I don’t remember the date when it all began. Those things run together in my mind sometimes. I know it was May. It wasn’t stifling hot yet and my allergies were behaving themselves at that point, the pollen long gone. I had sworn three days earlier that I’d never visit that Fielding woman again, but here I was, waiting at the prison gate for my escort. I loved my job but sometimes I hated the details. I loved helping people in need, but when I couldn’t help or, God forbid, I thought they deserved it, then my job was pretty sucky.

Marsha Fielding was one of those people who deserved what she got, I thought. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try my damnedest to help her, but her casebook looked like a life squandered on booze and drugs, and prostitution. And she shot a man in cold blood, to which she readily confessed. I guess I looked down my nose at her and I’m sorry for that now.

Marsha Fielding was known on the streets as Diamondback and that’s all she would answer to. She had once been like me. She was educated and had worked as an architect. With a family and a nice home in the suburbs, she had an enviable life. Then she got into drugs and it was a quick slide to oblivion. She shot James Earle Ross aka Jimmy Skin, her pusher and her pimp, over a $20 debt. That was seven years ago and she’d been in prison all that time.

To look at her when I first met her—when I walked into the meeting room at the prison—you never would have guessed her background. I learned that she had been head of the local PTA, voted “Most Likely To Succeed” in high school, and had been a part-time model before settling down. Now, at 33, she was bone-thin with shallow, sunken eyes. Her prematurely graying hair flew in every direction and she was missing a front tooth. Her skin was loose and pock-marked. Her hands shook visibly much of the time and she was always asking me (or anyone else) for a cigarette, even though I didn’t smoke and she wasn’t allowed to in prison.

Her first lawyer had tried the temporary insanity plea, but she had been evaluated by three psychiatrists (including one her lawyer paid for out of his own pocket) and all three had said that she was mentally alert and fit.

I have no idea how they came to that conclusion. The first time I met her she had been coherent enough, but other times she seemed as mad as a march hare, going on and on about the most disgusting things. The previous time I had been to see her, she had asked me which prison guard I thought had the biggest dick and wondered how it would feel to bend over and let one ram it up her ass until she bled. When I blushed, she laughed and called me “Snow White”.

“Yew just need a good fuckin’,” she had said in her honey-dripped, Southern drawl. She only had that drawl when she was like this. “Tell that man o’ yers to spread those long legs and pound yew until you cain’t move.”

“That’s enough, Diamondback,” I snapped, standing up. “I’ve told you before I’ll leave when you get vulgar.”

“How about th’ kids?” she asked, eying me strangely. “Ever fucked yer kids?”

I stormed out as she hollered after me “Bet yew have some sexy kids. God damn!” She was roaring with laughter as the heavy steel door was slammed behind me.

The next day I got word that she wanted to see me again, but that “mornings are better”. I considered not going. I considered asking the court to assign someone else to her case, but there was no one else. And I didn’t care what the doctors had said, the woman was schizophrenic. If she wasn’t, it was a damned good act.

So three days later I was back at the prison. When I walked into the room, Diamondback was already waiting. She looked better than I had ever seen her. Her hair was combed and in place. She wasn’t shaking and she was sitting up straight; something I had never seen her do before, even in court.

“Good morning, Diamondback,” I said, half-expecting her to bite my head off.

“It’s Marsha,” she insisted, which surprised me. “Good morning, Ms. O’Neil,” she added in a courteous tone. “You wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“It’s OK,” she sighed. She rubbed her face with her hands, looking tired. “They probably wouldn’t let me smoke it anyway.”

“I came to see you on Tuesday,” I said, sitting down. “Do you remember?”

“I remember,” she said. “I remember everything. That’s the problem. Good memory. If I was high I could forget. For a little while anyway.”

“The state Supreme Court refused to hear your appeal,” I told her, opening my briefcase. “Aside from a reprieve by the governor, we don’t have any options left.” I handed her the paperwork. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” she said softly, looking over the papers. “You did your best.” Then she added, “I interned under Judge Wallis when I was in college. Did you know that?”

Wallis? I was surprised. “No, I didn’t. You were an architect, weren’t you?”

“I was pre-law my first couple of years,” she said. “It was a toss-up. Literally. I flipped a coin. The architect side came up and that’s where I went.”

“Diamondback... Marsha, what happened?” I asked. “You had everything. Why did you turn to drugs?”

