Invincibility.

Our lips touch and his tongue pushes the rock inside my parted mouth lingering longer than I feel comfortable with. I slip the notes into his palm. His breath is foul, like rotting eggs and I feel my stomach lurch. I don't make eye contact with him as I pull away, but I can feel his eyes burning into my cleavage. I mumble 'thanks' and pull my cardigan tighter around my chest, fold my arms and turn my back to him as I walk away at a speedy pace.

I run my tongue along my gum and tuck my little parcel away. The sooner I get home the better. I have just done something I have done a hundred times before, but it never gets any easier. I still get paranoid that someone will catch me out.

It's not like I am a homeless, scummy addict or anything. I mean...I'm too intelligent for all that. Nothing will grip hold of me. I'm highly qualified. I used to hold down a 200k a year job in advertising. Well ,that was before it was 'suggested' that I leave after that small fuck up. My God how they exaggerated that one. I still think I was a scapegoat. Still, that's all in the past now. Onwards and upwards as they say. But for now I need some 'me' time and this is one of those days. And I do only have these days once in a while...maybe once...sometimes twice a week...sometimes three. Oh whatever, anyway, I have my baby to look after. My pride and joy, so I can't do this too often. I have no one else. Anyone else involves emotions I dare not contemplate so I don't 'do' relationships.
My baby is all I need.

I absolutely don't do it when she is in the flat. I make sure she has a full day at nursery. It's only a white lie that I tell them when I go in suited and booted in the morning pretending that I am rushing off to the office. Who would know? As long as they get their money who is going to question me? At least I know she's safe there.

I enter my flat and lock the door behind me. I take out my parcel from my mouth and place it on the kitchen work surface before methodically going around shutting all of my blinds. I slip off my heals and suit and let them drop to the floor. I pick them up and fold them onto the end of my bed ready to put back on later to go and pick my baby up. I then put on my comfy pyjamas. I giggle to myself. I always use these pyjamas for my 'me' day. My silk pyjamas bought from Hong Kong when I was over on one of my many business trips.

I go into the kitchen to get my 'kit' together. I pull out a plastic bottle from the fridge and pour the rest of it's contents down the sink rinsing it and drying it. I slide a carving knife out of the drawer and cut it in half. I put the roll of foil under my arm and grab some string and my rock from the side.

I walk into the lounge and crease my face in disdain at the mess. I really must get my shit together and sort this place out. Next week I will...I have a whole list of things I need to do next week. Things that I have been putting off.

I walk over to the sofa and with my bare foot I slide off the papers and clothes that have collected on it onto the floor. I spot a used nappy amongst the clothes. Disgusting! I push it under the coffee table. Out of sight out of mind and all that. I slump down onto the sofa and drop my bits and pieces into my lap. I lean forward to get the remote control and switch on my TV and sky box. The screen is blank and a band tells me my subscription is due. Bollocks! I'll add that to my list of things to do 'next week'...

The next 5 minutes is spent wrapping my bottle with foil to cook my rock. I break it up and drop some into my bottle. I sit back and flick my lighter, the sound alone of it making my heart race a bit faster. It takes seconds for my rock to start to melt and I place my mouth around the top of the bottle breathing in deeply...

I close my eyes and can almost visualise the blood rushing through my veins. My pulse starts in my toes booming and swooshing through every millimetre of my limbs, at the speed of light it rushes up my body to my head. The whoosh reaches my head and I can hear loud pulsating in my ears. My eyes open fast at this feeling. My limbs feel heavy, but I haven't a care in the world...no one can touch me. My heart beating hard in my chest comforts me and gently my eyes close again.

30 minutes later the feeling has dampened...I need it again. This is the trouble with crack...knowing when to stop. But I have all day, and like I said before...I'm not an addict! So I do it again...and again...and again...repeating that beautiful rush, that wonderful feeling of euphoria...that sense of self worth that no words or physical comfort could ever match.

I am invincible!

The pitiful sight that Detective Sara Wilkinson surveys makes her stomach churn. The call came through at 9.30pm when one of the mothers hadn't turned up to pick her daughter up from Heathfield Nursery. Hushed words from the Nursery Supervisor about the mother being a 'strange one' were followed by a rush of 'gossip' about how she was trying to fool everyone into thinking she was still working. She'd turn up in dirty suits and scuffed healed shoes, hair unkempt and lank, face scabbed and dull. The baby often had to be washed and changed when she was dropped off for the day, but no one actually bothered to ask the mother why? No one bothered to ask if she was OK...she paid her money and that was good enough. There were no other contacts for the baby either. No father, no grandparents and no friends.

And here she was...still sitting upright, her head slumped back, dried vomit down her front, crusted around her mouth. Her eyes were open staring up at the ceiling, dry and empty. Her, once expensive, pyjamas were stained and frayed and she was sitting in a pool of urine... The flat was full of clutter and filth. The stench was suffocating.This beautiful flat in the heart of Canary Wharf where all the 'beautiful' rich people lived.

Detective Sara Wilkinson's heart ached...ached for the past, the present and the future...