Rebuilding Sabrina, part 15

We staggered back home, totally wrecked.
Chris’ homecoming party had started slow, with a nice dinner in a posh restaurant, the four of us polarizing the attention of every punter in the smokers’ section, and then it had slowly and steadily spun out of control.
I crashed on the couch, aching deliciously all over, the colors and the smells of my living room rushing at me through the haze of the ecstasy. I stretched my arms and enjoyed the feeling.
Chris sat down by my side, a wild grin on her lips, her black hair falling over her face as a fit of giggles shook her. Her black stockings were laddered after the night’s revels, and a tit had escaped her strapless top.
I stared at her, this mystery that was my daughter and yet I had never known. Images and contrasting memories crowded in my brain, and I no longer knew what was my original life, what was the new reality Sabrina had manifested, and what was simply hallucination for the drugs and the afterglow of sex.
The mix of Opium, cigarette smoke and sweat on Chris’ skin was making my head spin, coming at me in purple waves that washed over my senses, rocking me like a low-thrumming earthquake.
I hummed gently.
Chris grinned. “What the fuck was that stuff we did?” she asked.

“Molly,” I sighed.
“No way,” she chuckled. “Believe me, I do a lot of molly, and this shit is a whole different league.” She shuddered, and shook her head. "This si some kind of acid."
It figured.
"It's good," I heard myself say. I ran my fingers through her hair. “Are you all right?”
Her hair were like live wire, making my fingertips tingle.
She leered at me. “Apart from the fact that I feel like you’re wrapped in green fire,” she said. “I never felt better.”
We sat there for an eternity.
I had things to do, plans, experiments. But it was like being immersed in molasses, my gestures slow, my thoughts sluggish. I lit a cigarette. The flame was like cinnamon. I sucked the smoke deep in my lungs, and the nicotine was like a whiplash. I coughed.
Chris took the cigarette from my lips and took a deep drag. “Got any coke?” she asked.
That was a good idea.
I fumbled with my bag. Took out the vial.
The dust tumbled on the table like a cascade of crystal glasses shattering on a marble floor. I cut it up using my credit card. I leaned over the table, and snorted a line.
Chris sat on the floor, leaning in turn.
“Mommy always has the best drugs,” she chuckled.
The cocaine snapped me back. It was like a cold shower, like an electric prod up my ass. “Christ!” I blurted.
Chris laughed and nodded, massaging her sinuses.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” she said. She gave me a look. “Are you coming?”
I shook my head. I had other things to do.
“You go on,” I said.
I watched her walk to the bathroom door, pulling off her top and dropping her tube skirt on the floor. She had a wonderful heart-shaped ass.
I checked the watch.
I was surfing on wave after wave of euphoria.
Let’s try it.
I fetched myself a tall glass of orange juice, and then measured 80 milligrams of MDA. I wanted to recreate the exact conditions that had led Sabrina to do whatever she had done.
I gulped down the juice, while I lit up a few candles.
Then I sat on the edge of the couch, and dropped the drug.
“Hey!”
Chris was standing in the bathroom door, stark naked, staring at me. “What’s that you’re doing?” she asked, coming to sit by me.
I drank the rest of the orange juice. “MDA,” I said.
“Ooh,” she grinned. “And where’s mine?”
I smiled, feeling smug. I measured her a fix.
“It takes about one hour to arrive,” I said.
Chris dropped it and nodded. “I’ll wait for it to come in a nice bubbly bathtub,” she said. “You sure you don’t want to share?”
I nodded. “Not tonight,” I said.
She sighed, and started towards the bathroom. “You’re getting old, Rose,” she chuckled.
I let her go and watched as the door closed.
Then I sat back, relaxing, and started breathing slowly, deep long breaths that made my ribs expand and my tits rise. I closed my eyes, relaxing.
In my mind, the two separate sets of memories had separated neatly, and I could see my true memories, like black and white shadows behind the colorful new past that Sabrina had manifested. Our long, obscene friendship, two enthusiastic sluts sharing clothes and make up, drugs and booze, men and women. I felt a thrill.
Was it something only Sabrina could do?
Was it her power and hers alone, or would I be able to shape the past too?
I breathed in deep, and sifted through the ghostly memories. Our brief stint in university. Our modelling jobs. Our long, complicated menage-a-troix with Dan. Dan that got us both pregnant…
No, I thought. It had not gone like that.
My imagination was still fevered from whatever hallucinogenic we had been dosed with at the disco.
It had gone differently, I decided.

I remembered our fight, furious, scathing words, as we had fought over Dan, the morning after our first and only threesome. How Sabrina accused me of being a whore, how I mocked her for having fallen in love. We had hit each other, pulled each other hair, kicked and scratched and bit each other.
“You stupid little bitch,” I had said, “You want your stupid romantic roleplay? Go on, then. Keep your precious Dan! Like he is the only cock in town!”
Yes, that’s how it had gone.
Sabrina and Dan going exclusive. She getting royally knocked up and then dumped, just like I had predicted it would go.
A pang of guilt stabbed me in the chest.
What of Chris? What of my daughter, in this new reality I was imagining.
But then I shrugged. She was just a ghost, not really my daughter.
A kaleidoscope of images tumbled through my mind.
I remembered Jackson, in whose bed I had happily jumped to forget Dan and stupid bitchy Sabrina. Jackson with his dark glistening skin, and his big hands, his broad quarterback shoulders and his huge, delicious cock. Ironic, how things had gone, all things considered.
The MDA slammed through my brain like a steam train.
I felt like my heart was going to burst from my chest ad my back arched and I squeezed my thighs together.
The door of the bathroom opened, and Chris came out, wrapped in a white towel.
“The shit is starting to get me,” she said with a big grin.
She sat by my side on the couch, sighing.
Dreamily, I ran my finger through her curly hair. She smiled at me. “Mommy always has the best drugs,” she said in a sing song.

I kissed her shoulder, her smooth chocolate skin smelling of bubble soap. Her towel slipped, revealing her large black aureoles, her thick nipples pierced with silver rings. She had Jackson’s sculpted, muscular frame, his dark skin and my blue eyes. And my tits. I had bought them for her when she had turned eighteen. She was my daughter, my friend, my accomplice.
We sat together on the couch, tripping happily.
I had changed reality.
I would be able to do anything.