a novel By Anthony Lanni
This story started like most drug fueled loved stories do. It
involved a girl, a boy, a mass quantity of illicit narcotics and
never , never enough money. Yet the problem with
my love story was that it lacked the key elements to make a kick
ass ending. There was no girl waiting for me, no glorious shoot
outs with the cops on a meth induced psychosis. It was just story
that well, was my story a real story.
It was going on six days since I've had last seen Kayla. I had
called her phone with no avail, each time resulting in that sweet
yet horribly annoying chipper
"Hey GUYS!!, its me, Kayla , leave me a message and I'll get back to ya when I can. Ciao Bella"
I hated her, but I loved. "As soon as you can?" She was my best friend and roommate for god-sakes, but I didn't warrant a call back. It is not unlike Kayla to disappear once in awhile. She is probably on a binge with some guy she met, but that's never lasted more than two days, and she always calls me to let me know where she is.
It had been nearly two years since we met; a friend of mine had taken me to this oh so lovely crack house in West Long Branch on the east end of town, and really it truly was lovely. Not your typical crack house I tell ya. This home was in a relatively nice neighborhood, not a vacant building in one the various ghettos we would normally end up in. A woman named Diane, lived there. She was facing foreclosure and was ignoring the numerous bank notices that scattered her kitchen table. Her house was untouched. All of the furniture was in perfect order, making it look as though no one lived there at all. On this day, not different from many other, I had purchased a gram of crack at her house from a local dealer who cooked in the kitchen. As of all per-agreements of flop houses, you must smoke out the host, a couple blast of the pipe for Diane and I'd have a place to chill out. Diane was really laid back for a crack head, not super sketched out and paranoid, she was actually one of the closet people I've met thinking about it. She was In her late 30's, but her appearance would say otherwise. Half of her teeth were missing, but she always laughed, never ashamed of how she looked. Honestly, she was the sweetest junkie I had ever met; she never tried to steal from you, or make you give her extra shit. She just was really chill.
Diane sat on her bed finishing her last blast off the stem, junkie slang for a stem, and was using a pen to scrape the resin that collected inside the pipe for her last hit. A young girl sat next her, she was laughing her ass off watching old recorded episodes of the Mickey Mouse club on the television. Her laugh was quirky; she looked so out of place from the various shady characters that surrounded the room. She wore a long colorful skirt with a hand-beaded belt and a white tank top. She had long beautiful strawberry blonde hair, and must have been no older than 18. I stared at her until her piercing emerald eyes glanced away from the television, and directly at me.
"What?" she said, laughing.
"What? Are you talking to me?" I replied.
She laughed again, "What are you looking at?"
I smiled, taken back by how giddy she was being. "What's so funny
about the Mickey Mouse Club? It's a child show"
Her smiled quickly turned into a frown. "Fuck you,
I was startled, yet, too cracked out to make much sense of it
"You're nuts girl" It was kind of funny yet I was taken back
She started laughing even louder than before and Diane turned to me laughing as well.
"What is wrong with this girl?" I asked, not sure if anyone was listening.
My friend Michael turned to me. "Aidan, you're high as fuck right
now, just be quiet there gonna ask us to leave"
I turned back to Mike, confused "Who is that girl?"
Mike looked at me slightly annoyed.
"What are you talking about? He replied
She was lost. I just didn't realize how lost she would become. I never pictured myself being friends with someone like Kayla. We came from completely different ends of the economic spectrum. She was from the outer lake - a very upscale community on the northern end of the county. Kayla grew up with a family of overachievers and had a lot of pressure on her since she was a child. She lived the typical cliché of old money. From, the horseback riding, piano lessons, gymnastics all that upperclass bullshit I wasn't accustomed to. It was a never ending cycle from class to class to class. I couldn't understand though why she resented them for that; I would have died for opportunities she had, to explore a talent or have a parent who gave a shit enough for me to do something I really enjoyed. Kayla said she was never allowed to be herself, that she had to be what her family wanted her to be, she had to rise above them and she just didn't know how nor wanted to find out. A cliché? Yes. But one that I yearned to experience. I still didn't understand though. I had heard the pleas of her father over the phone, begging her to come home, telling her that he just wanted her to be happy. She was just too caught up in her addiction to really appreciate what she had going for her. Maybe it wasn't my place to say; maybe I just truly couldn't understand. I wanted so much to be like her, but I did not know how.
