Rock Bottom

by Canosa, Jamie

  “I’m not a professional, Rylie. And frankly, you’re scaring the shit out of me right now.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “No, dammit. The drugs have you paranoid.”

  “I just need a little more. Please? I’ll pay you back. I swe—”

  “It’s not about the friggin’ money, Riley. Jesus, how much did you have before you got here?”

  “Not enough. Elijah, it’s not enough to make it stop. I need it to stop.”

  “Not with drugs, you don’t. They’re only making it worse. Can’t you see that?”

  “All I see is you refusing to help me.”

  “I’m trying to help you. But not like this. I won’t sit back and watch you destroy yourself anymore. And I’m sure as hell not going to help you do it.”

  “So, you won’t help me?” Elijah was the glue holding my heart together. His words cracked it right in half.

  “Get in the car. I’ll take you somewhere to find help, right now. The right kind of help.”

  “The crazy kind of help. No thanks. I’ll pass.”

  “Rylie . . .”

  “I can’t go home, Elijah. I have nowhere else to go . . .”

  “No way. Not here. Not with Andy. I’m sorry, Ry, but you can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. The one person who understood. The only person I thought I could truly count on for anything . . . was turning me away.

  I stood without a word, the sudden shock of the impossible dampening the already buzzing vibe in my head and making my thoughts utterly unmanageable. I was almost to the front door before Elijah caught up.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  I shrugged and kept moving toward my car. I was alone. Completely alone. I had no one and nowhere to go.

  “Stop. Let me call Meg. Maybe you can—”

  “Don’t.” The word was so faint I doubt he even heard me as he fished in his pocket for his cell. “Don’t!” It came out a little more forceful the second time and got Elijah’s attention. “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “Don’t do this, Riley.”

  I kept moving away from the sound of his voice. The same voice that had just told me ‘no’ when I needed him the most.

  “Don’t push me away.”

  I opened the door and slide behind the wheel.

  “Don’t do this! You can’t—”

  Whatever else he said was drowned out by the blasting of the radio as I turned on the car and backed from the drive.

  As I turned on to the main road, I couldn’t help taking one last look. Elijah was standing barefoot in his driveway with his phone still in his hand, dangling by his side. He looked utterly distraught, but he had made his decision. I was the one who should be upset.

  I drove around aimlessly for a while with no idea where I would end up. My fingers kept trailing back to the picture I hadn’t even realized I’d taken, tracing the curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw, the indent of those dimples. I wanted to be angry with him—to hate him for tossing me aside just like everyone else—but I couldn’t. All I felt when it came to Elijah Prince was a deep, aching sorrow.

  I needed it to stop. I needed the darkness and pain and raging self-hatred to go away. Just for a little while. Just so I could breathe. Without meaning to, I found myself parked outside Rafe’s house. He’d told me that he was always up for a good time. And if there was one thing I needed right then, it was a fucking good time.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Well, well, well. Back for more already, sweetness?”

  Was that what I was there for? I didn’t even know. All I knew was . . . “I need to stop feeling.”

  “And the weed’s not cutting it anymore?”

  “I need more.”

  “I think I have what you need. Come on in.”

  I followed him into the living room where two older men I’d never seen before were lounging on the couches. The one closest to me straightened up, dropping his booted foot from the coffee table when I came into the room.

  “She’s a pretty little thing, now isn’t she?” He had a dark complexion and the barest hint of an accent. Middle Eastern, maybe? I couldn’t be sure.

  “That, she is.” Rafe looked at me with something close to pride and it was the first time I’d experienced that in a long time. It felt good despite the hint of hunger mixed with it. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  He left me alone with the strange men, the second of whom had a shaved head and appeared to be passed out. The first scooted over and patted the cushion beside him. “Come. Make yourself comfortable, little girl. Tell me, what’s your name?”

  “Rylie. Ry.”

