Elizabeth A Mills

The Motorcycle Thief: Chapter 3 of 6

        Nat must be going about 120.  I can't tell.  Everything is in slow
motion now.  I'm hanging onto Nat now, for fear that I'll fall off if I
hold anything else.  Hang on...  I must hang on...  My helmeted head drops
and I see the ground rushing by.  I try not to think about anything, other
than staying alive.
	Nat's turning off.  I look up.  We're at the second stash point. 
Nat stops the bike in front of the little garage, surrounded by trees and
brush.  She helps me off and I lie on the ground as she putts the bike,
which is covered in my blood, into the garage and shuts its engine down. 
I'm bleeding again, I guess.  I look down at my leg and it's soaked.  I
want to throw up but I don't have the strength.  I just lie there and moan
	Hands grab me by the jacket and she's dragging me up.  I try to
get my other leg to help, to push me up, but I can't coordinate anything. 
I just end up flailing around until Nat tells me to quit it.  She walks me
to the little house by the garage.  It's some place that we found on a
ride one time.  The plumbing still works, off of a well so there's no
chance of no water because the water company turned it off.  Why am I
thinking of this right now?
	Nat sets me down inside, in the kitchen.  I just lie there again,
on the cheap linoleum floor.  She starts looking around the place, for
something to help her deal with the mess that I'm in.  I can't remember
what happens after that because I pass out.
	I dream: I'm riding down a mountain with impossible turns.  I hit
gravel and off the side I go, kicking in the air, falling, the ground
rushing up to meet me.  I'm underwater, but I can breathe for some reason. 
I'm still trying to kick to the surface because there's blood billowing
all around.  Nat is killing a man in sheriff's blue, sticking her knife in
his gut and turning it.  He screams and pulls his gun from its holster
and shoots her in the head.  Her brain explodes on him, bloody chunks of
bone and gray-pink globs. 
	I scream, waking up in pain.  The dreams are gone for now.  I'm in
the little house again.  Nat is asleep in a chair next to me.  I'm on the
kitchen floor still, stripped down to my t-shirt and boxers, wrapped up in
blankets.  I pull them away and look at my leg.  It feels like someone
has rammed a corkscrew in my bone and is turning it.  I moan a little as I
pull off the bandage.  The wound has been cleaned but it's red and swollen
around the edges.  My hand is wrapped in bandages as well but it doesn't
hurt as bad.  What I am really feeling more than anything is The Need
again.  Need that fix.  Need my fix.
	Nat is awake now and next to me.  She takes my hands into hers and
moves them away from the bandages.  She looks down at the hole.
	"I got the bullet out.  It's not too bad, actually.  He missed your
bone, I guess.  The bullet isn't damaged or anything." She reaches into
her jacket pocket and produces the bullet.  It's clean, except for the
spiral marks of the barrel it was shot through. 
	"I have a friend who's coming to make sure.  He works at a hospital
in the ER so I'm sure he'll be able to deal with this."
	I can't believe that this isn't going to kill me because it hurts
so fucking much.  I take her word for it, though.  I'm shivering now.  She
re-wraps the blankets around me.
	"Nat..." I start.  The trembling is getting worse.  My body is
screaming for smack. 
	"I know, dear."  She gets up and rummages around for my kit.  She
finds it and starts preparing it for me.  She kneels down to me with the
	"I can't give you much.  You've lost blood..."
	She motions for me to hold out my arm which I do, after fighting
off the blankets.  I flex my muscle and produce a vein.  I was blessed
with good piping by the Gods.  Never had to use a belt yet to get them to
pop up.  She gently pushes the needle into the vein in the crook of my
arm, pulls out the plunger a bit to get blood and then pushes it in
slowly, almost lovingly.
	The pain has lessened and the urge is gone.  She cleans the hypo
with bleach and puts it back into its case.  She then sits down on the
floor next to me.  I lay my head on her shoulder and she wraps her arms
around me.
	"Jack should be here soon.  He's off of his shift soon."
	"Okay."  I whisper.  I'm clinging to her jacket.  I bury my face
into her hair, smelling a few day's worth of grime and sweat.  I don't
really care at this point what she smells like, I just need to feel
another human, especially her.  She whispers to me about her father and
her mother, about how they met at this bar in Ojai, California.
	"There's this crazy-ass bartender there who will pour you a big-ass
shot of Goldschlager and one for herself.  Fuck, she races you and always
wins.  I saw that chick do ten shots in a row and she didn't even slow
down.  Fuckin' nuts, huh?"
	"Yeah."  I whisper.  I'm drifting in and out again.  Nat is still
talking to me, shaking me when I nod off.
	There's a knock on the door.  Nat sets my head back down on the
floor gently and pulls out the gun from her belt.  She walks cautiously to
the door, muzzle of the piece up in the air, ready to go.  She leans
against the door frame and carefully peeks  through the rotted curtains
covering the window set the door.  She sighs, lets the gun down and opens
the door.  A guy walks in with a duffel bag, which he sets on the table. 
I'm still on the floor, wrapped in blankets.  Nat and the guy talk
quietly.  He nods, looking over at me.
	"We'll fix her up."
	I moan, knowing that I'm in for more pain.  The guy unwraps my
blankets and then unwinds the bandages around my leg.  He cocks an eyebrow
at the hole in my leg.
	"Dig it out yourself?"
	"Didn't know what else to do."  Nat shrugs.  "I stuck my finger in
and felt it and it came right out."  She takes the bullet out of her