"Hey, you!" Kayla pointed at me at intensely.
I looked at her baffled.
"Hey, you!" she said again.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"You must be a Virgo."
"What? Why do you say that?"
"I'm good with these types of things. I could tell. Virgos are fairly critical and tend to be nit-picky, that's why you asked me about the Mickey Mouse Club." she explained.
I laughed how insane she sounded. "I think you were reading too much into that statement. And, by the way, I'm a Libra." I replied.
I really was interested in talking to her; she seemed so radiant, so happy, and so random. Then again she also looked like she had taken a hit of ecstasy.
Kayla stood up in excitement almost falling over. "No way, me too! October 14th!"
I laughed, yet, I was feeling kind of sick. I had taken my last hit and was starting to crash from the coke.
"Well isn't that ironic, I'm the 14th as well."
"We are soul sisters!" Kayla shouted in joy. "Yes, soul sisters!"
"Soul sisters... I don't think so." I retorted.
"Yes we are, honey, you just don't know it yet.
" She was so excited, it was a little scary"
My eye brows frowned, offended. "Why would you say that?"
"You're a silly boy" She was crying now with laughter. "A very silly boy."
That's how our demented relationship began; we've been friends every since
After that night, I didn't see Kayla for almost two months, until one day, I received a phone call from her. Although, I had never given her my phone number, she refused to tell me how she got it. The phone call was like one I had received many of times before.
"Hey, do you know anyone who can get me dope?" .
I usually didn't try and purchase heroin for someone I've only met once, especially someone of her caliber. I don't mean because she had class, but because she acted to sweet, to silly, and she was beautiful a girl. I couldn't picture the little hippie girl strung out on dope, she should be smoking weed and throwing frisbee's in the park. I knew this was a lie though. I would buy heroin for anyone, as long if I was getting some out it. She was my "soul sister", as she would say. I would prefer brother but I thought it suited her. I was actually surprised she remembered me, considering how incredibly fucked up she was that night. Before I knew it, she became my running partner, on the scout to scheme ways we could make money to get high. She didn't exactly move in with me, she just never left. Except for now, now she left, six days and still no call.
The worst possible scenarios played through my head. Could she be dead? Had she overdosed? Could she have been raped, kidnapped? Was it just an insane binge that has her so incapacitated that she can't pick the phone? Or was it that I just didn't know how to be without her?
DEAD Girl Knocking
The day I went searching for her began like most days in my world. The alarm wakes me, 7:13 a.m. The first rays of sunlight are seeping through the cracks in my blinds. I remind myself, as I have before, that I was going to hammer a blanket above that window to make it pitch black in here. Déjà vu? Nope, same story, different day. I close my eyes praying I can fall back asleep, even if it's only for five more minutes. This is one of the rare occasions that God hears my voice pleading for his grace. James won't answer the phone until at least 10 a.m. That's four hours from now. How will I survive four more hours? Four hours equates to four days when you're dope sick. No, make that four years - a fucking eternity. The acid from my stomach reaches my throat and I gag. My stomach turns sharply, and I can feel my muscles twitch from my legs, to my stomach and back, then down to my hands. I clench my fist and punch the wall. The pain will temporarily distract me. Survival is a day to day process. I forgot to follow the first, most important rule of the Junkies Hand Book: always save a bag for the morning! A lie I always tell myself when I'm high. I've broke rule one, although the rules have never had much consistency. In this game, when you break rules, you pay consequences, and right now, my consequence is four more hours of withdrawal until the dealer is awake.
I have forty-five dollars to my name after passing off bar soap to kid as a gram of crack. Yes, bar soap. The kind you clean yourself with. Let's just say some people were not built for this, not when your lighting soap on fire. There are other options I could take to make the restlessness in my legs ease, but every choice requires some kind of compromise -a risk- a risk I'm not willing to take.
