Raindrops clouded the vision through his glasses before
stepping into the doorway and up the spiral staircase that led to his
apartment. The open window beside his
kitchen countertop welcomed a soothing breeze, and the scent of rain was
comforting. He placed his phone and car keys on the table and ventured his way
over to the refrigerator. Looking over the contents on the side panel of the
door, then next to the top shelf, he decided that nothing really caught his
eye. With an indecisive look on his face, he pulled open the hydrator and
pulled out a pack of deli meat and a slice of cheese.
His phone gyrated where it rested before he could open the
bread box. He let out a deep rooted, “shit!” and grabbed the cell phone from
the table. It was a call from a publishing company that he never really
expected to hear back from. He put the
phone to his ear and the voice on the other end relayed that they were more
than interested in publishing a collection of his works. Once thanking them and
promising to stay in touch, he received a text message from Phil that he was
sending over a woman to score some heroin from him.
The news of his impending publication meant that he could
leave this lifestyle behind him at last. Coupled with the knowledge that this
would be one of his final sales, he was oozing at the prospect of living a legit
life. A knock was heard at the door before he could dial his father’s number. He
yelled that he’d be down in a minute and slapped together a quick sandwich and
hasted his way down the staircase.
He opened the door while chewing his food and offered to let
the blonde addict into his home. She would never forget the first look. She
felt a comfort level that was previously unmatched throughout her life, his
hazel eyes deeper than any black hole. They spoke valiant speeches of courage
and promises kept. She followed him to the lavish apartment decided against
remarking about the crumbs that rested within his bristly beard.
It was obvious to her that his hair was dyed jet black to
mask the incoming grey hairs, his face run ragged from the stress of life
itself. Despite that, she found solace in the mark that living left upon him.
He stood proud and chipper, but she knew that he was beaten and battered
mentally. After taking the last bite of his mid-day snack, he spoke to her.
“So what do you need, miss?”
The bags under her eyes meshed into the upper part of her
cheekbones. It was evident that she was riding the white horse more often than
not. She was in need of the drug and it showed by the way she trembled in the
face of a 90 degree day. Her hair was ravaged, almost resembling a rat’s nest.
The look in her eyes screamed hopelessness. She had given up in every aspect of
her life.
“I only have thirty dollars, so whatever that’ll get me. I’m
not sure how you do things, everybody is different.”
“Yes, you said a mouthful. Everybody is different. Often
times for reasons we’ll never understand, or even try to.” He opened the closet
door and reached for a shoebox on a shelf up above. She laughed to herself and
looked to the floor, twisting her body in a clockwise motion as she awaited her
fix.
“What’s so funny?”
“You keep your work in a shoe box? What is this, the 80’s?”
“Ha. Whatever works, right? Here, have a seat.”
He patted the brown leather sofa cushion that grazed his
right leg so she could sit beside him. He pulled out two bags that held a black
tar substance within from the box resting on his knee. As she sat down next to
him, he pulled both bags out and handed one to her.
“This is for you. Keep your money. I got some good news
today, this is the last bag you’ll get from me. I hope you enjoy it. Tell your
boy Phil that Darren is out of the game.”
“Your name is Darren, huh? Mine is Sophie. It’s nice to meet
you, regardless of the circumstances.” She extended her hand for a shake but he
rose up from the sofa, dismissing her advance. He told her to wait there as he
went to the fridge and grabbed the jug of Tropicana orange juice. Darren lifted
the container to his lips and tipped it back and down his throat.
The urge hit him to finally try some of the stuff he was
pushing. The old adage of ‘don’t get high on your own supply’ no longer applied to him. He wanted to be rid of it all and move on to the next chapter of
his life. Darren pulled the drawer out on the far end of the kitchen sink and
pulled out a spoon. He shouted from the kitchen, “hey, come here for a second!”
She stepped into the kitchen a few seconds after he called
for her.
“What’s your name again?”
“Sophie, my name is Sophie.”
“Right, right, Sophie. Come here, Sophie. Do you know how to
shoot up?”
The look on her face was one of elation. He didn’t have to
say no more. She snatched the spoon from his possession and turned on the hot
water. Letting it run for a moment, she placed her fingers below the stream and
smiled at him. The proper temperature had been reached and she turned the
pressure down a bit before letting a splash of hot water rest inside the spoon.
“Go out in the living room and sit down. Grab me a shoelace,
or something like it, tie it around your arm like you’re about to get blood
taken and I’ll take care of the rest.”
He followed her instructions and waited for her in the other
room. Sophie entered the area and held the spoon up at shoulder length, her
left hand resting below to prevent the water from dripping on the carpet. As
she approached him, Darren had a smile on his face and a shoelace wrapped
around his right arm.
“I’ve always wanted to give this a try. What should I
expect?”
With an ice cold stare, she told him to anticipate coming
back for more. She asked him if he was ready for his first taste and he nodded
his head yes. His smile turned to a face riddled with uncertainty as she found
the vein to release the substance into. As it entered, his eyes rolled into the
back of his head and he slouched back on the furniture, slipping off of it until
his back leaned against the front end of the couch.
She stood over him and whispered, “It had to be you.” She kicked
his body around a couple of times but was unsure if he was dead or just in a
comatose state from the lethal dose. She dug through her satchel and pulled out
a bottle of prescription medication. The medication was xanex and the name on
the bottle read Billy Reinhart.
Sophie removed the shoelace from his arm and lay down beside
him. She clutched his hand with her left and dumped a dozen or so pills into
her mouth. She felt that this was right, and deep down she knew it. She knew
that they would awake in that place once more.
It was just a matter of time.
End us with me
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