Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

June 2007 


My boiling blood pressure had my foot firmly pressed down on the pedal, trying to keep up with my back-stabbing, cheating, heroin-addicted girlfriend, who was also the love I couldn't live without. Drops of rain plummeted to the ground, making the road slick and as deadly as I felt inside. 
I wanted Scarlett home. Besides the homeless kid she had left me with, our apartment felt like an unexplored cave, a strange place unbeknownst to me. My head had become a haven of suicidal thoughts. It scared me how much I loved and depended on her. She had become more addicting than heroin, the drug she used to keep me from leaving. 
Even if I let her go, I couldn't follow through with it. We’d get our dope in Houston through her dealer and I knew no one here, in Austin, that sold it. Without her, withdrawal would set in, making me as sick as an abused dog. But then, my chest throbbed and self-esteem became extinct while I was with her. 
Who was I in love with, her or the heroin?


What I decided was I had to be with her, or at least with her until I, or we, could get clean. I had ground rules though: 
No more staying at Mike’s house; 
No more being “afraid” of me; 
No more sex with my so-called “friend;” and,
No more made-up pregnancies. 


They had done me in. 
It had been two weeks since the accident that made her “afraid of me,” which she used invariably as an excuse to stay with Mike. I was tired of that cop-out. It would feel better if she came out and told me she'd rather be with him, but she wouldn't. There was still some love there for me, I believed, and I held onto that thought with everything I had. I was tired of being alone; tired of sleeping teary-eyed; and tired of wondering what the hell would happen. It was the not knowing that killed me. 


I found Scarlett at a bar next to Mike’s house. I was only 20-years old and amply underage, so whatever I said to her had to be quick. I used to have a fake i. d. but; it had disappeared in the mess of shooting heroin, cocaine, and smoking crack. 
I spotted her, dressed nicely and dolled-up, sitting at the bar. My appearance surprised the hell out of her while sitting next to Mike, who continued to look the other way. He should drink to being alive after the morning I had almost stabbed him. 
“What the hell?! What are you doing? Stalking me?!” she greeted me. 
I ignored what she said, trying to keep my emotions in check. “It's time to come home, babe.”
“Don't babe me. You're fucking crazy, you know that?”
My emotions broke free. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait for you forever?” I thought, while she asked the bartender to close out. “Should I put all your crap outside? Cuz I will if you don't come back home tonight.”
She ignored me and gathered her things. Next to the growing anger, I could see the inebriation in her eyes. 
“Let me drive us home,” I said. 
Not a word. 
The bartender brought her the check and after she scribbled gibberish down; she threw her black purse over her sharp shoulder. Without looking at me, or Mike, she slid off the barstool, making a dash for the door. That's when the bartender dropped in…
“Hey, can I see some i. d..”


The rain hadn't let up as I walked outside, thinking I'd find her smoking a cigarette under the veranda. Instead, I couldn't see her anywhere. My heart dropped, then in a short distance I heard a car start. My eyes lit up and faced the direction it came from. I recognized her teal Honda Civic while it backed up.
I ran to my black Blazer I had luckily parked close to the entrance. There was a shrieking sound I knew was her. I jumped in and started my car, thus, beginning our game of cat and mouse. 
It was a terrible night for a car chase—unless you were a spectator. It had just stopped raining, which made the roads extra slick. I pursued and chased her, zig-zagging around cars in the neighborhood I grew up in; I had the home court advantage.
Scarlett was driving excessively reckless and sped faster than the speed limit; I feared the latter. Being right on her tail the entire time, I had her back, just in case anything happened. But being behind her ended up being the worst place I could be when suddenly she slammed on her brakes.
Those bright candy-red lights I saw in front of me became the glowing eyes of the Devil rocketing towards me. I pushed down on the brake pedal, with both feet, as hard as I could, but rather than coming to an immediate stop, my car slid out of control...
Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech, I closed my eyes—

     BAM!
Then silence.

     Not even the crickets chirped.

     I slowly moved my head back and forth, shaking it like a dog though I didn't want to, opened my eyes.

     All I could see was the black hood of my car raised up and wrinkled as if someone had opened it all the way after taking a sledgehammer to it. I couldn’t figure out what happened at first. Then it clicked, Oh Shit. What did I do?
I felt around my body, which felt okay. Nothing ached. No cuts, no scrapes, or bruises. Thank God for seat belts.

     But wait, ...

     Scarlett!!
I pulled the handle to open my door, but it wasn’t budging. So I leapt over the leather console and into the passenger seat, then gently opened its unscathed door. Running around the side, then the front of both our cars, I could tell I had totaled my car; hers too, perhaps.
The inside lights were on. Oh thank the Lord, she had her seatbelt on.

     But she was out.

     Unconscious, once again.
“Scarlett?... Baby, are you okay??”
Nothing.
I shook her carefully, then brushed the pieces of hair obscuring her eyes off her sweaty face. Softly petting the side of her head, waiting for her to awake. This all felt too familiar. Why does this keep happening? To us?

     Suddenly, but slowly, her eyes opened. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief, then smiled. The heartening feeling didn't last though...

     I knew she wasn't coming home tonight.
Our relationship, if you’d still call it that, had so many red flags waving, but being so naïve and blinded by my dope sick love for her, I ignored them all. None of them were any match to the flag I held representing my unconditional love for her. But something needed to happen. I couldn’t live like this any longer.
I was still a mere boy when this happened. I was a 20-Year-old, yet wasn’t as experienced as she was. I had just been introduced to the devil’s juice — heroin — which had me in its grip and it would not let go. I was in a catch-22 with Scarlett, but even with that, I wouldn't leave her. I loved her too much. She was my first, honest, real love. And along with heroin, she had me in her hands. I didn't know what codependency was, but we were a prime example. She was my heroin. 

    Before this car chase, she had been an angel. The punk-rock prom queen I adored and never wanted to lose sight of. I had felt this way the first time I laid my sober eyes on her when I visited Owen in rehab…