Although, I will allow myself to ponder them to distract my mind for the time being and I'll cover the basics. I could take my money and go cop some dope off of the block. Copping off of the block basically would require me to go on foot and buy off of a local dealer on the street. Buying heroin off someone on the streets runs many risks which could have me regretting my lack of patience. The first risk, the one I am most concerned about, is that I am going to get ripped off by another junkie. I have brought pancake mix in a little waxed bag before, and trust me, pancake mix is not dissolving In any spoon. Around here, most street dealers won't let you test the product before purchasing. Around here, we don't have many "real" street dealers, mostly other junkies trying to get a fix themselves. The second risk is that I'll end up buying from a DT. DT is slang for an undercover cop. If I get popped, that means I'll be kicking my habit in jail...again, and in jail your lucky if you get asprin.
hey make you suck it up and remind yourself how pathetic you
really are. Really, for most of us out there, we keep using, as
the fear of withdrawal becomes our greatest concern. It is a
mental and physical pain unlike any other.
Undercover cops are pretty slick around here. They drive normal cars, often just following you to see who you make a buy from. To them, we are just rats following the cheese. So for right now, I haven't reached the level of desperation to consider taking any of these risks to get high. For now all I can do is sit, wait, and wonder, wonder....how the fuck am I once again back in this situation.
Contrary to popular belief, not all addicts come from broken homes. Well, I can't speak for myself, and I suppose broken is a subjective term. Although it doesn't really matter what class you've came from anymore. For years now, the headlines in the Northeast have talked about the heroin epidemic and perscription pill epidemic. Now it's easier to buy dope than it is alcohol.
Kayla has always had it good; not a care in the world to complain about, at least from my perspective. Her father owns a boating detail company which became very successful. Her father had spent a good amount of that income supporting our habits for past year, until he recently cut her off. It was only a matter of time. I'm sure she will check into Detox again, get her shit together for a couple weeks and we will be circulating in the money.
Kayla and my personalities have become so meshed it is often hard to distinguish the differences between us. I guess the therapeutic world would call us "co-dependent" but I know that isn't true. I know it seems weird, but sometimes I wish she could be here, she is the only person I know who truly knows how to be their self.
As I lay here sick, I missed Kayla. I kept running the story of how we met in my head over and over to pass the time. It was only 7:37a.m. now. Kayla's bed sat empty and I wondered where the hell she had been. I distracted the pain in my body by imagining where she must be and what happened. She had met some guy while on a run using him for all his drugs. She had a charm like that, to get whatever she wanted. But, in this game, it only lasted so long and usually you paid out with your body.
My stomach grumbled and I bagged. I so badly wanted to puke to make the pain go away, but instead I dry heaved, over and over and over. I couldn't remember the last time I had something to eat. Yes. It was yesterday - fish sticks. God I hate fish sticks. I got up from bed and decided to walk around; it would distract me from the pain for a brief. My bedroom was depressing. The walls were naked, not even a picture.
I entered my bathroom, and an empty roll of toilet paper lied
silently against the white stained linoleum floor. The mirror
was cracked, a perfect line reached corner to corner. In smeared
lip stick read "culture whore". I cracked a smile; a little
reminder of Kayla. She was unoriginal, yes , but she didn't care,
she didn't care what anyone thought of her. She never cared about
what others thought of her, unlike me. As I studied the
handwriting I became confused. I couldn't remember who wrote it,
her or me? The thought passed quickly, as green vile came
flooding out of mouth into the sink followed by continuous
I returned to my bed no longer able to stand. I crawled on the mattress that laid on the floor in fetal position and closed my eyes, thinking of my mother. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." I whispered.
I hated these rare moments when I knew emotions were real; when
they could not be supplemented by a dream like state where no
fear, no pain, and where no foresight existed. This was as real
as it gets. Natural sleep was unlikely, but it was my only tool
against time. I grabbed my phone and dialed James' number, even
though I knew he wouldn't answer yet I heard a voice on the other
end of the phone. "You have reached......"
"It's me, Aidan, give me a call back when you get this."
Waiting, always waiting. I drifted away into a daze.
