Song of the Fireflies by J. A. Redmerski Read Free Book Online Page A

listening.
    “
He’s
the drug dealer,” I whispered.
    “Oh…” Bray looked at me warily. “And you know him
how
?”
    “Everybody knows him,” I said. “But don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve only met him a few times.”
    “
Met
as in
bought from
?” She grinned.
    “Yeah,” I admitted. “Nothing too bad, just some weed here and there.”
    “Good,” she said. “Because I don’t deal with that meth stuff. Would hate to have to haul you off to the nearest rehab.”
    “Hell no,” I said. “I’m with ya on that. I’m worried about Mitchell, though. I’ve tried to steer him clear of that shit, but he won’t listen to me.”
    “I hate to say this, Elias, but if he doesn’t get help now, you’ll have to kick him out of your apartment. He’ll end up blowing up your kitchen, or taking you down with him when he gets busted.” She took a quick drink and set her glass back on the table. “Lissa’s brother’s friend in South Carolina was on meth pretty bad. They busted him before he blew his house up, but he was cooking that shit in his kitchen. It scares me.”
    She was right. I hadn’t thought about it before, because Mitchell was my good friend and I never considered kicking him out. But when it comes to stuff like this, there are many more reasons not to have him living with me than there are to let him stay.
    And I would never want to put Bray in any danger, either.
    “I’ll talk to him tonight,” I said.
    “Give him a chance, though,” she said. “Don’t just send him packing. He’ll probably blame it on me if you do that.”
    And that was exactly what happened.
    Later that night when Mitchell came home from wherever—I think he lost his job because of his habit, so I had no idea where he was spending his time during the day anymore—I tried talking to him.
    “Mitch,” I said, hitting the Power button on the television remote. “I need to talk to you about something.”
    His light-brown hair was dirty, thick with oil that kept his bangs from falling around his eyes like they naturally did. He was wearing the same Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt he had on yesterday. And the day before that.
    I set the remote down on the coffee table and leaned forward in the recliner.
    “Yeah, what’s up?” He plopped down on the sofa, stretching his legs across the cushions and crossing his ankles.
    “I think you need to get some help, man. You’re really starting to worry me. You never sleep, and when you do it’s for two days straight. Did you lose your job?”
    He wasn’t taking what I was saying seriously at first, or maybe he was just trying to brush it off, make it appear that it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be. His head fell to the side so that he could see me and he reached out his hand. “Can you pass me the remote?”
    I sighed, frustrated with him already. “No, Mitch, listen, I’m being serious here. You need to get some help. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, just name it. I’ll call around for a good rehab center, take you back and forth if you ever need me to. Whatever you need.”
    “
Rehab?
” Mitchell spun around on the sofa and sat upright in an instant. His expression distorted with insult. “What the fuck are you talking about,
rehab
? You can’t be serious.”
    I put up both hands in a surrendering fashion, trying to defuse the situation before it started. “I’m just trying to help you. If not rehab, then—”
    “I don’t need your fucking help.” He stood up. “I’m not addicted to meth,” he lashed out, slashing his hand in the air in front of him. “I just do it every now and then. I can’t believe you’re even saying this shit to me. You’re no fucking angel.”
    “I never claimed to be,” I said, getting pissed but keeping it contained. “But Mitch, your ‘every now and then’ is
every day
.”
    I stood up then, too. “Look, if you won’t at least try to get some help, or get off that shit completely—drop it cold turkey if