Did I Ever Tell The Story Of How My Friend Almost Died On Molly?

09.08.13 4 years ago 47 Comments


I’m in East Hollywood with my lady. Me and a group of her friends are piled into a Charger that I rented for the weekend. The main squeeze is riding shotgun with me, while in the back are Lisa (redhead white girl from the Valley) and Bee (thicker, dark-skinned sister from Long Beach). Accompanying us are two go-go dancers my lady had scooped up from the club earlier that evening, Aida, a fat-assed black chick, and Tammy, short and petite Asian-ish girl. The ladies are all cackling, with 1 or 2 hits of ecstasy flowing through their veins. I was on one myself.

The music is blasting, playing ever-relevant cuts from Johnny Rain’s Lullaby Of Machine. The MDMA dedicated “Mulholland Drive, My Abyss” comes on as we pull up to some hotel. I listened to the first half, watching the ladies scoot out of the car, realigning their outfits. The bass hypnotizes me and the synths laced with a drowning police siren played in reverse are addictive.The numerous Auto-tune laced, vice references are overwhelming, but damn are they accurate at that moment. I pause it mid-way through, and we head into the hotel.

We all stumble into this suite, with about 25-30 folks, mostly females. Red lights are dimmed really low, and the aroma of marijuana hits me quickly, since my senses are at 200%, word to Darryl Witherspoon. I’m erect as hell, hot as hell, really excited, all while my vision is enlightened with a white outline around everything. Crazy feeling. I grab my lady, “Hey, I’m startin’ to feel that sh*t.” She darts her tongue at me, and assures me, “I got you, baby.” Her eyes are dilated, pupils drowning out her emerald irises.

The dancers drag her to the back, towards the kitchenette, and she pulls me with her other hand. I eye all the women in the living room, Cali chicks sitting on laps, standing up, everyone with a red or styrofoam cup. My mouth starts to water. We go into the kitchen, and there is a tiny mountain of yellow pills. “Look at all the skittles!” Aida says with excitement. She immediately takes one. Tammy, who stands about 5’1″, is fed two by Aida. I winced.

We all get a styrofoam cup filled and head to the living room, where a couple of people are dancing. The dancers, still in their pasties and short skirts, mind you, start dance with each other and everyone watches them. Two black dudes in all red, approach the girls and talk to them while they continue to grind one another.

An hour or so passes, and I’m sitting in a chair with my lady sitting on me, grinding me. Drinks have been passed around and everyone was in a groove and definitely drunk/lifted. I keep hearing Johnny Rain’s hook in my head, “Let’s get done (turn up!)” blending with the music. Definitely. My eyes start twitching as I try to make out everything that was escalating. I was sweating, and sipping this drank really slow.

My lady says something to me under the music, but her voice sounds like Darth Vader. I look toward where she is pointing, and one of the red-dressed dudes is holding up Tammy as she was limped up in his arms. My heart starts racing, but I’m extremely relaxed. Everything I hear sounds drowned out.

I realize the dude was trying to carry Tammy to the bedroom, and Aida and Bee were trying to stop him. Through the scuffle, I see hair flying around through punches and swings, and Tammy is dropped to the floor, unconscious. Other guys hem up the dude against the wall, and the other cats dressed in red intervene as a fight broke out. People were stepping on Tammy as her listless body laid on the floor. I got up and picked her up, moving people out of my way. The commotion around me is blurry, and all my hearing’s still muffled. Aida pushes my back and leads me to the front door, as I carry her friend. She’s jawing commands at me while I try to focus my strength on carrying this girl outside. I smell urine.

My lady jumps into the driver seat, and I slide into the center backseat holding Tammy. Aida’s crying hysterically, sitting on her knees next to me as she’s trying to wake up her friend. Lisa’s in the front passenger seat giving directions to a hospital and Bee is just staring at the scene. It’s about 2AM, cars everywhere, and we get stuck behind a line of cars in no hurry. My lady breaks a few traffic laws to get through the traffic. She runs a red light, and swipes the back panel of a small sedan with our big ass Charger.

Tammy shoots out of my lap and hit the windshield, cracking it. Blood was dripping from her head. Aida banged her face on the headrest with embedded screen in front of her, causing her face, eyes, and nose to instantly swell.

We all sit there for a second, asking each other if everyone is okay, as other cars drive off. People on the street pull out cellphones and run up to look. The people in the sedan got out. My lady swerves and speeds through the intersection. We arrive at the ER. There is piss and blood all on my shirt and jeans. I carry Tammy into the ER and they wheeled out a stretcher for her. My lady helped Aida through the doors who is still screaming about her face, which is now purple, eyes swelling shut. We tell the nurse that we have to run back to the car for something, but I persuade her to just drive away.

I’m driving now as we make our way back to my lady’s place in Glendale. I turn the music back on. Johnny Rain is paused at the midway point. That same bass, same tweaked out synths, so ill. My high is coming down, my stomach has a piercing pain, my lower back aches from all the dancing, and my shirt is wet with different bodily fluids. I have cotton mouth and my jaw is tightening up. At the moment, Johnny’s lyrics stuck with me from that second half of the song, “Just don’t fall…Put that X down, you don’t need it.” The chilling bridge continues on, my ears ring from the screwed up snare. My lady and Lisa start to cry.

I come further down later that next morning, after a shower, Advil, downing two liters of Gatorade and a few water bottles through the night and early morning. Maybe I’m an amateur party-goer or a lightweight. But the events that occurred that night in Los Angeles left a solid image in my head that molly is some serious shit. I don’t recommend it for anyone. That is main moral I learned in that experience.

Oh, and to always pay the extra for the insurance on a rental car.

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