A burst of thunder wakes me up but, the thunder doesn't stop. "Holy shit, what is that?" I realize it's not thunder, but a loud bang coming from the living room.
"Answer the fucking door dude!" a loud voice yells.
I approached the door cautiously.
"I know you're home asshole! It's cold out here!" the man continues to scream.
I look through the peak hole and see a familiar face. It's Andrew. I'm not sure to be excited or not. I open the door.
"Dude, where the hell have you been, I called you twenty friggen times!" he complained.
My whole body hurts too much to respond and I am sweating bullets. "I must have been out....what time is it?" I reply dazedly.
"It's a quarter to ten. That douche bag Smoke isn't answering his phone. Can you call James for Sarah and me?" he asked.
Rule #6 of the Junkie Hand Book: Never, and I mean NEVER, give out the number of your connection unless absolutely necessary. If you give out that number, you begin to run the risk of getting undermined and screwed by a "friend" and you immediately lose your ability of getting hooked with free shit. Before you know if, you've lost all your customers and privileges of getting hooked up once someone else gets a hold of that number.
"I don't know if he's up yet." I mutter.
"Well call him dude, I'm sick as fuck!" he begged.
"You look fine to me."
"Whatever dude, I'll throw you a bag."
"How much money do you have?"
"We got $120."
"Alright, give me a minute."
Rule #7: Learn to be a bullshitter, a convincing bullshitter. If you can succeed in being a bullshitter, you will go a long way.
I went to my room to grab my money. In my head, I add the money between me and Andrew. I always sucked at mathematics, but when it comes to drug deals, you have to learn to count quickly. So, it is normally $10 dollars for one bag of dope and $80 dollars for a bundle, which equals 10 bags of dope. The advantage of buying bundles is that you get two bags for free. With my 45 bucks and his 120, I can get 20 bags Plus, for bringing the dealer business, he might throw me an extra bag for 5 bucks, so we're are looking at a total of 21 bags of heroin.
I grabbed my phone from the bed, it reads "14 Missed Calls." Fucking Andrew. I scroll through the list of missed calls and see a missed call from James at 9:38a.m. I turn my head to ceiling and mouth "thank you god!"
Not only did I get to sleep, but now I can get high. Andrew is someone I consider being in the "wannabe junkie" phase. I have to admit, it sounds ridiculous, but the kid really does lack common sense when it comes to buying drugs. But then again, so did I at one time. I guess I take pride in my junkie status; it's the only thing I've ever been good at.
A "wannabe junkie", like Andrew, lacks the resources to find any consistent, reliable dealers, and he hasn't yet got addicted enough to go on the streets to take the risks and find dope on his own. Although, he will get wise soon, once he turns to the needle. The kid is still putting the shit up his nose. Then he will realize it's not so fucking cool to really want-to-be a junkie. The heroin that hits the streets is not like it was in the 70's, the purity levels are so high that you can actually become addicted by snorting it. Trust me, I watched a documentary about this once, I truly am that pathetic.
I grab my phone and call James.
One ring.... two rings...... three rings... Shit he isn't going to answer.
"Yo." Thank god, he picked up.
"Yo. What's up? It's Aidan." I answered, relieved.
"Yeah what's good?" he asks again.
"I need two B's and a ticket."
Two B's and a ticket means 21 bags of heroin. The B stand stands for bundle and ticket stands for an individual bag. Dealers hate junkies who use real terms over the phone, and they'll respect you more if you wise up to their lingo.
"Aight, meet me on Princeton in 20 minutes." James replies.
"Alright, cool." I hang up.
Heroin, at least in this state, comes stamped with a trade mark. This week, it happens to be that horrible Nicholas Cage movie Ghost Rider. Lucky for me, the dope is way better than the movie.
"What's up man? What did he say?" Andrew said eagerly.
"I don't know, we might want to wait for smoke, cause he doesn't have bundles right now. He is only selling them by the bag 'til he goes up north to re-up." Let the bullshitting begin. I know this is a risk, lying to Andrew, but I can tell he is as desperate as I am to get some dope right now.
"Shit man, let me ask Sarah." He sighs.