“Do you have my mug shots?” she asked. I nodded and dug around for her police report. I handed them to her. She smiled and softly traced a finger over one of them, tears welling in her eyes. “I was a model, once. My mama used to say that I was beautiful.” She handed them back to me. “See?”

“Well, yes,” I began, “I had read that, but... " I stopped when I looked at the pictures stapled to her arrest record. Funny how you miss those things. I thought that I had looked at those pictures a dozen times, but I guess I skimmed over them. There was the close-up shot of her left arm, showing off the double-diamond tattoo that signified her street name, and her facial shots. The woman in the mug shots had long, red hair and was hauntingly beautiful.

I looked back and forth between her and her pictures several times. “Dia... Marsha,” I said slowly. “You were a heavy drug user when they picked you up, weren’t you?”

She laughed. “Yeah. I could do an 8-ball in three hours by myself.”

I looked over the report. “Are these mug shots from a previous arrest?”

“I was only arrested once,” she said. “That’s the night I shot poor Jimmy.”

“How did... " She was so coherent this time; so aware and human. I didn’t want to upset her, but I didn’t know how to put it delicately. “You... You’ve changed a lot in prison.”

“Haven’t I, though? Stress will do that, I guess.” She smiled. Then, “Oh, I have something for you, Ms. O’Neil.” She reached into her orange jumpsuit pocket and pulled out a ring. Marsha held it in her open hand. “It’s yours.”

I picked it up and examined it. I had dated a biker once. I wasn’t really interested in him beyond a way to piss off my parents when I was nineteen. I don’t remember what I had been mad at them over, but that biker guy had a skull ring very similar to this one. The ring had been made of pewter and the gem behind the eyes had been cheap, red glass. This one had eyes that glowed a brilliant green of what appeared to be a real emerald. The skull, unlike his, was finely detailed, and the metal was a shiny white gold. It had some real heft to it and must have cost a fortune.

I handed the ring back to her. “I know you can get just about anything in prison,” I said, “but that’s an odd thing to have here.”

Diamondback grinned evilly. “Say, did yew ever get t’ fuck them kids like we discussed lass time?”

I was in shock. The change had been so abrupt, without warning. Diamondback ran her hands through her hair, pulling it in different directions, all the while laughing maniacally. “Fuck them kids! Fuck them kids!”

I closed my briefcase and ran out of the room as fast as I could.

I drove straight to the office from there. I don’t know what had upset me more, the disgusting comments about my kids or the fact that something just didn’t add up about Marsha Fielding. OK, scratch that. The comment about the kids bothered me the most, but the other thing kept nagging at me.

Diamondback had looked like an animated corpse the first time I met her, and that was three years ago. By then she had already been there four years. So four years in prison had turned her into a zombie-like collection of bones? Granted, prison’s no ride through the tunnel of love, but I thought the excessive amount of drugs in her police report would have played a contributing factor to her appearance and that she must have looked like a burned-out coke fiend the day she shot Jimmy Skin. But her mug shots said different. If Jimmy was her pimp, he must have been making a mint off of her. If she was screwing for money anyway, she should have been a courtesan, not a streetwalker. She was that beautiful.

When I got to my cluttered desk, I found a small stuffed pink bunny sitting on the edge, dressed in prison stripes. It was holding a little sign that said “Prisoner of Love.”

I laughed and everyone turned to look at me. “OK, how did he do it this time?” I looked over at Milton. “Did you see Sam come by my desk today?”

Milton, a gruff-looking older black gentleman shook his head and smiled. “I’ve been going over these reports for four hours now, O’Neil. Since before you left for the prison. I haven’t even been to the bathroom yet and I didn’t see a thing. But then it’s not my turn to keep track of your no-account husband.”

Raymond, the office intern shook his head-full of red hair. “I didn’t see anything, Ms. O’Neil. Honest.”

Sam was a loan officer at a bank, but he had missed his calling. I always told him he should have been a ninja, the way he could sneak around without anyone seeing him. Intermittently and spontaneously, since we first had Becca, we snuck that damned stuffed rabbit back and forth between my desk and his at the bank. People always caught me, but no one ever saw Sam do it.

No one at work knew it, but that little stuffed bunny was our signal for some quality time alone that night. It said “I’ve arranged for someone to take care of the kids. Wanna fuck?” and it was the sexiest, most romantic thing we had going between us.