  “Rylie. I like that. Very pretty name for a very pretty girl.” His smile seemed genuine. Straight white teeth, combed dark hair, button down shirt and slacks. He didn’t look scary. “How do you know Rafe?”

  “He’s . . . um . . .” I didn’t want to say ‘my dealer’ “. . . a friend of a friend.”

  “I see. And you’re here for a little . . . recreation?”

  What could it hurt? Obviously, he and his buddy were there for the same.

  “Sure. Recreation.”

  He man laughed, but there was no joy in his eyes. No amusement. Nothing. They were just . . . flat.

  “Here we go.” Rafe came back into the room carrying a lighter, spoon, cotton ball, bottle of water, and . . . a syringe? What the hell had I gotten myself into? Rafe laughed. “Just sit back and relax. Soon you won’t have a care in the world.”

  “W-what is that?” My tongue suddenly seemed about ten sizes too big for my mouth.

  “It’s heroin.”

  I think my eyes came dangerously close to popping from their sockets.

  “First time, honey?” The man beside me inched closer.

  Rafe, on the other hand, seemed to be losing patience. “It’ll do a better job of making you ‘stop feeling’ than the weed. You wanna try or not?”

  I did. I did want to stop feeling. So bad. Too bad. Everything hurt. My head, my throat, my eyes, but most of all my heart. And that’s the hurt that I needed to stop. Before it tore me apart.

  “H-how much?” I was guessing heroine ran a bit higher on the price scale than weed.

  “First taste is always free, sweetie. So, you in or out?”

  Not out. Everyone else had put me out. This was my last haven. I couldn’t choose ‘out’ now. I had nowhere else to go. “In.”

  “There’s a good girl. Now sit back and hold out your arm.”

  I watched with rapt attention as Rafe placed a small chunk of some tar-looking gunk on the spoon and used the syringe to squirt a dash of water over it. Then he lit the lighter and held the spoon over the flame. I was fascinated. It almost reminded me of camping. Roasting marshmallows. Nothing dark and scary about that. The man seated beside me tore off a piece of the cotton ball and dropped it in the spoon. Slowly it expanded, drawing in the brownish liquid. He took the spoon from Rafe while he got the syringe ready. Sticking it into the center of the cotton, Rafe drew back the plunger. The cotton shrank up as the heroine was sucked out. Then he turned to me.

  “You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

  I shook my head. I’d never understood the fear of needles. They hurt far less than, say, falling off your bike, but people still found it fun to ride those. Not that I thought getting shots was like a party or anything, but I had no problem doing it now if it got me the peace I was so desperately craving. More than anything, I was excited.

  The mystery man tied some kind of rubber band around my upper arm. Rafe pressed the needle to the inside of my elbow and I watched it slip beneath my skin. It all happened so fast I barely even had a moment to process it, and then . . . there was nothing. No fear, no guilt, no hate or disappointment or worry. No pain. There was just peace. Blissful peace. It came on hard and fast, and I loved every single second of it. This . . . this was what I’d been looking for.

 
I meant to tell Rafe he was a genius, but when I blinked my surroundings back into focus, he was gone. Someone had laid me down on the couch and the room was empty. Even the sleeping guy was noticeably absent. How long had it been? Where was everybody? I considered getting up to look and decided there was no need. Who cared where everyone was? I was here and I was happy in my moment.

  Voices filtered down the hall from the front door. “If she’s in, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll work it out.” Rafe. He was nearby.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  As the door snapped shut, I vaguely wondered who and what they were talking about until another wave of airy bliss crashed over me and I sighed in contentment.

  “Feeling good, sweetness?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed. You’re a genius.” I sighed again and Rafe grinned down at me.

  “Glad I could help. It’s getting late. You plannin’ to crash here?”

  “I have nowhere else to go.” I hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that, but there it was. The painful truth. Only this time it wasn’t nearly as painful.

  “Why not?” Rafe lifted my legs and slid onto the couch, lying them across his lap.