Sarah. Andrew's girlfriend, has been patiently waiting in the car. I almost feel badly for lying because I really like Sarah. She is seems nothing like her thick headed boyfriend.
Sarah agreed to the terms, so I walked back to my bedroom to
pretend to call James back. Instead I calculate that I'm scoring
four free bags off of the bundle, five bags of my own, and one
bag from Andrew and one of my own. I have $45 and I'm walking out
of this deal with 10 bags. That's a $35 dollar savings. Not
We headed over to Princeton Street in Andrew's car. Princeton is a subdivision of a nearby neighborhood. The nice thing about copping dope from this area is that it's very residential. It's not in the hood, so we don't stick out like sore thumbs. The down side is when people start staring out of their windows wondering why we've been sitting in front of their house for 20 minutes.
This is the part I hate the most; waiting for the dealer to arrive. My stomach growls. It is a relief that, soon enough, the goose bumps will disappear and it will no longer feel like I am going to shit my pants. But there is nothing worse than sitting here. We sit in the car in dead silence, each of us smoking a cigarette, constantly looking in the rear view for cars, cops, and people, basically anything moving. I see a black Ford Escalade approach and I know it's James. I get out the car and run up to the driver side door. He rolls down his window and I quickly hand him my money. He hands me two stacks of bags tied with a little rubber band, along with another little red baggie.
"Thanks." I tell him.
"Yo, I threw something in there for you." he says.
I smile seeing the surprise
"Keep bringing the business." He mumbles before driving off.
As I walk back to the car, I look at the little red bag and see a large white rock. Fuck! A free gram of crack! This day keeps getting better and it's not even noon yet. During these moments I forget about Kayla. I forget about how she has been missing, how she is my last thread to reality. My love affair with heroin is just too strong, stronger than her. It takes over anything that holds significance in my life.
I walk back to the car and get into the back seat. "Can I have that plastic grocery bag sitting in your seat?" I ask Andrew.
"Sarah, pass him that bag." He motions towards the bag sitting next to his silent girlfriend.
Sarah passes me the grocery bag. I rip off a piece of the plastic and wrap the dope in it. Then, I unbutton my pants, pull them down to my knees, and proceed to stick the drugs in my ass. Yes, another successful run.
After we arrive back to my apartment, Andrew, Sarah and I gather to my bedroom.
I pull the plastic bag out of my anus. Sarah and Andrew look at me with an impassioned stare. They couldn't care less that the heroin was in my asshole, it reduced their risk of getting arrested.
Sarah blushes as she looks around my room, spotting the various beauty items on the floor.
"So Aidan, who is the lucky girl?" She finally speaks.
"What are you talking about?" I answered, distracted as I prepared my lethal cocktail.
"Lipstick and dresses, this looks more like my room than yours."She laughed.
"That's Kayla stuff, we share the same room." I explained. No one seems to remember.
"Whose Kayla?" she asked curiously "Your girlfriend?"
"No, she is not my girlfriend. Kayla who lives here, stupid. " I retorted.
Andrew puts his hand to his chin, thinking intently "Kayla...? Nah man I don't remember her. It's been awhile since we've been over I guess."
"Stop fucking with me guys! Let's just do this. I'm too sick to talk about non-sense." I replied, annoyed by all of the questions. Kayla has been around long enough, they know who she is.
"Hey man, why didn't you tell me you were getting rock too, I would have got some." Andrew said.
"I'm saving it for it later." I replied. Shit, I didn't mean for him to notice.
"Dude, let's smoke. I'll throw you some money," he pushed.
"Fuck, no, we're not smoking anything" I responded, getting more annoyed by their presence.
Fucking free loaders; I opened my draw and took out my works. Works is slang for set, and set is slang for needle. All of this technical vocabulary, it all gets confusing. Andrew takes five bags and opens them individually, pouring them out onto a glass mirror. I notice that Sarah isn't opening her bags and continues to watch me. I took out my spoon and searched for a water bottle lying on the floor.
Sarah points out, "It's under the bed Aidan."
"Oh, thanks," I muttered.