I opened up my briefcase and something metal dropped out and hit the floor. I picked up the skull ring and looked at it. I thought I had handed it back to Marsha Fielding. I guess not. I shrugged. When I was sufficiently over her crazy behavior, I’d see that she got it back, although the guards would no doubt take it from her. I dropped it into my desk drawer.

When I got home that evening, the lights were low and candles were everywhere. Romantic music was playing on the stereo and a trail of rose petals led up the stairs. I followed them to the bathroom where I found Sam taking a bubble bath in our large, antique tub and wearing a long, blond wig, piled up on his head. It looked strange against his dark goatee.

I giggled. “Sam, you silly bastard! What is all this?”

“Hey, Cosmo says this is romantic,” he said, smiling. “Who am I to argue with the leading women’s magazine?”

I started taking off my clothes. “How was work?”

“Exciting,” he said, sponging himself. “Four couples looking to refinance and a rancher who wanted to buy some more cattle. It was Friday, so after that I robbed the bank and held all of the tellers hostage.”

“Did you force any of them to have sex with you at gunpoint?” I asked, unhooking my bra.

“Of course,” Sam insisted. “The women were brilliant. The male tellers were kinda shy though.”

I laughed. “You big goof! Who’s watching the kids?”

“Your mom. Wanna help me find the soap?”

I slid atop my husband into the warm soapy water. “I thought you’d never ask.” His eyes bulged as I grabbed him under the water. “Oops, that’s not it.”

Sam laughed. “To hell with the soap.”

Things were different that time. I guess I was in a weird mood, because I got a little freaky. I had Sam tie me up and fuck my ass. I’d never been tied up before and I’d only let him do that to my butt once. In fact he was the only guy I’d ever let do anal on me, but that night it sounded so hot that I couldn’t help myself. I wanted it bad.

I wanted it to be bad. Sex should be nasty, I thought as my husband was sodomizing me. Nasty and wild and hot. I begged him to shoot in my “shit-chute” as I called it that night, and he was only too happy to oblige. It was the hottest sex we’d had in a long time.

The next day was Saturday and we slept in. After a hot breakfast and a hot quicky, Sam started on the yard work and I started cleaning the house. My mom brought the kids back about 3 PM.

“Mommy, Mommy!” they yelled, running to me.

I squatted down and hugged and kissed them. “Hello, my babies! Were you good?”

“Uh-huh,” Snowy said, nodding his head vigorously. “Gramma took us to ‘Donald’s ‘cause we were so good.”

I gave my mother the evil eye. “McDonald’s, huh?”

Mom shrugged. “It was your favorite at that age. Didn’t kill you.”

I laughed. “You weren’t happy taking me there when I was a kid. But your grandkids... ”

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Mom insisted as we took the kids to the playroom.

“And we went to Funfare Park,” Becca said. “I got to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl and everything. But Snowy couldn’t ride it cause he’s just a kid.”

“Am not!” Snowy said.

“Are too!”

“OK, break it up, you two,” I scolded. “Play with your train while I talk to Grandma.”

“Yippee!” Snowy said and ran to the toy box, followed by his sister.

I looked at Mom with mock indignation. “McDonald’s? Seriously?”

“They’re kids, Rhonda,” she said. “Let them be kids.”

“Easy for you to say,” I scoffed. “You know Snowy gets an upset tummy every time he goes there.”

“They’re kids,” she repeated. “They’re going to get sick eating cake and spinning around until they’re dizzy and watching scary movies. It’s part of growing up.”

I could tell this was going nowhere, so I changed the subject. “Have you heard from Shelly?”

“Your sister needs to grow up a bit, too. She moved in with that guy she’s been seeing. Mike, I think his name is.”

“It’s Marc,” I corrected her. “And you make it sound like they’ve known each other a week. They’ve been dating for two years, Mom.”

“Still... You and Sam weren’t living together before you got married. And the way they met... ”

“Sam and I are different from Shelly and Marc,” I insisted. “Shelly’s always been a free spirit. Besides, if you think Sam and I hadn’t sampled the goods before we married, you weren’t paying attention.”

“Oh, I always figured you had,” Mom said, “but thanks for confirming something I really didn’t want to know. What is it they say today? TMI?”

Ever fucked the kids? It flashed into my mind out of nowhere and I gasped.

Mom looked hard at me. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I blushed. “Something someone said to me yesterday. One of my cases. Never mind.”

“What was it?” she insisted. “What did they say?”

