No Rules (White Label Book 1)
Page 8
I had to stop for a few moments. My body was exhausted from all the running I was doing. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out here. I looked around me, checking out the surroundings. It was an empty road that was full of trees. The sun was now fully out, gently cooking me as the heat beaded on my skin.
I leaned against one of the trees, trying to catch my breath. I had been out of shape since I started smoking, and normally I couldn’t sprint long distances, but this was the exception. Fear carried me all the way here.
I was surprised to see no cars, considering what time it probably was. I wish I could have checked, but I left my phone back at the house. I only had time to either grab my phone or the drugs; I guess you know which one I chose.
I straightened up and continued moving. I slowed my pace to a walk, figuring that my foster brother probably wasn’t chasing me anymore. I didn’t see anything significant for the next twenty minutes until I reached an abandoned house. It looked like it hadn’t been lived in for several years. The front porch was cracked and missing steps, the shingles on the roof were bare in patches and the windows were all smashed.
It wasn’t the ideal place, but I had to rest. Plus, I was already feeling the effects of withdrawal setting in. My skin was itchy, and I felt anxious. I wanted a secluded area to shoot up, so I felt this was my best option.
I stepped through the thicket of trees and over the fallen trunks. The smell of rotting wood made me gag, but I kept going. I almost fell through a soft spot in the ground, but I managed to catch myself. The backpack swung violently around my shoulders, and some of the drugs spilled out.
I cried out and scrambled to retrieve them all. I searched the whole around to make sure that I picked up everyone. I counted them before I left, so I knew how many I had.
I started to count again, and I realized that one bag was missing. Panic began to overtake me. My throat clenched, and I wanted to cry out. I got down on my hands and knees and ran my fingers through the grass. The only thing I could feel between the blades were stones and broken bits of bark.
Every time I felt something against my fingers, I’d excitedly pull my hand up. It turned out to be nothing every time. Anxiety began to shroud me and close me in a hard shell. I had shortness of breath and felt like the world was crumbling down around me.
I had lost hope until I saw the corner of a baggie sticking out from underneath one of the rotted tree trunks. There was dirt covering it, and I quickly brushed it off. I’m not sure how it got under there, but it was my bag of heroin.
I tried to pull it out, but it was stuck tight. I tried again and again, tugging as hard as I could against the soft wood, but it was still too heavy. I placed both hands on the trunk and began to roll it. It only gave slightly. I pressed my shoulder against it and pushed with all of my strength. It started to move slowly but surely.
I rested the heavy log against my shoulder and looked down. I could see more than half the baggie now, so I knew I’d be able to pull it out. I was just about to stoop down, but a thought triggered in my brain. If I let go of this tree, won’t my fingers get crushed as soon as I reached for the heroin?
My rational brain was fighting hard with my drug-addled one. I wasn’t sure what to do. The only thing I knew was that I’d have to make a decision fast because the tree was getting heavy. I contemplated it for a second and let the trunk go.
I quickly snatched the bag, just narrowly missing crushing my fingers. I could literally feel the wood touch the tips of my hand. I didn’t even experience fear at the moment. The only emotion coursing through my body at the moment was pure adrenaline. I felt relief shortly after, basking in the glory that I didn’t lose any of the drugs that I had stolen from my foster brother.
I opened my backpack and tossed the bag deep inside it. I turned towards the house and made my way there. The walk was still eerily quiet. It must have been close to afternoon, and I still didn’t hear any signs of civilization. There wasn’t one car that passed by, and I didn’t hear animals either. Usually the forest was full of birds.
I finally reached the house and walked up the steps. Each stair creaked threateningly, cracking slightly under my weight. I grabbed onto the rickety rail and pulled myself up onto the porch. The wood under me bowed, but I kept on moving.
The front door was practically off its hinges and fell with a clatter when I pushed it open. The sound reverberated through the dusty house. I slowly stepped inside, half expecting something to jump out at me.
I walked around the house, examining each room. I looked for anything valuable, but all of them had already been picked clean. The furniture was thrown all
over the place, and the copper was ripped out of the walls.
I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, hoping to find something inside. There were several bottles of Advil, but nothing else. Disappointed, I closed it and found my reflection staring back at me in the dirty glass. It scared me to see how bloodshot my green eyes were or how dirty red hair was. There were clumps of dirt and grass in it from rummaging around on the lawn earlier.
I turned around and walked out of the bathroom, not being able to handle looking at myself anymore. I didn’t like what I saw one bit. I hardly recognize myself. I know that I wasn’t a little girl anymore, but there wasn’t even an ounce of innocence in my face. I looked like a drug addict, which makes sense because I am one.
I shook those thoughts out of my head and sat down on a chair in the dining room. I placed my backpack on the table and unzipped it, revealing the bags of heroin. I took one out and neatly placed it on the table.
I then opened the side compartments and removed a spoon and a syringe. I dug into my pocket and took out a lighter. I took off the belt I was wearing too and put it on the table with all the other supplies.
I looked at what I had laid out. As I glanced at each item, my blood pressure rises. I was imagining the heroin flowing through my veins, sweet and soft like candy. The needle would gently pierce my skin like the smooth stinger of a hornet.
I picked up the belt and tied it tightly around my arm. While I was waiting for my veins to start bulging, I opened the bag and used to spoon to scoop the heroin on. I grabbed the lighter and put it underneath. I watched as the flame jumped up from it, licking the underside of the spoon.
As soon as it liquified, I sucked it up with the syringe. I glanced at my arm and saw a fresh vein poking out. I carefully stuck the needle in it and pressed the plunger. The heroin poured into my bloodstream, and my body greedily sucked it up.
After a little bit, the familiar feeling came rushing in. The world slows down significantly, and it felt like I was drifting through jello. My steps felt heavy when I stood up and walked around. It almost felt like I was in a dream. I wasn’t entirely convinced that this was my life. I must have hijacked somebody else’s.
For the millionth time, that sensation of euphoria and happiness came flooding it. I felt like I was floating in the air, away from everybody else. I was a happy little cloud in the bright, blue sky. I was gliding along peacefully without a care in the world.
As with most drugs, the effects quickly wore off, and I came falling back to Earth with an unpleasant bump. I no longer felt light, but heavy; heavier than a blue whale on Jupiter. I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted that feeling of joy and happiness again.
I stuck myself with the needle a second time, then a third time, then a fourth, then a fifth…
****
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