Chapter 170

"I love you more, too," I said.

"But who loves these beautiful lines of cocaine?" Kat said, walking over with a mirror containing twelve perfectly cut lines that she had formed off a compact, shimmering, pearly white brick of fish scale coke. Rita's dealer had given us access to his virtually uncut supply.

Kat set down the mirror and handed Jess a silver straw. I turned on, probably too loud, a hard rock station on Spotify. Jess kneeled in front of the coffee table and hungrily snorted two lines, closing her eyes and rubbing her nose with slow satisfaction. It was as if she had been medicated. She handed the straw to Kat, who took her lines with an even greater sense of need. The purity of the coke made it hit hard and fast. They started dancing as Guns n' Roses blasted through the speakers.

"I can't remember the last time I didn't do coke for two weeks," Jess shouted to Kat, as I took my turn at the mirror. We had