I took out a little waxed bag, no bigger than a quarter, and unfold it from its sealed tape. I started tapping the bag to make sure that all of the heroin at the top of the bag reaches the bottom. I cut off the top of the bag and pour it into the spoon. I took three more bags and continued the same process. I admire the lovely brown powder. She is absoultely fucking georgeous. I begin to get an erection. I grab my needle from my draw, and smile at the cute little orange rubber cap that protects the pointed edge. I quickly take off the cap and insert my buddy into the bottle of water and draw up 25cc of water. I breath for a moment, the intensity is too much to take in. I squeeze the water out of the needle, into the spoon, and watch as my lady turns from brown to a darkish green. I smile, knowing that the darkness is verifying the fact that this is good dope.
As I look up, I notice that Sarah is watching me. She hands me a small piece of cotton which will be used to absorb my heroin.
I'm grateful, but would have rather gotten the cotton myself, as this is a rather private and intimate process. I take my needle and I pull it all the way back till the plunder is outside of its case. I use the plunder of the needle to mix the heroin then insert it back into the case. I put the tip of the needle into the cotton and slowly pull back as I watch her being absorbed through the cotton. Once she is encapsulated into the needle, I flick the needle three times with my finger, releasing any bubbles of air to the bottom.
I set the needle on my night stand. Sarah is still staring. Quietly, and shy she timidly speaks without moving her eyes off of the needle. "Aidan, can I ask you something?"
I am lost in a daze searching for my belt. "Yeah, what's up?"
"Um, do you think you could bang me when you're done?"
I laugh and look at her with a smirk. Andrew is not amused. Yes, I know how that just sounded, but she didn't just ask me to fuck her in front of her boyfriend. She wants me to shoot her up; the little virgin wants to get her cherry popped. I hate that responsibility, I hate being the one to turn's another on to the needle.
"I don't care, have you shot it before?"
"Well one time, I kind of did it but I don't think it work, I think I missed the vein." Her response is one I've heard before.
For some reason, we junkies are nothing more than a rolled up ball of vulnerability, and she needs to feel accepted, seeking validation from someone like me. Pathetically enough, it kind of makes me feel better, that someone needs me for something, anything.
"Yeah I'll do it, go in my kitchen and get the bleach to disinfect this needle."
"I don't have anything," she says defensively.
"It's not you I'm worried about." I thought that comment might scare her off. Or, at least, convince her boyfriend that she should change her mind, but no, he has his head in his lap, nodding off into space.
I continue to search for my belt until I find it under the mess under Kayla's high heels. I tie it around my arm, and I squeeze my fist multiple times, hoping for a visible vein.
Andrew looks up to me in a half nod. "You're not shooting that shit without me Sarah."
Sarah looks over to Andrew, "Baby, we'll do it together next time."
Andrew gives her a disapproving look. "Okay babe, but if your banging it, I'm doing it for you."
I butt in. "Can you guys be quiet for a second, I can't focus."
I continue pumping my fist searching for a vein with little visibility. I've used up my arms so much that many of the good veins have collapsed. I decide to tie the belt around my ankle in attempt to find a vein there. Shooting in my ankles hurts like a bitch, but if I don't find a vein, it's going to be a waste of five bags. A little blue man appears along my left ankle. I carefully apply pressure with the needle waiting for blood to flood the needle. Blood shoots to the back on the needle, diluting the color of the heroin to a bloody brown mix.
Thank God, it's coming, pure fucking heaven is coming.
Shooting heroin is all about the rush. A ten second rush that will liberate your mind and body from any pain, no cares, no worries, just pure orgasmic pleasure. A rush that will conquer this darkness. I will be crowned with infinite warmth while Lady H and I make blissful love. I push the plunger of the needle into my vein and disappear into her world.
Instantly, the knot in my stomach unties, and every goose bump from my head to my toes vanishes. My pores open and the heat dissipates . Bright colorful waves radiate through my mind, body an soul. They are so happy, so peaceful. I smile as my head falls to my knees. I remove the needle from my ankle and my hand dangles with it in midair. Andrew removes the needle from my hand and the rush slowly goes away. It is still warm but not as comforting. She tells me that it is okay, that the blanket it tight, and She will hold me and rock me to sleep. I enter a dream like slumber and am flooded with cheerful memories.