“Never mind, Mom. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Mom left shortly after. We all had dinner and sat down to a little TV. The kids were on the floor, staring intently at the Disney movie we were playing, and Sam and I were cuddled on the couch. I was feeling horny and I was playing “find the remote” in Sam’s lap when the phone rang.

“Joe’s Pool Hall, Cue-ball speaking,” Sam said into the phone, followed by a mock “Ouch” as I poked him in the ribs.

“Sure. Hold on, kiddo.” He handed me the phone. “Your sister.”

I took the hand piece from him. “Shelly? How are you, dumb ass?”

Sam returned my poke to the ribs and pointed at the kids, then put a finger to his lips.

“Sis?” came Shelly’s sobbing voice. “Sis, I need your help.”

I sat up. “Shelly? Honey? What’s wrong?” I looked at Sam who snorted.

“It’s Marc,” she cried. “He’s... Rhonda, please come. I’m at his place. Our place. On Washburn.” The line went dead.

“Can you put the kids to bed?” I asked Sam.

He rolled his eyes. “The Drama Queen strikes again! Sure, babe. I know the routine.”

I had only been to Marc’s place a few times and it was tough finding it in the dark. I must have passed it twice before I finally recognized Shelly’s old Aerostar van in the open garage. I pulled up in front and ran to the door, banging on it. “Shelly?” I hollered as I banged insistently. “Shelly!”

My sister opened the door, wearing a cute little nightie. Her long face was puffy and her eyes were red. At the time I thought it was all because she’d been crying, fool that I was. “Come in.”

I stepped into the Fingerhut. Sam and I always called it that because that’s where Marc got all of his furniture, but I saw some of Shelly’s stuff mixed in with his. I guess she really had moved in.

“What’s wrong, Shelly?” I asked, hugging her and checking her for broken bones. She was shaking uncontrollably. If Marc hit her, I’d pull every string I had to get his ass locked up. “Did he hurt you?”

“Nothing like that,” Shelly said, leading me into the living room.

Marc was seated on Shelly’s couch, nude under a blanket. He looked even worse than Shelly, and I had a sinking feeling that I knew why. “Hey, Rhonds,” he said weakly.

“OK,” I said, still standing as Shelly sat down beside him. “What happened?”

“We, um...” Shelly began. She blushed. “We were doing some coke and... ”

“Coke?” I almost yelped. “Cocaine? Shelly... ”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know.”

“Jesus, Shelly! You promised me you’d stopped,” I said, giving Marc the same evil eye I’d given Mom earlier. I knew whose idea this had been.

“It was just a little,” Shelly said. “You know, to loosen up a bit? Well, Marc kinda passed out and... ”

“It’s never ‘just a little’ with you two, dumb ass,” I said. “Or don’t either of you remember going through rehab? Remember rehab? The place where you met?

“One junkie dating another. That was a smart move!”

“Don’t judge me,” Shelly snapped, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. “OK? Just don’t judge me right now ‘cause I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood?” I practically screamed at her. “You call me up all panic-stricken because Mr. Potatohead here almost OD’ed and I’m supposed to keep my opinions to myself because you’re not in the mood? You’re a real piece of work, Shelly. You know that? A real piece of work!

“Where’s the fucking coke?”

Shelly held up a small plastic bag, her hand still shaking from the drugs. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my purse. “I’ll get rid of it and you two, when you’re coherent enough, had better clean everything the coke might have touched. Shelly, when do you see your parole officers again?”

My sister looked at the floor glumly. “Not for another eight days for me. Marc sees his in five days.”

“I don’t know jack about drugs,” I said, “but you’d better hope it’s out of your system by then, because those guys can sense when you’ve screwed up and you’ll end up back in prison. Is that what you want, Shelly?”

“No,” she said meekly.

“You’d better not! Because if you end up back in prison and they assign your case to me,” I hollered, “I will screw it up so bad that I will personally see to it that you get as close to that original six years as the judge will allow. Do I make myself clear?”

“Like crystal,” Marc interjected. I shot him a whithering glance and he shut up.

“Yeah,” Shelly whispered. “I get ya, Sis.”

“I can find my own way out,” I snapped and stormed out of the house.

On my way home, I did a curious thing. Something I never thought I’d do. I pulled the car over into a city park. It was quiet and no other cars were there. I pulled the coke, an envelope, and a straw from a fast food restaurant from my purse. I emptied the little bag of coke onto the back of the envelope, pulled the paper wrapper off of the straw, and snorted the coke. All of it!