pocket and tosses it to him.  He flinches, catches it and then rolls it in
his palm.
	"Pretty clean."  He looks down at the wound.  "This is pretty clean
too."  He pulls on a pair of latex gloves and starts his own brand of pain
in the name of medicine.  I clench my teeth as he cleans out the hole
again.  He re-bandages it after he's finished and then looks at my hand.
	"Not too much here.  Keep it wrapped up.  The cuts aren't very
deep."  He picks out a few stray shards of glass.  He then pulls out a
suture kit from his duffel and starts stitching my up.  He doesn't bother
with anesthetics or anything.  I just lie there, taking it.  What else
can I do?
	When he's done, he pulls off his gloves and packs his stuff.  He
tosses Nat a ziploc bag full of pill bottles from the bag when he's done. 
	"This'll do it."  He says.
	They both look at me again.
	"Coolo."  Nat's face is still, like she's thinking of something
rotten.  She lets the guy out with a bundle of 50s for his time.
	My hand and leg are throbbing from the guy's proddings.  Nat takes
a few pills out of the bag and sets it down on the counter on the way over
to me, pocketing the pills.  There's a bottle of Jack Daniel's on the
counter too, which she picks up and takes a hit off of.  She takes up my
hypo kit after she finishes swallowing, carrying it over with the bottle. 
Good, another fix.  I'm really feeling it right now.
	"Looks like you're under my control for the next couple of weeks."
	She's standing over me with the hyp in one hand and my bag of
smack in the other, which is also holding the bottle.  She drops the hyp
on the floor and crushes it, grinding the glass into the linoleum with the
heel of her boot.  I can't even get up the energy to moan now.  She takes
the smack, walks to the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen.  I hear a flush. 
Oh fuck...
	"Nat..." I call.
	"Shut up.  We're gonna take care of this 'little problem' now."
	I want to yell at her but I can't.  I'm too weak.
	"You've been given a whole fucking hell of a lot of methadone by my
friend.  So, we're gonna do some detox."
	Every part of me wants to scream "Fuck you" at her but I just
don't have the wind to do it.  I know she's right, too.  I've done this
junkie shit for too long.  But, I don't want to give it up in a way.  But,
she's got the gun and threw out my shit.  What can I do?
	"Okay."  I surrender.
	"Good."  She squats in front of me, JD bottle in hand, taking
another swig.  I'm leaning up against the lower cupboards, propped up.  "I
can't see you fucked up like this anymore.  I can handle a little
'recreational' use but not this addiction shit."
	She takes the pills out of her jacket pocket and hands them to me.
	"I guess this means you care." I grin, tossing whatever she gave me
into my mouth, dry swallowing.
	"I guess I do."  She feigns a punch at me, I flinch, and then
kisses me on the forehead.  Then she pulls out the gun again and points it
where she kissed me.  "And I'll kill ya if ya don't clean up."
	We both start laughing.  I start coughing and sputtering so I have
to quit.  She pushes the gun back into the belt and leans over again, this
time for a real kiss, which is better than any smack high.  She's very
close to me now, grabbing my shirt, stroking my breasts and face.  I can
smell JD on her breath.
	"I want you in the worst way but it looks like the only thing you
can do is lie there."  She grins and shrugs.  She's a little buzzed.
	"Well..." I grin back.  "My mouth still works."
	"I'd rip you apart, girl.  Sheeeit."  She shakes her head.
	I am not going to let her off.  I grab her by her jacket lapels
and pull her onto me.  She hits my bad leg by accident and I yell.  She
says sorry and I tell _her_ to shut up. She finds another way to sit
close, straddling me and I grab the bottle from her hand and take a swig
myself for the pain.  I set the bottle down beside me and kiss her again,
running my good hand's fingers down and up her belly, which she loves. 
She wraps her arms around me.  Fuck, if I didn't have this stupid hole in
my leg or a cut up hand.  Had to mess up my left hand.  I fumble with the
belt she's wearing with my other hand - useless.  She laughs at me, pulls
out the gun again, sets it down by the bottle of Jack and unbuckles the
belt herself.  She then starts at her pants.  I help her - more like
hindering, though.  Sliding the pants down her hips a bit, I run my hand
down her belly into her boxers.  We're both panting by now from lack of
sleep, stress and major hormones.  I slide my fingers down her, stroking
her hair.  Her breathing quickens, which seems a little weird since she
always seems so in control, and she pushes her hips into my hand.
	"Nat, you need a bath."  I whisper into her ear as I stroke her.
	"Fuck you. You taste like a fucking sewer, heroin mouth."  She's
thrusting her hips rhythmically into my fingers, breathing hard.  We laugh
again.  She's gritting her teeth, eyes flashing, movements speeding up. 
"When was the last time you brushed those teeth?"
	"Probably the last time you washed out your crotch."
	She's going to break my hand, she's pushing so hard, hands
grabbing my shirt.  I feel her tense up and she gasps a bit, digging her
fingers into my shoulders. 
	Her grip slackens and she leans over, kissing me again.  I am
about to die, I'm so worked up.  I'm quivering as I run my hands over her
body, kissing her neck and breasts and mouth.
	"Nat..." I whisper.
	"You aren't getting anything until you swear you'll never shoot up
again."  She is still stroking my face and kissing me.  Her voice is silky
	"I, ahh..."
	She punches me hard in the leg, by the bandage.
	"Good."  She's grinning like a cat.  She starts pulling at my boxers. 

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