Don't Order Dog_ 1(51)

Christina rolled her eyes. “God, you are such a buzz-kill. Was there a reason you asked me down here?”

“Actually there was,” Derrick replied, clumsily tucking in his white tuxedo shirt as he walked towards her. He stopped just inches from her slender figure, his stare moving mischievously up her long tanned legs and past her modest cleavage before slowly focusing on her face. Christina gave him an irritated frown. A twinge of nausea suddenly struck her as he leaned in close, swaying slightly as his warm, alcohol-laced breath washed over her. He pointed at her purse.



“I need some of your little friends.”

Christina instinctively clutched her purse tighter as his hand moved towards it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about,” Derrick replied, his eyes fixed intently on her. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know?”

“Know what, Derrick?”

“Jesus Christ, Chrissy – will you stop fucking around? You’ve got a small pharmacy in that tiny fucking purse and we both know it. Now listen… I don’t need coke or “e” or any fancy bullshit, I just want something to help me fucking relax.” He took a step back and smiled. “So are you going to stand there and play fucking stupid, or are you going to pull out one of those little vials from the Lynch treasure chest like a good little girlfriend?”

Christina stared at her boyfriend in shock. This was not normal Derrick. Even in her clouded state, she knew something was seriously off with him. It was strange enough that he was reminiscing about his childhood– a subject that, for as long as she’d known him, had been walled off from her like the safe in the bedroom of his Malibu estate. But the fact that he was now asking for drugs – and drugs from her – was beyond comprehension.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” she finally said, glaring at him.

“Come on, stop being so fucking dramatic. I’ve just spent a whole goddamn day down here dealing with a school of sharks in suits, and now I have to go upstairs and act like I actually like these motherfuckers. Alcohol by itself isn’t gonna cut it tonight, so I’m asking you for a little extra help. So please, drop the fucking Mother Teresa act and show me what you got.”

“Fine,” she said, handing him the purse. “Knock yourself out. And I mean that literally.”

Derrick walked over to the bed and dumped the contents of the purse onto the mattress. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed, staring at the bed. “I was just kidding when I said you had a small pharmacy. I didn’t realize you really did.”

“Fuck you, D. Do you have any idea how much I dislike you right now?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he replied as he leaned down and began rummaging through the collection of small vials and bags that contained an assortment of brightly colored pills and white, sugar-like powder. “So, what should I go with?”

“Why don’t you try them all,” Christina answered dryly, pouring more champagne for herself.

“C’mon, be serious. You’re the expert with this shit.”

She walked over to the bed and brushed his hands away before quickly sorting through the paraphernalia. “No... no… no…” she remarked flatly as she tossed the items one-by-one back into her bag. “Definitely not… no… no–”

“How about these?” Derrick asked, picking up a vial containing two pink, oval-shaped pills.

Christina stared at the vial in his hand, perplexed. Even though the pills were inside one of the handmade, silver-capped glass vials she’d found in Venice a few years ago, she had no idea what they were.

“Let me see those,” she said, reaching out her hand.

Derrick closed his fist around the vial and stepped back.

“Oh, so these must be the good ones.”

“Give me the fucking pills, Derrick.”

He flashed her a boyish smile and walked over to the bar. Christina watched silently as he poured another tall vodka and then popped the pills into his mouth. “Bottoms up, baby,” he said as he swallowed back half of the glass. Christina shook her head disbelievingly.

“Oh for fuck sake, Chrissy, what’s the problem?” he asked as he finished getting dressed. “Did I just rob you of dessert?”

“I have no idea what you just took, you idiot.” She tossed the last of the vials back into the small bag. “So when you’re experiencing projectile vomiting in five minutes, or having a full-on epileptic seizure in the middle of this trivial little social event, don’t look at me.”