I looked up at Dr. Danner after realizing I had been lost in my story for a while. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” She replied smiling.
“Should I continue?” I asked nervously. It was incredibly odd to talk about myself for this long, she had to be growing tired of my ramblings.
She glanced quickly at her watch and folded her hands on her lap. “Please do, we have plenty of time. Perhaps we can finish your story before I have to leave, that way I don’t have to wait a week to hear the rest.” She laughed, slipping her heels off and crossing her legs underneath her on the couch.
“Okay.” I smiled as I leaned back and also got comfy. Dr. Danner was in for a doozy with this next part…
Once I had realized that I could ger away with being high– that Chuck didn’t notice, things escalated pretty quickly. One month later– to the day– I made a choice that would alter the course of my life indefinitely.
“I can’t come in today, I’m really sick, Don.”
Before calling up to work, I laid backwards on the bed with my head hanging off the edge. I heard that this position tightens your throat and makes you sound sick. I was sick, sicker than I’ve ever been. But it wasn’t a cold or the flu, it was much worse.
“Tiffany, you’ve been missing a lot of work lately, are you sure everything is okay?” Don asked sounding slightly agitated.
“Yes, I don’t know what’s going on, I need to go to the hospital I think, I’ll go today probably.” I lied. I didn’t need a f***ing doctor, I needed a Roxy.
“Make sure you bring a note with you tomorrow. You are coming tomorrow, right?”
“Yes. I should definitely be better by then. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone before he had a chance to reply, I honestly didn’t care if he fired me at this point. I didn’t care about anything except finding money so that I could make this pain stop.
I rolled back up onto the bed and let out a growl as a wave of nausea made it’s way up from my belly into my throat. I ran to the bathroom, but it was too late. Vomit shot out of my mouth before I could open the lid of the toilet, covering my shirt and the bathroom mat.
I crawled through the vomit and lifted the lid, but couldn’t muster the strength to stand up. I laid my head onto the cold ceramic seat and closed my eyes waiting for the nausea to pass.
It felt as if my bones were in a vice grip, at any moment I was certain they would snap. It was as if my body was on fire and I was trapped inside. I wanted to shed my skin, this weak human flesh that was revolting without it’s fix. I needed a pill, I needed something.
With a sudden burst of energy, I remembered that Chuck had a half a bottle of vodka in the pantry. I ran like I was trying out for the Olympics and threw the pantry door open with enough force that it knocked a few magnets off of the fridge.
I lunged for the bottle and chugged until it was empty. The bitter alcohol burned the walls of my esophagus as it made it’s way down, but I didn’t care. I needed the pain to stop.
I reached for my phone in my back pocket and mashed the numbers to Lazarus’s cell.
Each ring felt like an eternity. “Yo, you know what to do.” BEEP.
I cursed out loud and frantically dialed again. Ring, ring, ring. “Yo, you know what to do.” BEEP.
Tears of desperation streamed down my face as I opened my text messages. I needed pills and I need him to answer. I began typing:
“Hey Laz. Remember that thing we talked about last week? When I said I couldn’t because I have a boyfriend? I changed my mind, please call me back ASAP.”
What the hell am I doing?
Lazarus had tried to offer me pills in exchange for sex a million times, I always said no. I would never sleep with him for thousands of reasons but the main one being–I love my boyfriend very much.
Therein lies the problem. I’m broke and I have no money for pills. I love Chuck so much that I need to do whatever the hell I can to ensure he doesn’t know I’m detoxing. 4 hours from now when he gets home, the pain of this withdrawal will have doubled by then. He would know I was using and it would kill him. I can’t do that to him, it would ruin him. 2 minutes of meaningless sex was much better than destroying this wonderful mans future.
I had to make this pain stop so that I can make it through the night. One more night, then I’ll try and get clean tomorrow.
I picked up the phone to call Kayla. We hadn’t spoken much since Chuck and I had gotten back together because he thinks she’s a bad influence. Which is precisely why I needed to get ahold of her right this second.
“Hello?” She answered, sounding surprised. I don’t know what it was about the sound of her voice, I instantly broke down into sobs.
“Holy s*** Tiff, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Dude, I am so f***ing sick. I’ve been getting high this whole time and I am detoxing so bad. Lazarus isn’t answering and I have no money and honestly, Kay… I want to die.” I could barely get the words out.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you didn’t call me sooner, idiot. I don’t have blue’s, but I have D’s.” she said.
“What the hell is a “D”?” I asked. Why did she know about something that I didn’t know about? We started using at the same time.
“You haven’t heard of them? It’s a pill. It f**ks you up. The only thing is th–”
“I don’t care, please. Please bring me one. I’ll do anything.” I pleaded.
“Okay, I’ll be there in like 20. I’m so happy you called, I’ve missed you so much.” She said.
“Please! Just come. We can talk when you get here.” I replied. I didn’t want to reminisce. I needed her to shut the hell up and get here with drugs.
I laid on the floor of the kitchen twisting in agony for what seemed like a lifetime. The Vodka didn’t do a damn thing to help with the pain, it was almost as if I was immune to it during withdrawal. Each second felt like 3 hours. I imagine that this is what people in a gas chamber must feel like moments before taking their last breath. I was suffocating from the pain.
A burst of adrenaline and joy shot through my veins as I heard the sound of acrylic nails tapping on my front door. “Oh my God come in!”
I didn’t move from the floor, I was going to snort whatever the hell this pill was right off the tile below me. “Where are you?” Kayla asked, apparently unable to see my lifeless body by the dishwasher. “In here.” I mumbled.
“Oh my God, Tiff. You are such a dork.” Kayla said, rounding the corner.
“F*** you, where is it.”
Before she could respond, Kayla’s friend Javier appeared from behind her and smiled down at me. “Hey down there. You okay?” He asked with a look of sympathy on his face.
“Not really. I’d offer you a drink, but I can’t move. Why the hell are you here?”
“Tiffany!” Kayla scolded, obviously embarrassed.
“Sorry! I just wasn’t expecting company, and was wondering…what he was doing here. So, what are you doing here?”
“It’s his stuff, a**hole, so be nice.” Kayla laughed, setting her purse on the counter. “Are you just gonna stay down there?”
“Ha ha. Okay, give me a sec to get it ready.” she said, pulling the stuff from her purse.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, anxiously anticipating the feeling of the powder filling my nose and dripping down my throat. It took her a few minutes to get ready, but it seemed like it had been a week.
“Ready?” Javier asked.
“Hell yeah.” I replied, with my eyes still closed. “Just set it on the floor next to me, I’m not joking I can’t move.”
The room was silent. I opened my eyes and gasped. “What the f*** are you doing?” I asked him when I realized he was about to strangle me with a belt. “Are you trying to murder me?” I screamed, jumping to my feet.
“Tiffany, calm down. I tried to tell you on the phone, but you cut me off.” Kayla said calmly. “The belt isn’t for your neck, it’s for your arm.”
I looked at the belt, then looked back at Kayla. I hadn’t noticed before because I was laying down. Her arms… they were bruised, and covered in track marks. The world was suddenly spinning around me as I came to terms with what was going on.
I looked at Javier, and looked down at his hand. He was holding a syringe, loaded with drugs.
“Soooo,” Kayla began, “what do you want to do?”
I looked at her, looked back at Javier then down at the needle. I had never shot up before, junkie’s shot up, and I wasn’t a junkie. I had 3 choices here. Continue detoxing and destroy my relationship. Shoot myself in the head with a gun and make it easier on everyone, or have some strange dude I don’t know shoot me up in the kitchen of my cop boyfriends house…
“F*** it, let’s do it.” I said, rolling up my sleeve.