I see a tree in the distance; it is tall and beautiful, colorful, flourishing with life. There is a chill in the air and the smell of firewood. It is the fall and I can hear the faint sound of a woman's voice calling my name.
"Aidan? Aidan where are you, it's time to eat honey"
Yes, I know that voice. It is my mother.
"Mom, I'm right here, up here mama, in the ree."
"Aidan! Aidan, where are you?" she pleas.
All of a sudden a ear piercing noise is collapsing the air around me. I can't breathe. Then this little boy in the tree grabs his chest, coughing, he can't breathe either. I need to help him. The boy covers his ears, screaming. What is that noise? My God, what is that noise?
"Holy fuck, SARAH! SARAH, WAKE UP!" Andrew is screaming frantically.
My eyes snap open. Andrew is hovering over a limp body on the floor of my room. Oh no, this is not happening right now.
"What the fuck happened? Andrew talk to me!" I scream at him, but he is not listening.
"Andrew, listen to me." I try to get his attention.
"I don't know. I don't know!" Andrew stutters his words.
I run over to Sarah's body. The needle is still sticking out of her arm.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! How many bags did you put in there, Andrew!?"
"Three bags man! She always does three bags! I don't know what happened! Sarah wake up baby! PLEASE baby wake up!" He's sobbing over her limp body.
"She snorts three bags, she doesn't shoot three bags, are you fucking stupid?" I can't believe his stupidity. Fucking wanna-be junkie is going to wanna-be calling the police at my door any moment.
"What do I do Aidan, oh my god Aidan, you need to do something,
"Are you crazy? We are not calling 9-1-1! Fuck, I need to think." I walk in circles aimlessly.
"Shit, is she waking up? Okay, do it, call, fucking call." I tell Andrew
For a moment I lose track of where I am. I'm staring at Sarah's lifeless body, thinking to myself, man, this is has to be some amazing fucking dope, god I was out cold for minute.
Andrew takes out his cell phone and begins dialing
"Stop! Andrew stop, I know what to do." I jump over Sarah to reach under my bed. I grab a bottle, open it, and take out a small orange pill.
"What is that?" Andrew says in a panic.
Suboxone is part opiate, part opiate blocker which right now will both work in her benefit. A little present Kayla left behind. Not uncommon for a junkie to have these around for a rainy day on one of those promises to detox or where we have no choice to detox. In simple terms, if heroin and suboxone were fighting to reach your brain and occupy space, suboxone would kick heroin's ass. Well, I think? Anyway, I read it somewhere, so hopefully I'm right.
I put one of the little suboxone pills into a spoon with a small amount of water.
"Andrew, rip me off a piece of cotton from a cigarette filter." Somehow, I am completely focused and sobered up in that moment.
"Aidan, what are you doing man, your falling asleep!"
I'm half way to the ground. Fuck , I do feel like Ghost Rider
I take a lighter to help dissolve the pills under boiling water. Andrew hands me a small piece of cotton. I insert the head of the needle into the cotton filled water.
"Fuck, its coming up all chunky. Andrew put some more heat under this spoon."
"Oh my god man, have you done this before!?" Andrew screams.
"No Andrew, does it look like I've done this before!?"
I flick the syringe with my hand, trying my best to get any bubbles out. I think the fillers of the pill got inside of the needle, not too sure what that is going to do.
"Check her pulse Andrew, keep slapping her," I command.
"Wake up baby, come on baby, wake up! Aidan her eyes are fluttering, she's fucking drooling man!"
I grab my belt and go over to Sarah, tying the belt tightly around her arm. God, I know I'm a fuck up, I know this, but please don't let this girl die in my room right now. A little vein appears on her upper forearm.
I lock eyes with Andrew.
A tiny bit of blood spurts into the needle and I push the plunder forward.
"Come on Sarah, wake up Sarah!" We are both yelling at her.
All of sudden Sarah's body begins to thrust; her chest is bouncing back and forth.
