"Your what?"
"My kit, Abby, don't play dumb. Did you take it? So I couldn't shoot up? That how you plan on helping me?" I demanded.
"Nate, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Tell me," I demanded.
"I don't know where it is," she insisted. She looked at my face, touching my cheek. I flinched away. "Have you been throwing up?" she asked. I ignored her question and tried to get up. "Nate," she called.
"Fuck off, Abby. Unless you're helping me find my kit, I don't want to hear it," I said.
I got up and left the room feeling bad for talking to her like that, but maybe she'd leave. She'd leave, and I wouldn't have to feel like a disgusting degenerate shoving the needle into my shoulder because my hands would be shaking too hard to get a vein without missing.
I got back out to the bedroom, st
arting with the bed. I ripped the covers off, throwing the pillows on the ground. I threw the cupboards open checking inside.
I was getting frustrated. I started on the couch, pulling all the cushions up. One of them caught the lamp on the second nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor.
"Nate!" I looked up seeing Abby in the bathroom doorway. The bathroom light was on behind her, so she looked like a ghost or something, like she wasn't really there. She came up to me. "Nate, stop," she said, taking the cushion I was holding from my hand. "You have to calm down," she said.
"Where's my shit?"
"You can't give up now, Nate; you've managed not to use the whole day," she said, putting her hands on my arms.
"Yeah, now we know my fucking limit."
"If you give up now, you'll have to start again from scratch," she said.
I was nauseated, and my heart was racing so fast I thought it was about to stop. Starting again from scratch meant not feeling like this right now, and recovery or not, I wanted to stop feeling like I was about to die.
"I can't fucking do it, Abby," I said.
"I said I was going to help you."
"The only way you could do that is helping me find a vein that isn't fucking dead," I snapped. I saw her flinch a little. I was being an ass. I knew that, but I couldn't fucking do it. If I showed her it was useless to try and help me, she wouldn't have to waste her time trying to do it. She wouldn't have to fucking watch this anymore.
"I'm not leaving you alone, Nate," she said.
"Well, maybe you should," I said, knowing I was pushing her away. In the dim light from the bathroom, her eyes became glassy. She was crying. She shook her head. Shit. Leave, goddamnit. Leave me alone. Why wasn't she letting me destroy my life in peace?
"I know you're struggling right now, but this is the worst of it. It will get easier. All you have to do is ride it out. I said I'd be here for you, and I meant it," she said.
I sighed, feeling my body sag. I wanted to believe her. I really wanted to let her help me, but I didn't know what to do when someone was trying to look after me.
"Come on," she said. She took one of my hands and pulled me after her. I resisted a little, but let her do it. We went back into the bathroom. The shower was on, making the small room foggy and warm.
I watched her pull my t-shirt off and slide her hands under the waistband of my boxer briefs so they could slide down, too. "Come on," she prompted gently again. I followed her into the shower. The water was sort of hot, hotter than I would usually have it, but it felt good because I was hurting so bad.
I turned my face up into the stream. It felt good. Abby was running her hands over my shoulders and chest. We stayed there a while before she stopped the water, and we went back to the room. She had put a robe on, and I was in a towel. I let her lead me to the bed and make me lay back on the bed. I still wanted to shoot up, but I wasn’t feeling as nauseated. I was feeling sort of tired. The room was dark, but I could still see her moving around.
"Wait here," she said, getting off the bed.
"Don't leave," I said quickly. I started getting up off the bed.
"Stop moving," she said. She sat on the bed behind me, letting me rest my head on her lap. She ran a hand through my wet hair. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," I grumbled, looking up at her dark silhouette. She was stroking my hair. It felt nice.