  And in classic filter-less Rylie style, I spewed out my entire messed up story. Rafe sat patiently the entire time, carefully listening to every word I said, almost like he . . . cared.

  “Well, you’re always welcome here. Stay as long as you need.” He was letting me stay? He said I was welcome. Someone wanted me. My heart swelled and my eyes stung, but for the first time in a long, long time, they brimmed with happy tears. “Come on, let’s get your shit.”

  “I don’t have any shit.”

  “Well,” Rafe laughed and for once it didn’t sound sinister, just pleased. “That makes things simple. I’ll show you to your room.”

  “I have a room?” Rafe helped me off the couch and the room swirled. The furniture, the rug, the curtains all started to look like some kind of Picasso painting. It was beautiful.

  “Beautiful, huh? Those drugs really are hitting you hard.” He escorted me down a hall toward the back of the house. I’d never been further than the living room before, so I was intrigued. Granted the whole Picasso look made it difficult to make out much of anything, but still. I felt like I was entering the forbidden zone. It was thrilling.

  “I feel like James Bond.”

  “James Bond?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Eyes twitching every which way to not miss a single thing, or any ninja-esque bad guys that might be on the prowl with evil shark tanks—that was James Bond, right?—I followed Rafe into another room.

  “Alright, James Bond. Let’s get you into bed.”

  Bed. Yes. Bed sounded good. Very, very good.

  ***

  My eyelids felt as though they had tiny lead weights attached to them. My head felt . . . sludgy. Like when I stayed up too late studying and packed my brain too full of facts to get a decent night’s rest. Only . . . I couldn’t remember studying. I didn’t recall any facts. Did I have a test today?

  The chemistry exam!

  No. No, that was over.

  I’d failed.

  And smoked.

  And gotten caught.

  Kicked out.

  And Rafe, of all people, had taken me in.

  I blinked again at the wall. It was a pea green. Sludgy. Like my head. The house was quiet. I wondered if Rafe was even home. Did he have a job? Outside of ‘recreational provider’?

  Throwing back the sheets, I stared, confused, at my bare legs. My memory was a bit hazy, but I was fairly certain I’d been wearing pants when I crawled into bed last night. I scanned the room, but no luck. It was empty besides me, the bed, and a slightly crooked full-length mirror propped up against the wall.

  Well, shit. Now what?

  The door creaked slightly as I pulled it open to peek into a dark, vacant hallway. Leaving the room felt a little like breaking some kind of rule. I wasn’t entirely sure Rafe would be okay with me wandering around unescorted. But I really did need to find my clothes. And he couldn’t expect me to stay in bed all day, could he? That was nonsense.

  I slipped out in my underwear and tank top and plodded across the cool hardwood flooring in my bare feet. I had no clue where my shoes were, either. The wallpaper had the same yellowed, peeling effect in the rest of the house as it did in the living room, and the same familiar scent permeated each room. It was comforting.

  The kitchen was another story. Dark smears marred the walls and pots were scattered across the counters and filled the sink, though none of them looked like they’d been used to cook actual food. There were papers and supplies everywhere. It looked more like a workspace than a place where meals were prepared. Then again, had I ever seen actual food at Rafe’s place besides the random bag of chips or cheese puffs? Did he even eat?

  A quick peek in the fridge said decidedly no, he did not. The whole thing was full of beverages. Everything from water bottles to soda to beer and liquor filled almost every available space. Not a single edible item. I considered what that would mean for me if I were to stay, but realized I wasn’t hungry in the least. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really eaten. Nearly every morning I had to dump the dinner plates my mother left in my room, and most of my lunches ended up in the trash at school. I hadn’t had much of an appetite since . . . when?

  “Hungry?”

  “Uh . . . Um . . .” I slammed the fridge shut and spun around, embarrassed at being caught snooping. “No. Thirsty.”