"Andrew, roll her over on her side, she is coughing."
Andrew rolls her over to her side and her left eye begins to open. Her mouth slowly opens, gagging and then it hits - the eruption. Vomit flies all over the room.
"Sarah? SARAH?" We both scream.
A trembling voice responds "I.... I don't feel good."
There is a universal sigh of relief.
"Go get her some water," I tell Andrew.
Sarah looks at me dazed. "Aidan, what happened?"
"You almost killed yourself, and damn, you really fucked up my high!" I laugh, even though that may have been one of the scariest moments of my life. That was the fucked up thing about heroin. You lose all sense of reality, rational thinking, emotion, it's all cause and effect.
She gives me a faint, vomit covered smile.
Andrew comes back with a glass of water. He looks over to me, nodding in appreciation. I don't feel like much a hero.
In the mist of all this insanity, I could hear my phone ringing from the living room. I ran into the other room to retrieve my phone. An unknown number appeared on the caller id.
A muffled voice responded "Aidan! Aidan it's me."
"Kayla? Oh my god Kayla, where the hell are you!?"
Tears burst from the other end of the phone.
"I'm in New York Aidan. I need you."
"Are you okay!? Where in New York?"
"The Howard Avenue Projects in Brownsville."
"Brownsville? What the are you doing in Brooklyn? "
The other end remained silent.
"Hello? Kayla? Kayla? Are you there?"
What perfect timing.
Andrew came into the living room
"Aidan, are you alright?"
"No, I 'm going to Brownsville."
Fear, fear that normally doesn't persist while I'm high. Kayla's voice rings loudly in the back of my head "Aidan, you need to help me" I could feel her screaming from my stomach, just trying to get out.
How the hell did she end up in Brooklyn? I never had to travel so far to get quality heroin, so I can only imagine the chain of events that lead to this disaster. A cool winter breeze creeps through the cracked window of my bedroom. G-force winds rattle my tiny apartment, reminding me of the blizzard storm warnings that have been blaring on the radio for the past week.
I kneel on the ground of my bedroom where Sarah's lifeless body laid only minutes ago and reach for my navy blue corduroy jacket tucked underneath my bed. The broken zipper and various tears tell me this jacket is not going to survive another winter.
I grab my supplies that lay across my bed. A variety of sorts; a gram of crack, six bags of heroin, a bottle cap, needle, pack of cigarettes, a pen, and 40 dollars. I place them in the hidden pocket Kayla carefully had sown into my jacket. My consolation prize for keeping Sarah from nodding away into respiratory failure was a whooping ten dollars from Andrew and thirty dollars from her, with the exception, of course, that I would pay them back of course. I practically had to beg them for money to buy a train ticket after explaining the situation with Kayla. They kept giving me bullshit about, what they called, this unknown Kayla and how I was trying to scam them. Fucking animals.
I go to the closet to search for my scarf, relieved that it could be used for something other than a knot around my arm. As I walk outside, the frost in the air encapsulates my lungs. I close my eyes and feel the warmth travel from my chest making its way to my esophagus. My body temperature has slowly risen over the last 30 minutes as this morphine derivative circulates through my blood, shielding me from the harsh winter breeze. Ah, what a peaceful feeling, the way this stuff works on your body. I chuckle as I watch a group of elderly women pass by, bundled in their parkas, hands around there arms shivering. Dope is like a thick warm blanket, sheltering you not only from physical pain, but emotional pain as well, no matter how deep the scars run.
Prior to my arrival at the train station, I have to make a quick stop at the convenience store to pick up some smoking supplies. Surprisingly enough, if you want to purchase a small glass pipe to smoke weed out of, you will need to find a specialty shop and be properly prepared with identification to purchase one. If you want to purchase a crack pipe, you can go to almost any local convenience store, no questions asked, no identification. I make my way across the street, half broken lights glimmer from the store front. "Patel Liquor and Grocery" it reads. Young teenagers hang on the corner smoking cigarettes, laughing, waiting for a potential victim to harass to purchase them beer. A heavy boy chuckles loudly, snorting from the lack of oxygen reaching his brain.