Addiction

by Angela McPherson

  Heather

  Why did I come back? Family used to mean so much to me, and now… Dad's words played on repeat. "I moved on."

  On the way back to Mom's place, I'd dialed his number. My stomach twisted a little bit tighter each time it rang. On the fourth ring, I thought for sure it'd roll to voicemail.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, Dad. It's me."

  He cleared his throat. "Hi, uh, Heather." The line sounded muffled.

  I could feel Mom watching me, but didn't look over. Sweat beaded across my forehead.

  He cleared his throat. "Everything go okay with your flight? Do you need any money?"

  "Uh, no. I don't need any money, Dad." He didn't even give me a chance to go on.

  "Oh, well, what did you need? Sorry. I'm a little busy."

  "It's Christmas. That's why I'm calling. People do that, say Merry Christmas. I love you. I miss you–"

  A baby crying in the background stopped me from going on. I heard another voice.

  "Everett, can you hold the baby for a minute. I need to grab another bottle."

  I froze. I don't think I even breathed, waiting for my dad to explain. When he spoke, his voice sounded like a muffled kermit the frog.

  "Yes, honey. I'll be right there. Let me just finish this call real quick."

  The phone nearly slipped from my hand. I grit my teeth, fuming.

  "Heather, I'm busy. I'll have to call you back," he said, irritated.

  Irritated.

  "Dad, who was that, and whose baby was crying in the background?" Tears filled my eyes and my throat burned trying to hold them in. This wasn't real.

  Only it was.

  "That was my wife, Becky, and our baby, Chloe."

  Wife… baby. I heard what he'd said; I just couldn't sort out the meaning.

  "I'm sorry… I don't understand? When did you get married and have a baby?" A family?

  "Becky and I have been married for seven years. Chloe is our daughter."

  Spinning, the car was spinning. My vision blurred from more stupid tears.

  "How… could you?" My words came out soft, pathetic sounding. But I wanted to scream.

  "Becky and I have been together since your mom and I divorced. I've moved on. You should, too, no need to live in the past."

  I lost it.

  "You selfish, sorry, son of a bitch. Do you know how many nights I cried over you? And for nothing! You never gave a damn about me. About us. How could you toss us aside like trash? Like we didn't mean a fucking thing." My throat burned. My hands shook.

  "Listen–"

  I hung up on his worthless ass and screamed until my voice cracked. The car had stopped moving. Mom grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face her.

  "Mom, he never cared. He–" I couldn't stop crying. Everything hurt. I was reliving him walking out all over again.

  "Honey, please talk to me." Mom's worry was easy to see, to hear in her voice.

  More pain.

  "Please. Let me in. Let me help you. Heather."

  I was drowning.

  More tears.

  "I can't, Mom. I just want…" Peace.

  I wiped my eyes, swallowing the hurt and pain, refusing to let anyone in. I escaped the car and went inside. In my bedroom, I locked my door, keeping everyone on the outside.

  Over the past seven years, Mom had changed up my room several times. Except for one thing. I walked to my dresser and picked up a picture of me and Elle. That was the last happy memory I could remember of all of us. She was smiling as Mom snapped the shot. I wore a goofy-ass grin while staring up at her. I always looked up to her. She was my hero. Especially when Dad left, and to be honest, Mom had, too.

  Elle was there, always. I hated how much I needed her. There were days when I wanted her to see how hurt I was. How dead I felt. She didn't, or not really.

  Except for Danny. He got me. We understood each other and when he died, what remained was emptiness, inside and out. The only thing rehab brought me was awareness, understanding of how fucked up life was. In retrospect, it didn't get much better than this.

  Setting the picture back down, I noticed an old diary nearby. I was never compelled to use it… until now. I took a seat on my bed, grabbed the pen on my nightstand, and wrote.

  Mom knocked on my door. I drowned out the continuous beating against the wood after a while. Mom and Elle deserved better than me. I was the only obstacle standing in their way, but not anymore.