The buzz hit me like a ton of bricks. So this is what cocaine felt like. Wow! I was instantly in love with this shit. My head was spinning and I was suddenly horny as hell. I raised my skirt and pulled down my panties and frigged myself to a great climax.

Fifteen minutes later I was pulling out of the parking lot. A young guy was walking by and I slowed down, looking him over. He had long blond hair and a mustache and was wearing a cowboy hat. He was cute! He stopped and stared back at me through the driver’s window. I felt a strong impulse to pick him up. Maybe we could go to a motel and... A cop car passed through the parking lot and I reluctantly moved on and headed for home. I couldn’t wait to get there and fuck Sam.

The next morning, as Sam and I were getting dressed, I spent a lot of time going through my closet. I decided that my clothes looked boring! I did manage to find a couple of things to interest me though, including an old, black halter top, very low cut. I had worn it when Sam and I were dating. He always liked it. My breasts had grown a bit since having the kids and my 36DD’s strained against the tight top. Next was a white miniskirt I hardly ever wore, and the highest pair of heels I had. Platforms with 4-inch heels. They looked like an old maid’s shoes to my eyes, but they’d have to do for now. I really piled on the make-up too, looking a little trashy.

Sam came out of the shower, drying his hair. “Wow! Going somewhere, babe?”

“Nah,” I said. “Just felt like dressing up a bit.”

Sam walked up to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “If you hadn’t already drained me last night, I’d say let’s go back to bed.”

“No time,” I said. “Bar-b-Que at Mom’s today, remember?” I slid down. “But there’s enough time for a quick b-job.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, right. You hate sucking cock. You gag, remember?”

“I’ll bet $20 I can do it today without gagging.”

He smiled. “OK, earn your 20 bucks, bitch,” he joked.

I shivered in lust when he said that. “OK, stud. Hold still.” I played with myself while I sucked him, imagining I was a hooker sucking a john. We both came very quickly.

We got to Mom’s about four in the afternoon. The kids got wrapped up in a video game with the Williams’ older kids, so they were fine. Sam and I went into the back yard to spend time with the adults.

Sam’s best friend Michael was there, so he and Mike wandered back to the house and the den to talk football and watch the kids. Shelly and Marc were there too, but both avoided my company and my gaze. I didn’t blame them because I was still pissed and they could tell. Maybe I didn’t have a right to be, considering what I’d done with their coke, but then I wasn’t the one on parole, was I?

To say that my appearance was a hit was an understatement. The men were swarming around me that day. I’d never felt so sexy in my life. Mom looked stoically at my outfit and I knew I’d hear about it later. At the moment I didn’t give a fuck. I was flirting like hell and enjoying every minute of it.

It got dark and late and Brenda’s husband Phil had been flirting with me nonstop. Brenda wasn’t there and word was that she and Phil were getting a divorce anyway, so I said “fuck it” and flirted right back. It wasn’t like I was going to run off with him and the flirting was good for my ego. It was nice to know that eight years and two kids later I could still make another man horny.

It was a little after 9 PM when Phil and I wandered into a dark corner behind some bushes in Mom’s spacious yard and sat on a stone bench. We were both a little tipsy and the flirting really had my juices flowing. I was wishing I still had some of that coke to get me even hornier when Phil reached over and started massaging my tits through the halter top. I didn’t pull away.

“That feels nice, sugah,” I husked, tilting my head back.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he rasped, pulling a tit out of the top. Again I didn’t object. “You’re a very sexy woman, Rhonda.”

“Keep that up, stud, and Ah won’t be respons’ble for mah actions.”

He laughed. “What actions?”

“Things lak this.” I reached down and started rubbing his hard, average-sized cock through his pants. “Wow, baby. Yo’ really hung,” I lied. Phil gasped, losing his rhythm on my breasts.

“I always thought we should get together, Rhonda,” he said, groaning in pleasure.

“Not on your life, asshole!” Wham! Phil fell backwards off the bench, holding his head. Sam was standing over us, his hands balled up in fists.

“Sam, honey,” I gasped. “It’s not what you think... ”

“We’re going home,” he said, his face beet red. “And for God’s sake, cover yourself up, you slut!” He glowered at Phil, who was getting shakily to his feet. “Stay away from my wife, asshole!”

Behind him, Mom, my sister, the guests, God, and everyone else looked on in shock.