  “Well, grab something then. Mi fridge es su fridge, sweetness.” Rafe moved about the room in nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans like he was perfectly comfortable having me standing there in my . . .

  Which reminded me, “Where are my pants?”

  “I took them.”

  Ooookay, then. “Why?”

  “They were torn. I think I got something else that’ll fit you, if you want.”

  I couldn’t remember tearing my pants, but then, I couldn’t remember a lot of yesterday. And that was perfectly fine with me.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll go find ‘em.”

  Rafe disappeared back the way he’d come from and I snagged a water bottle before relocating to the living room. I sat on the couch and took another look around. Strangely enough, it was the first time I noticed there was no TV. No books, no movies, not even a freaking magazine to flip through. Without school, parents, or friends, how the hell was I supposed to occupy myself? I cracked the bottle open and leaned back into the cushions on a sigh.

  “Bored already?” Rafe snickered as he tossed me a pair of the shortest shorts I’d ever seen in my life. They were like denim undies. “I’ve got a shirt to match, if you like.”

  I held them up and examined the scrap of material. “Um . . . no. I’m fine with these. Thanks.”

  “Well why don’t you put them on and I’ll go find us something to kill the morning boredom blues?”

  I didn’t get a chance to ask what that might be before Rafe was gone again. As soon as he vanished from sight, I tugged on the shorts and buttoned them up. Tighter than I’d normally wear, they rode up my ass crack, but they were better than parading around in my underwear all day. Barely.

  When Rafe returned holding two more syringes, all thoughts of shorts, underwear, and butt-cracks went right out the window. Heroin. I’d done heroin last night. Holy shit! Even the word sounded dirty.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rafe noticed my anxious fidgeting and quirked a brow. “Don’t want to party with me anymore?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure I . . .”

  “No worries. You don’t want to, you don’t have to. I don’t have much of anything else to entertain you, but if you want to sit around all day thinking about what happened at school yesterday, or your parents, or . . . Elijah, that’s fine.”

  Each word was like a dart straight to my hear
t. The sound of Elijah’s full name was the killing blow. I couldn’t think about him. If I did, my heart would surely explode. The mental image of his face was enough to make me want to curl up and cry, but the memory of his words—of him sending me away—was too much. Pressure built in my chest and for a minute I was afraid I was having a heart attack. No. No, I couldn’t live with this pain all day. I needed it to stop. To go away.

  “How much?”

  “You’re my guest, sweetness. What kind of a host would I be if I charged you? Sit back, relax.”

  I did as he said and watched him prepare another batch. It looked more complicated without anyone else there to help him, but he was obviously an old pro. When the needle slipped under my skin the relief was immediate and so, so good.

  I floated into the afternoon in a happy haze. Nothing could penetrate the cocoon of relaxation I’d wrapped myself up in.

  Nothing except his voice. “Where is she?”

  “She doesn’t want to see you, Eli. Didn’t you take the hint when she left you and came straight to me?”

  “You’re full of shit, Rafe. I want to see her. Now!”

  No, no, no, no, no. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t hear him. He was chasing away my happy place. He would bring it back. All of it. I already missed him so much it was tearing me up, but he didn’t want me. Not really. He just felt bad about yesterday. Because he was Elijah and he was a good guy. I couldn’t take another round of rejection from him, and I sure as hell didn’t want his pity.

  He wanted to haul me off to some damn shrink. Like talking about it would make everything go away. It wouldn’t. Nothing made it go away, except the drugs. They were my only escape, my only reprieve, and he wanted to take that away from me, too.

  “She’s not here.”

  Yes, Rafe, lie to him. Good.

  “Bullshit.”

  “She’s not. She came, got what she wanted, and now she’s gone.”

  “What did you give her?”

  “Only what she asked for.”

  “You son of a bitch. If something happens to her . . . I will be back.” The pounding of footsteps on the front porch was followed by the slamming of the front door.