unplugged, Hayley. KOO KOO KACHOO,” Jack yelps. “We have a lil’ bar show later tomorrow night that Donnie booked us to