Sam was silent on the ride back. The kids were passed out on the back seat and I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t even look at me and I felt about as small as I had ever felt in my life.

I tried again at home, but he was as mad as I had ever seen him. I even tried coming on to him, but there are some things you just can’t smooth over with sex. Sam insisted on sleeping on the couch.

Sam went to work the next morning, but coward that I was, I called in sick. Mrs. Randall was watching the kids as always, but didn’t intrude on my bedroom, figuring I was sick. Shelly and Mom were both blowing up my cell phone, but I didn’t answer it. Like I said: coward.

I cried when I first woke up, and kept at it all morning. Around noon I got tired of crying and starting craving some of the coke I’d had the other night. Why was I doing that? One time didn’t make you an addict, did it? I grabbed my purse and emptied it out on the bed.

Some women keep a few things in their purses. Others keep their whole lives in there. I fell into the latter category, and I started digging through the pile, hoping by some evil miracle to find a little of that magical white powder had fallen into the bottom.

I didn’t find a trace of the cocaine, but I did come across that damned skull ring. I picked it up and looked at it quizzically. I thought I’d left it in my desk drawer at work. In fact, I distinctly remembered it hitting the spare change in my drawer with a metallic clink. I shrugged and put it on. It looked hot on my finger, just above my wedding ring. I stopped crying.

I was really craving that coke for some reason. I didn’t have any, but I knew where to get it.

Shelly was at work, which was perfect as far as I was concerned. I really didn’t want to face her or Mom at the moment. Marc worked sporadically and I figured he’d be home. If he wasn’t, I’d get in with the key I knew he kept hidden under a potted plant. I’d ransack the place if I had to. Knowing those two, I’m sure they still had coke somewhere.

All the way there, my arm was itching like crazy. I could make out a good-sized rash on my left forearm and figured I must have gotten into some poison ivy at Mom’s the previous night. I decided I’d ransack the place for some calamine lotion, too. Sometimes you just had to take what you need.

Marc didn’t have a vehicle, so I couldn’t tell if he was home or not. I banged loudly on the door and when I didn’t get an answer, I retrieved the key from its hiding place and walked in. I figured I’d start with the bedroom and work my way forward. That’s where I found Marc, in bed naked. He was snorting a line when I walked in and he looked up at me guiltily.

“Oh god,” he groaned. “Not another lecture! Please, Rhonds, don’t tell Shelly. She doesn’t know, OK?”

I was shaking. Why was I shaking? “Did yew do it all?” I asked.

“What?”

“The coke,” I insisted. “Do yew have any left?”

“Why are you talking like some god damned Southern belle?” he asked.

I ignored him. “The coke, sugah. How much is left?”

“A lot,” he said, eying me suspiciously. “I spent my whole paycheck on it. I just started. Are you gonna try to take it again, cause I’m not gonna let you... ”

“I’ll share it with ya,” I said, my voice as quivery as my hands. “I need sum. Bad.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “What’s got into you, Rhonds? Last night? Today? This isn’t like you.”

“Let’s just say Ah have needs,” I said, letting my skirt slide to the floor. “Now yew gonna share that coke or not?” I slid into bed with him.

I had never been that high in my life. Drunk on occasion, stoned from weed once in college, and I had a little taste of coke a couple of days earlier, but nothing like this. I was buzzed.

I was buzzed on Marc’s big cock, too. Sam was hung, but my god! Addict or not, I could see why Shelly kept him around. We spent the whole afternoon fucking and snorting. I was almost totally out of it when Shelly came home and found us. I smiled up at her shocked face.

“Hiiii, dumb ass!” I squeaked. Marc and I fell into a fit of giggles as Shelly ran out of the house and peeled out as best her van’s old engine would allow.

When I got home that night, Sam was sitting in a chair in the dark living room. I turned on the lights and he squinted slightly.

“Hi, sugah,” I said, smiling. I was still feeling no pain. “How’s my big ol’ honeybarh?”

“Shelly called,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and made a sucking sound through my teeth. “And what did Miss Priss have t’ say?”

“The kids are at your mom’s,” he continued. “Don’t try to see them. Your mom said she never wanted to see you again either. You’ll find two packed suitcases in the hallway. You can come for your other stuff when you’ve found a place.”

“Just lak that,” I huffed. “Eight yars out th’ winder just cause I lak to have a little fun?”

“Rhonda, don’t start,” he said threateningly. “Just get the bags and go. Please.”