  My hand cramped by the time I finished writing their letters. I even wrote one to Tristan. He was a great guy, I just hoped he'd be strong enough…

  "Heather, if you don't let me in, I swear to God I'm calling the cops." The sound of her crying echoed through the door. "Please. I'm sorry I never told you about your dad."

  My throat tightened, threatening to shatter the anesthetization I so desperately sought.

  "Honey, I didn't want you thinking you weren't wanted. It was me he didn't want. Not you. Your dad loves you, really." Her words broke off. I tensed, waiting for her to finish.

  "I love you, so much. I need you. I'm proud of you for getting help, and so are Tristan and Elle. They love you, too. Baby, please open the door. I can't lose you. I just got you back. We can talk about this. We'll get through it. Promise."

  Her promises were built on a lie. She couldn't give me what I wanted. I walked to my dresser and set the letters down, placing the picture of me and Elle over them.

  I glanced around the room, and then headed to my window. The seal broke easily. A gust of cold wind blasted through my curtains and tangled my hair. I blinked the sudden dryness from my eyes and climbed down the terrace, for the final time.

  On the ground, I made sure to stay down until I was out of the yard. Didn't need Mom catching me. Grabbing my cell from my pocket, I dialed up an old pal's number. The line picked up.

  "Hey, Tony."

  "Heather. Girl, that you?"

  "Yeah, listen. I'm in town."

  "No shit?"

  "Came home for Christmas. Family time. But, ah–"

  Tony blew straight into the receiver. "Say no more, baby. Tony's gotcha. Even got a little Christmas spirt for ya. Take your mind off things," he said, sounding light, airy. Never rushed or excited, his baritone voice stayed smooth and even. A trait he picked up dealing. First rule, he'd told me, no sudden moves around crackheads. They tend to get a little crazy when pressured. Methheads were the same. A state of paranoia weighed down on you until you got your next fix.

  A shiver of anticipation ran through me. "Cool. Meet me at Fifth and Westpoint."

  "Be there in ten."

  I hit end and ran down the road. Freedom.

  My lungs weren't cutout for running. Breathing in and out quickly made my chest and throat burn from the cold, and the joints in my fingers and toes were stiff by the time I reached my destination. As promised, Tony pulled up on time. I jogged over to the old black beat-up Cadillac Seville. When I opened the door, a cloud of smoke billowed out.

  "Long time."

  I greeted him with a tightlipped smile and climbed inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

  He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled. "All right, cool your jets."

  My leg bounced once he took off. Stomach twisted in a ball of mess. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for picking me up."

  "You know I got you."

  I ignored the implication. Last time we parted, I promised myself never to come back. Tony liked having me around. Said I was his lucky charm, kept his regulars coming back for more… of me.

  Tony talked while he drove me back into hell. A personal chauffeur. He lived a few houses down from where Danny lived. When we drove past my pulse sped, and my face heated. The house still looked vacant.

  Tony parked in the driveway. "You won't believe who came back." I glanced over at him, and frowned. Must've really been lost in my head. I didn't remember hearing the phone ring or him calling anyone. "Yeah, looks even sweeter than before." He lips turned up
in a sick smile.

  No matter, didn't plan to hang around too long.

  "All right, see ya soon." Tony disconnected his call and we both got out. "You hungry?" His eyes traveled the length of my body.

  "Nah, but I'd love that gift you were talking about." I twirled the ends of my hair around my finger, smiling past the disgust swarming inside me.

  "For sure, come on."

  Inside the house, a mixture of smells slammed into my nose. I disguised a laugh behind a cough. Sporadically arranged in the room were lit lavender-scented candles. Clearly a poor attempt to cover the traces of weed and other drugs baking inside. Stupid ass.

  "Just got in some new stuff. Strong." He grinned wide, showing a black rotted tooth in the back.

  "Sounds… nice." My pulse danced, tingles ran up my arms.

  Tony nodded, rounding the corner to the kitchen. "You want the slow ride or fast and furious?"

  I replied quickly, "Fast and furious."

  "That's my girl."

  Tony walked back to the living room carrying a syringe halfway filled with amber-colored liquid. Didn't require a lot to get what I needed. Usually I savored each dose. A little here and more later. Tonight would be all or nothing. "Where you wanna do this? In here or the bedroom, for old time's sake?"

