21
David
Itell Emily I’m going to work. I do have a job again, but it's only minimum wage and it’s undignified work. I close the door behind me as I send a text to my dealer.
Me: Meet in the usual spot. Twelve bags.
I drive to an area of town where no one will recognize me. There’s a loud overpass behind me. I watch people meeting others for the same reason and scoff. I’m different. Aren’t I?
A sedan pulls up next to my car, and I meet with my dealer. I don’t know his name, and he doesn’t know mine. He wears a black baseball cap low on his head so I can’t see his eyes. He reaches his hand out and hands me the baggies. I count them before opening my wallet, taking out two hundred dollars in small bills. I struggle as I pull out the last one I have to my name. Why do I keep spending all my meager paychecks on drugs?
I walk into the house and Emily flips on the light.
“Today was payday, right? The rent is due this week,” she says.
“About that. I’m still not making enough at this job. Do you mind helping this month?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I had to front you last month too, David.”
“I know, I know. I promise I’ll pay it back.”
I can’t bear how she looks at me with shame and disappointment. The worst part is, it makes me want to use more to stop feeling the guilt. Nothing numbs you quite like heroin.
I go into my bedroom and close the door behind me. I pour the contents of a packet onto a spoon and draw some water into a syringe from the bottle next to my bed. I squirt it into the spoon, watching the powder swim until it clumps. I heat the metal with my lighter before drawing the golden liquid into the syringe. I hold it between my teeth and grab my belt, wrapping it tightly around my arm.
My skin reddens, and my veins protrude below the tourniquet. The needle finds its home—this time flawlessly—and as I release the leather from my arm, the door swings open. In my haste to get high, I forgot to lock it.
Emily’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops when she realizes what I’m doing. Her hand goes to her mouth, and she backs away. The drugs hit me at the worst moment. I can’t get up to chase after her.
There is something distasteful about a needle. People don’t react the same way to a person wiping their nose after a line as they do to a person shooting up. It’s a prejudice I probably deserve.
When I can rise to my feet again, I take heavy, drawn out steps until I reach Emily’s room. She is stuffing clothes into a bag. Her cheeks are tear stained, and she won’t look at me. I grab her arm, but she shrugs out of my grasp.
“Don’t!” she yells, finally looking at me.
I’ve never seen that sort of fire in her eyes, and it makes me step backward.
“Emily, I can explain,” I plead with her.
“I don’t need your explanation. I saw it with my own eyes.” Her voice is harsh and unwavering. “Fucking heroin? It all makes sense to me now. How was I so blind?”
“I kept it from you. I had to.”
“You really didn’t, though. How thin you got, wearing long sleeves even though it’s warm out, and all the rent money I loaned you? Oh god!” She swallows hard. “I fucking paid for your drugs!” Her voice becomes shaky as realization sinks in.
“You stay here.” I reach over and cover the bag with my hand. “I’ll go. I’ll stay with Marc for a few days and sort my shit out. I’m sorry. I promise you, I’ll get clean from heroin.”
Marc doesn’t fuck with heroin. I can get sober there. I’d rather he sees me at my worst than Emily.
She shakes her head and sits down on her bed. Her shoulders slump forward in defeat and I realize how much motivation she gives me to do better. I walk toward the door, looking back at her as I close it behind me.
I will get clean.