I was still high, still horny, and not the least bit scared. Coke makes you that way, I guess. “Yeah, I’m goin’ asshole. There’s gotta be a lot o’ men out there more fun than you, you stuck-up ol’ prude, and Ah’m gonna find me a few.”

“I don’t care if you fuck your way through the phone book,” he said, his temper just below the surface. “Just get the fuck out of my house. And don’t think you’ll ever see the kids again.”

“Fuck them kids!” I yelled. “Kids only tie a gal down. Ah’m gonna have some fun before I’m old.”

The next thing I knew, I was lying face-down on the front lawn with two suitcases beside me.

That was a few months ago. Like I said, the dates were blurred on a sea of cocaine and booze and semen. After I lied in bed awhile, the guy got up and left, leaving $300 on the counter by the TV set. I guess this was my motel room.

I sat up and stretched, debating on breakfast, when my cell phone rang. I had remembered to charge it the previous day, and it played the distinctive tone for Shelly. Shelly and I had been talking on and off since that night. She was living alone now, and I guess if I could forgive her some of the screw-ups she had done, she found a way to forgive me over Marc, who she hadn’t seen since.

I picked up the phone. “H’lo?”

“Rhonda?” my sister’s familiar voice asked. “How are you?”

“Ah’m OK,” I drawled. “How ‘bout yew, sugah?”

“I’m OK.” A pause. “I wish you’d come stay with me, Sis.”

“Now we both know that won’t work, sugah,” I said, looking at the clock-radio by the bed. Shit! After 5 PM. “A gal lak me’s gotta make a livin’ any way she cain. ‘Sides, Mama’d throw a fit.”

“Mom doesn’t have to know,” Shelly insisted. “I worry about you. You’re... You’re not well.”

“Ah’m jus’ fine, sugah,” I said, rummaging around for last night’s cocaine. A little hair of the dog would help with my headache, I figured. “Fit as a fiddle and ready fer love.” I laughed.

“Where are you?” Shelly asked. “I could come over and we could discuss the kids.”

“Fuck them kids! Ah don’t need company, Shelly, not ‘less’n yo’ bringin’ some coke with yew,” I said, giving up looking for my stash.

“No coke, Sis,” she sighed. “I’ve been clean since that night.”

“Well good fer yew!” I said, laughing. “Amen and Hallelujah! Yew are saved, sistah-deah! Jus’ look at us now: yew clean and me jonesin’ fer some coke. Ain’t that a kick inna head?”

“Rhonda, you’re not well. Where are you? Tell me, please!”

I looked at the skull ring. I had found out that night that I couldn’t remove it, no matter how hard I tried. But that didn’t explain my wedding ring. The skull ring wouldn’t come off, so how did my wedding ring disappear about a month ago? It’s not like I could get the skull ring off to get to it. If I could, I would have pawned the bitch for some much-needed coke.

“Sis?”

I clutched my head suddenly. It was spinning and it wasn’t from any drugs. I felt nauseous, on the verge of puking my guts out. I dropped the phone and slumped onto the bed. I rolled around, feeling like I was burning. It hurt! It hurt so fucking much! I thought child birth had hurt, but it was a head cold compared to this. I cried and screamed and bucked, just knowing someone would call the motel management and get me thrown out.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. I was breathing heavy, feeling like I’d just passed a basketball-sized kidney stone. I laughed, feeling weak but giddy. It was over. At last. I took off the bandage from my left arm and looked at my beautiful, double-diamond tattoo.

I picked up the cell phone and heard “Sis? Sis! Rhonda! What’s happening?”

I put the phone to my ear and said “Rhonda ain’t here no more. Don’t call back.” I grabbed a platform shoe and putting the cell phone on the desk, I smashed it to bits.

Two hours later, I was sitting in the motel lounge with some guy I’d just met. He was a salesman from Daytona and the lucky customer for tonight. I toyed with the skull ring and thought about that poor, stupid fuck Marsha, sitting on death row in prison. She had probably lost it by now. I imagine they’d pumped her full of drugs to calm her crazy ass down. I laughed to myself. Enjoy the ride, sister. You were fun for awhile. No doubt she was insisting everyone call her Marsha now. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha...

I must have said it out loud. The john I was with said “Marsha?” He sipped his drink. “I never did ask you your name. Is that it?”

I smiled and moved my right hand to his lap, rubbing his swollen cock. I held up my left arm, showing off my tattoo. “Call me Diamondback.”