My name is Elle, and I was an addict.

     Actually, I haven't fully recovered, but I'm getting there.

     Was I ashamed of myself? Absolutely.

     Who was I before my addiction? I used to carry myself with dignity and respect, showing the same to my fellow writers.

     What have I been reduced to? A junkie whose lunch breaks were made tolerable by the little red bubble on the corner of the Updates icon.

     As I rested flat on my stomach on the sofa, I contemplated what my life was before. I used to be normal.

     The sound of the jingling doorknob broke my trance.

     I perked up like a pup hearing the electric can opener. I got up and waited for Jay by the door.

     Jay opened the door, a crumbled up paper bag in his right hand.

     My pupils dilated. I could smell the stuff. He did get his hands on quality goods this time.

     "How long were you waiting by the door?" he asked.

     "Just a little. Did you get anything good?"

     Jay smiled mischievously at me. "Oh, you're going to love the stuff I collected. Follow me to the kitchen and I'll show you."

     I obeyed.

     Jay used his whole arm to knock trash off the table like a windshield wiper. He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and placed it on top of the table, along with the brown paper back.

     We both took a seat with the goods at the center.

     I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose. That smell, that intoxicating scent of validation that would snap any insecure girl out of her daddy issues.

     I grabbed the edge of the table to keep myself from lunging at the drugs and devouring them whole.

     Jay opened his wallet and took out his Visa debit card. Then, he dug his hand inside the bag. "Are you ready?"

     "I am."

     Jay raised an eyebrow. He pulled out an iPhone and placed it face-up on the table. After turning the phone on, he reached down with his thumb and index finger and carefully pulled the object of my affections out of the realms of cyberspace.

     "I got this comment from a strict reader," said Jay. "You know, one of those who doesn't publish anything."

     I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. From far away, the comment appeared to be a long, grey, sideways rectangle. It was a juicy one, filled with substance. A quality product indeed.

     My mouth watered. "Give it here."

     I snatched it from his hands, dropped the comment on the iPhone screen, and used Jay's Visa to pulverize it to a fine powder. With the edge of the plastic card, I pushed the powder into a long, white line.

     Hello, beautiful.

     I looked up at Jay, who already had a rolled-up dollar bill for me. "Here you go, you sick puppy."

     I took it, placing one end up one of my nostrils and plugging the other closed with my finger. Then, I leaned over the crushed feedback and snorted the entire line through the paper straw.

     Immediately, all the emptiness I once felt disappeared. All the insecurities about not being a good writer evaporated into nothing.

     They love me. They really love me.

     Jay laughed. "I haven't even gotten to the others yet."

     I wiped my nose on my arm. "What else do you have?"

     He pulled another comment off the screen and examined it over the fluorescent kitchen light. "This is a good one. It's from one of those regulars that comments no more than an hour after you post an update."

     I grinned. "I love those."

     "Savor these. They're few and far between."

     Yeah, right. Crush. Snort. Glow. "More."

     Jay looked inside the bag. "We can roll up and smoke the rest later. They're pretty weak."

     "I'll be the judge of that."

     I didn't wait for Jay to hand anything over. I just snatched the bag and emptied it on the kitchen table.

     Jay was right. The rest weren't as potent. Two, maybe three sentences long, with generic adjectives and nothing to stroke my ego.

     And votes. Votes were good. The kind Jay brought this time around were especially good. About ten in a row, several minutes apart to give the impression that actual reading was done. Some came with comments attached. Others didn't.

     The ones that didn't were only good for a quick high.

     I didn't care. I'd take what I could get.

     After all, the high only lasted a few seconds. It had to be followed up with another, then another.

     Jay cleared his throat. "Elle?"

     I was too busy with my nose candy to give him attention.

     "Elle?"

     Votes. Votes. Votes. Comments. Comments. Comments.

     "Elle," he shouted.

     I looked up.

     "This isn't okay."

     "What are you talking about? Of course it is. I provided a product. People like it. I enjoy basking in their enjoyment. What's wrong with that?"

     "You won't always have a supply, you know. Sooner or later, people aren't going to want to read me. And if they manage to find me, they won't pony up."

     "That's not true."

     "Sure it is. Haven't you seen the Featured Stories? Their read-to-vote ratio is around 10,000:1. And their read-to-comment ratio is even worse."

     He was right, but I didn't want to think about that.

     No, Jay was special. He was one of a kind, for no other reason than him being mine. And what's mine is always special because I'm special. I was never told otherwise, anyway.

     But why was he telling me this? He knew his job was to seek out long comments for me to snort and votes for me to smoke. Why was he making such a big deal now? "What brings this up, Jay? Are you trying to tell me something?"

     "Look, don't panic, alright, I'm just-"

     "Panic? Why would I panic? Not unless you're hiding something. Are you hiding something?"

     Jay looked uncomfortable in his chair. "No, I'm just saying-"

     "Saying what?"

     "Let me finish."

     I got up. "This weeks stash feels a little light. Are you holding out on me?"

     Jay twisted up his literary face. "Short? A moment ago, you acted like it was enough."

     "That was sixteen seconds ago. I need another ego boost."

     "That's all I've got. You have to update if you want more."

     That's it? No, there had to be more. "Refresh the page."

     "You did. Dozens of times. There's nothing new."

     I ran my fingers through my hair, frantic. The walls were talking as they closed in. "Refresh it again."

     "Elle, that's enough."

     "Don't tell me what's enough. I'll tell you when it's enough. Do you forget who wrote you?"

     Jay rolled his eyes. "The average number of views per story is 100. Can't you be content knowing you've surpassed the average in a matter of weeks?"

     "No," I cried.

     I couldn't help it. I became a maniac. I grabbed my brainchild by the shirt collar and shook him.

     Jay grabbed my wrists, visibly shocked by my strength. "Numbers don't correlate to quality."

     I slammed him down on the table. "I don't care."

     Jay's back landed on something. He winced. "Focus less on getting votes and comments and more on improving as a writer," he pushed through his teeth.

     I moved my hands to his imaginary neck. "Never."

     Jay managed to get off the table. He tried pushing me away, but it was no use.

     I could tell he was scared. I was scared, too. This wasn't like me.

     Just then, the sound of metal vibrating on wood broke up our fight.

     I turned my neck towards the sound.

     My iPhone rested on the table with a lit screen.

     I let go of Jay and pounced on the table. That little red bubble on the Updates icon never looked so beautiful.

     It was a vote from someone I didn't recognize, left thirty minutes ago. They didn't read Jay's other chapters, apparently. It was one of those votes left more out of returning the favor than actually liking Jay.

     Whatever. Crush. Snort. Glow.