  Fuck that. I don't think so. "It's been a bit since, ya know. So, I'm going to my old place. I noticed no one living there."

  "Yeah, I heard about you tryin' to get clean and shit. Couldn't resist the good stuff, huh? Yeah, uh, sure."

  Or something... "So, ah, you think that'd be all right? If I did this alone?"

  "Cool. Cool. Some of the guys are plannin' on coming over to party later. Gotta get you on your game." He laughed. "You feel me."

  "Just like old times," I said deadpan.

  "Just like." Tony handed me everything I needed bundled in a brown paper sack. "Be back in an hour."

  "Promise."

  "Yup."

  Down the street, I walked to Danny's house. The police boarded up the windows when his dad went off to prison. Bastard.

  The back door was my best bet, and as luck would have it, the door was barely hanging on its hinges. I shoved it open and headed to the basement. Our basement.

  The cold, dingy air and dirty cement floor felt like coming home. The mattress still sat on the floor in the corner. I toed off my shoes and crawled on top. Dust flew in the air and a few bugs scattered across the floor.

  The first thing my mind sailed to when I was high was his eyes. The soft expression held in them only for me. It'd been too long since I'd seen them, but I had to take care of one thing first.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I dialed Elle's number. She didn't answer. Figured. I gave her a few more tries, but all without success. The brown paper bag Tony gave me screamed at me to open it. To taste. To try. If my hands shook any harder, I'd miss my target.

  I closed my eyes and tried Elle's number one last time.

  "Hello."

  Her voice, filled with frustration and fear ate at my skin like a festering wound. I hated that sound. I opened my bag and shook out the contents.

  "Heather? Heather, is that you? Listen, I'm so sorry."

  In order to get the tourniquet around my arm, I dropped the phone. Using my teeth, I stretched the band, making sure to get it on tight. I flexed my fingers, the flow of blood constricting, and picked up my phone.

  "Please," her voice broke. "Please, just talk to me. We can get through this. Fuck Dad."

  My heart ached thinking about Dad. A few minutes and that would all go away. I closed my eyes and answered her.

  "Elle, I'm–I'm, not strong like you. I… just." I cleared the knot forming in my throat. "Don't give up on Tristan, okay? And tell him I said thank you… for everything."

  "Heather, where are you? Please, tell me where you are. I'll come get you. We can talk about this. Please. I love you. Please."

  My eyes welled up with tears, and my chest ached from holding them in. Her voice, I had to let go.

  "I'm sorry… I love you. Goodbye."

  I let the phone fall from my grip and picked up the syringe. My veins were pretty much useless a few months ago, but they'd rested since then. A juicy one right in the middle bend of my elbow stuck up nicely. I tapped the area, making sure it really stood to attention. I injected and felt that little pop sensation I'd dreamed about. I withdrew the plunger and blood filled the tube. Success. Heat ran up my neck as I pushed the fluid into my body. I closed my eyes and waited for his eyes to come to me.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Funny how fast your heart can race, even when you aren't moving. Adrenaline coursed through my body. A warm tingle rushed up my arm. My body relaxed along with my mind. My thoughts, feelings, slowly faded. Oblivion. Want to know why addiction is so sweet? Because you get to forget. The pain is gone. Memories are too far away to reach. You just slip into your own world.

  You find…peace.

  Tristan

  Elle's cell fell from her hand, clattering to the ground. She forgot I was there, until I pulled her in and held her tight. The front of my shirt soaked up her tears, but only for a minute.

  "No. Not now." Jumping into action, Elle backed away, picked up her phone, and called every person she could think of.

  "I have to… I can't let her down. Damn it! …Just, I need to get to her." Elle's words tumbled out like a tilt-a-whirl spinning out of control between calls, her voice getting higher, less coherent.

  She barked orders to her mom, their roles again reversed. Elle, always the glue keeping them together.

  "Mom, call the bars and any other places she used to hang out."

  I called the police, but knowing Heather's track record, they weren't concerned.

