The Joys of Heroin

So, I'm sitting in my room with a broken syringe, dirty needles and a bag of other drug paraphernalia. I just cooked up the rest of my junk and I realized I have nothing to shoot up with. I'm tempted to use one of my old rigs and as I pick up it up I wonder, 'What the fuck am I doing?' I drop the dirty needle and pull myself off the floor. My eyes drift around my room and I can hardly believe it. There's a pile of dirty, and probably some clean, clothes blocking the doors to my closet, empty bottles of carbonated water and beer cover my floor along with wrappers from these weird energy bars I can't stop eating and my gear. The windows are covered with the sheets I tore off my bed and pages of my diary are scattered on the mattress.

It smells like death in here. Or is that me? I can't tell anymore. When I'm using everything seems good and right and I can't tell the difference, all I know is that I feel good. When I come down, however, I feel like complete shit and I'm too tired to do anything, including showering. I can't even pull myself into bed; I've been sleeping on the carpet for the last few.… How long have I been in here? I don't know, but I think I should really shower.

The house phone starts to ring and I should get it, but it's too far, so I just let it ring, not like I've never not answered it before. I want to lie down and sleep on something soft and comfortable, but I'm afraid of what might be crawling around on that filthy mattress.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I really need another hit. I should call Ian and have him bring me more junk and clean rigs but I don't have any money on me. I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror and grimace at the man staring back at me. I run a hand though my greasy, tangled hair and study my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot and look like they've sunken back into my skull, I have carpet burns on my right cheek from sleeping on the floor, and my nose is cut up.

"How the Hell did that even happen?" My finger runs over my nose and I can see that they're burnt from cooking up.

I exhale roughly before I begin my search for my cell phone. I dig though the pile of clothes and garbage before I find the thing and it's dead. "Fuck." I go for the house phone on the nightstand and I stand there holding it for a while trying to remember Ian's number. Each number I press is followed by a long pause before I press the next button. When I'm done dialing it starts to ring and I pray to God I dialed the right number and that Ian answers. The phone rings four times before the other end picks up and I hear a voice say, "Hey, it's Ian, what do you want?" It's him, thank you God.

"Ian, it's Madison, I need you." I don't even think about the words before I speak them, but it's true, I need him. I need him here with things that make me feel good.

"Oh, Maddy!" I detest that name. "Darling, I knew you couldn't go without me for too long." His voice high and happy.

"You know what I mean. I need clean needles too." I tell him.

"Yeah, yeah, do you have money?" Now he's serious. I don't answer and I hear him exhale loudly on his end. "Only because I know you're good for it. I'll be over in a bit." I don't get another word in before he hangs up.

Ian only lives a few minutes away so it won't be long before he gets here, but I'm jonsing and every second that passes feels like eternity. I find my way out of my bedroom and in the living room. The blinds are open and the sunlight is pouring in. I quickly shut them and rip the table cloth off the coffee table and hang it over the closed blinds to make sure light doesn't try to sneak in though the tiny gaps.

It's been about five minutes since I talked to Ian and I don't think I can wait any longer. Knowing that my drugs are on their way and will be rushing though my veins soon is making me anxious. I can't sit still and I keep staring out the peephole in my door. I'm pacing the living room when the doorbell rings and I run to it because I know it's Ian and I know he has my stuff and I know I'm just seconds away from the greatest high you could ever experience. I fling the door open and a toothy grin is plastered on my face when I see the man in front of me…is not Ian.

"Good afternoon," He says "My name is Alexander Greene and I'm from Faith Chapel. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare to hear about the word of God." He holds out a flimsy pamphlet with the name of the place he said he was from and waits for me to take it. I don't. He pulls it back but keeps talking and I've already tuned him out. He's not Ian. My eyes sweep over him again and again and my brain processes that he's not Ian, that Ian isn't here and neither are my fucking drugs.

"Sir?" He calls me. I don't want to listen to him or look at his face anymore so I tell him to get the fuck off my property before I put one in him. I watch him quickly retreat and a small smile creeps onto my lips.

