By Monday morning I begin to hate myself.
It was the second night in a row that I awoke to her screaming in pain. Frankly, I was annoyed. Sometimes she could be so selfish, I mean, we are all capable of thinking of ourselves first, but she couldn’t comprehend the fact that she was being selfish even if she wanted to. I guess when your emotional capacity is at an all time low you have trouble being empathetic. Selfish bitch.
“Can you turn the light off?” She asked.
“Yeah, sorry. Just give me five minutes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I think you misunderstood me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’m sure I asked you to turn the light off. I don’t think I asked you to do that in five minutes. Did I?”
“I’m not doing this,” I said, my voice monotone.
“Doing what?” She questioned, her voice starting to rise.
I wave my arm, “This.”
“What is ‘this’? Huh? What the fuck is ‘this’?”
Have you ever seen footage of someone screaming on a mountain and starting an avalanche?
“Arguing. I’m not arguing,” I said.
Prepare for impact…
This is wrong. I should start at the beginning. The trouble is knowing where to start. What constitutes the beginning? When we first met, our first real conversation, the kiss that changed everything? Was it me asking her out to dinner? That day in the park? The night she cried to me on the phone for a couple of hours? Unfortunately I do not think any of that matters. There are plenty of good moments, but in this case that would not give the meaning to this story the right tone. It’s not about a relationship turned sour. It’s about the snowball effect. It’s about the time at my apartment. The night I tied her arm. It was the moment I inserted the needle into her once lively and beautiful vein. It was the look in her eyes. It was the euphoria.
Substance: A dream like state. Ignore what you’ve been told. Of course there are ups and downs, but isn’t that the case with everything? That question was rhetorical. This isn’t a topic that is up for discussion. You will find that most of the people who are in the midst of this dependency keep to themselves. It’s better that way. That isn’t to say that favors won’t be asked, or that social acceptance has totally dissipated, because that is untrue. That is where manipulation comes into play. You learn to become everyone’s friend, and all the while the relationships you cultivate are done so with a motive. Honestly, there is nothing honest about drugs. It’s not fashionable. I don’t think a blown vein was ever a fashion statement. It is what it is, plain and simple, it’s personal choice. The only problem is knowing the difference between complete dependence and occasional use. It’s a very thin line. Needle thin.
There is a kind of romance that goes along with heroin. The needle gleams in the candle light, the brown powder starts to bubble, the needle mixes it around, it swirls. Stronger than a cup of coffee, weaker than a peaceful sleep. Although some people may go about their intake methods differently, it still had an order to it, a personal preference.
She winces as the needle enters her vein, the pain is moderate, but doesn’t last long. Instant euphoria overcomes her and her wince turns into a calm, I can see her eyes moving around her closed lids. She looks beautiful.