  "Tristan, call the homeless shelters."

  "Yeah, sure," I replied. Alyssa's call interrupted between making calls. I gave her the rundown.

  "Spud, Alyssa said she'd be on the next available flight."

  Elle shook her head. "No, tell her to stay. I'll be okay. We'll find her."

  The determination in Elle's voice worried me. Not that I wasn't just as devoted to finding Heather, but the possibility of this situation not turning out well… scared me.

  Elle would most likely blame herself if something happened to her sister. She did that a lot–twist the truth to make the shit Heather did her own fault. Elle wouldn't admit it, but she needed Alyssa here for support. Ignoring her, I told Alyssa to come instead.

  When Elle finished going through her contacts, she grabbed her keys, ready to head out. Alone. I blocked the front door.

  "I don't think so. Not going to happen."

  "Tristan, someone has to stay here in case she comes home."

  She wasn't thinking clearly, but I sure as fuck wasn't about to let her drive in the middle of the night, alone, into sketchy neighborhoods.

  "I don't think you're understanding me. You. Are not. Leaving this house. Without me. We clear?"

  Anger lit her green eyes as she stared at me. I didn't budge. I'd pick her up and throw her tiny body over my shoulder if I had to.

  "Elle, you two can go. I'll stay here. If she comes back, I'll be here."

  Elle nodded and rushed out the door. We drove for hours. The sun crested the horizon and we still continued searching.

  Until we got the call at 7:55.

  We got to the hospital at approximately 8:20.

  At 8:30, Elle and I met her mom in room 203.

  Mrs. Richards held her daughters hand, silently spilling tears when we walked in.

  "Mom?" Elle's voice filled with hope.

  Mrs. Richards' glazed eyes were focused on Heather, unblinking. "Heather was dead on arrival, but by some miracle they were able to restart her heart. Paramedics found a needle in her left arm. Heroin, they think." Mrs. Richards released a stuttered sigh. "The doctors told me Heather's EEG showed no brain activity. Said she's not likely to recover. She won't wake up. Ever," she finished in a shaky whisper.

&
nbsp; At 8:35, I watched helplessly as Elle fell apart.

  She sank to her knees on the cold linoleum floor, wrapping her arms around her chest.

  And screamed.

  Nurses rushed into the room. Mrs. Richards spoke with the staff while I kneeled beside Elle.

  "Spud." She didn't acknowledge me.

  "You promised me," she yelled, and then, "we had a deal."

  She rocked back and forth asking why, over and over. Finally, I scooped her off the floor and held her shaking body in my arms. She cried into my shoulder.

  "Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm here. I love you," I repeated softly, hoping to comfort her.

  Sometime later that morning, her body relaxed in my arms and I carried her to the small couch. She didn't wake up when I moved. My eyes fought to remain open. But no way would I leave and chance her waking up alone.

  Mrs. Richards sat in a chair next to Heather's bed, holding her lifeless hand. Aside from the tube in her mouth and other cords and stuff, Heather looked like she was asleep.

  Machines beeped and the ventilator slinked up and down, breathing for her. When the blood pressure machine kicked on, she never moved. She was there, but not really.

  "Thank you for being here, Tristan. For helping Elle and for everything you did to try to help Heather, too." Mrs. Richards wiped her face with the back of her free hand.

  "I'm sorry," I said, not recognizing my own hollow voice. I didn't know what the fuck to say.

  Mrs. Richards turned to me, her eyes void of hope. "Elle's dad will be here soon." In a robotic motion, she turned back to Heather. "He has to be here to sign the papers."

  Wait, what papers? What the fuck was she taking about? "Ah, papers?"

  "To stop all life-supporting measures."

  Numb, I stepped outside to call my mom. What the hell was I going to say to Elle when she woke up? How the fuck did I tell her she was about to lose her sister for good? "Mom, hey. Listen, I could use your help–"

  After I hung up with Mom, I went back to Elle and waited. Sitting on the end of the couch, I slipped her shoes off and moved her legs onto my lap. My eyes burned when I blinked, but the second they closed, I passed out.