As I begin to close the door a black Impala pulls into my drive way and I see him sitting behind the wheel with a stupid grin on his face. He gets out of the car with a little brown messenger bag and walks right up to me.

"Geez, babe, you're a mess." He says, ruffling my already disheveled hair.

"Don't call me that, just give it to me already."

"Slow down, babe, I know you want me, but can't you wait until we get inside?" I hate the way he talks to me, he pisses me off a lot and I can't stand him. I feel his lips on my cheek and I shove him away roughly before heading into the living room. He closes the door and follows.

We sit on the ground in front of my naked coffee table and Ian lays out the contents of his bag. Spoon. Syringe. Needles. Swiss army knife. Lemons. Lighter. Bottled water. Heroin.

I reach for the knife and he grabs my hand and tells me to let him do it. "I don't want you to burn yourself anymore." He runs his fingers over mine and I remember they are burnt.

"Whatever." I pull my hand back from his and let him do it.

Here's the thing with Ian and me, we're sort of a couple, or at least that's what he says when we're high. He may tease me about wanting him and treat me like helpless woman most of the time but he won't touch me unless we're high. He'll only kiss me on the lips and whisper things he wants to do to me and hold me in bed when we're high together. I don't know why, I've never asked him, but I don't mind much. I won't tell him this, but I actually enjoy doing this with him.

"Ready, baby?" He asks as he takes hold of my arm and turns it over then picks up the syringe. I tell him all the veins in both of my arms have collapsed but he doesn't listen. He runs his thumb over the length of my arm and smiles. "I'll find one." His smile stirs something in me and I can feel the blood rushing to my face. "Found one." I feel the sharp metal brush against my flesh before breaking though the layers of skin and into my vein. A small groan of pain escapes my lips and my teeth sink into my lower lip to silence myself. I hear him chuckle as he pushes down on the syringe.

When it's empty he cooks up another batch and changes the needles before drawing up the drug.

"Let me do it." I take the syringe from him.

"In my neck." He tells me.

I get up on my knees and move closer to him, he smiles at me and pulls me between his legs and I nearly drop the syringe. He takes my hand and leads it up to his neck and my fingers start to tremble. I trace the thick vein in his neck with my index finger and he moans out loud and tilts his head back more. I place the tip of the needle on the vein and slowly push it in. As I shoot him up and he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around my waist. He looks up at me through lidded eyes as I pull the needle out and place it on the table.

One of his arms leaves my waist and he's tilting my head back with it. His lips are against my neck and I feel my body go limp against him.

It's never gone beyond kissing and touching between us. There have been many times where we came close to fucking, but it never happened.

I hate doing this with him. I don't know if he really likes me or if it's just the drug. I can't bring myself to ask him because I know he'll just laugh and say, "I thought you weren't gay." And I wasn't, until I met him. I've never had much of an interest in men or women and I believed relationships only caused problems after watching my parents fight and separate and get back together only to fight some more then divorce.

His finger tracing my jaw brings my attention back to him. His eyes are boring holes through me and I turn away from him because I don't want him to see me.

"You're too cute." Ian's thumb and index finger have a hold on my chin and he turns my face back to his and I can feel myself blushing again. He stares at me for a while and I try to look anywhere but into his eyes. "Look at me."

Our eyes lock for seconds before he's pulling my face towards his and our lips are brushing against each other. "So cute." He whispers against my lips before crushing them together. He wastes no time, running his tongue over my lips, demanding entrance and I give it to him.

Ian wraps his other arm back around my waist and slowly leans back onto the floor, bringing me with him. His hands move to hold my hips and I feel him rubbing himself against me. A soft moan escapes our kiss and he moves harder against me, making me aware of the growing erection beneath the fabric of his pants, and the one under mine.

I love doing this. It always feels so good. The drugs, the sexual excitement, Ian. I love it all.

He breaks our kiss and smiles at me then kisses my nose lightly and I can't hold back the smile that spreads across my face. His hold tightens and his kisses me lips again then says, "Baby, you stink." Before placing a final kiss on the corner of my mouth and I chuckle a bit.

"Maybe we should take a shower together." I say.

"Mmm, I think we should."
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