Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

I take a seat on the driveway. She then starts telling me about everything that has happened in the last month. She and her fiancé got back together and set a date to be married next summer. I tell her how great that is and congratulate her. 
After five minutes of her talking with me uttering “Really?” and “Uh huh” repeatedly convincing her I'm paying attention, when I'm not. I'm trying my best to stay awake. 
When she stops, I ask, “So, have you heard from Bubba, at all?”
Her answer wakes me up and I jump up off the driveway. 
“What?! He's supposed to be in jail!”
“No, he came by looking for you. I told him you were in rehab cuz that's what your Dad told me and that he'd better get outta here cuz cops are looking for him. He said they are always looking for him and it's not a big deal,” she explains. 
I can feel blood rush to my face as I bite my bottom lip in anger. “Uhh… it is a big fucking deal. He gave Brianna a shot of dope that killed her!”
She sat silent on the other end.
After ten long seconds I can't take the silence anymore. “You there?”
“Yeah, I'm here.” She pauses, then says, “Um… I thought you were the one who gave it to her.”
My heart sinks.
“Nah, that wasn't me. I'd never do that.”
“Yeah, that's what I thought, but you were fucked up. More than I've ever seen you. And she wanted to do it—”
I didn't believe her. I took my phone and squeezed it as hard as I could. I'd never blacked out from dope, only drinking. Then I realize I took two Xanax that night before everything else. 
Feeling nauseous, I put the phone back to my ear. She was still talking. I catch about half of it. 
“… she didn't want to be shot up so Bubba ripped the needle off and you shot it up her nose as she snorted.”
I run over to the grass and puke, barely making it. Image after image flash in my head of finding her that morning. Mixed with them are images of that night. I saw her saying Yes, wanting to do it, just not with a needle. 
I hang up the phone. 




I knock a few times on the door, telling Skags it's me. I couldn't care less if it freaks him out. Skags opens the door. He looks at me with raised eyebrows and asks,
“What the hell happened to you? Who was on the phone?”
I knew he'd ask. I could feel the shame and hurt in my pale face, white as if I had witnessed a curb-stomping outside. That and the traces of tears violently rolling down it. 
“I don't wan— …I'll tell you later,” I decide. 
He hands me a clean rig and a spoon with a pea-size piece of dope stuck to it. I glare at his fingerprint smashed into it and realize it's not enough for how high I want to get—how high I need to get. 
I want to die. 
And I want to be high while I die. 
I ask for the bag and he throws it over after he breaks off a piece for him. The dope is shiny and sticky as I smash more into the spoon. Without saying a word or even looking up, I perform the dope-making ritual. I have to squirt another ten cc’s of water with the extra dope I added. The result is a longer, darker shot awaiting me in the syringe. 
When I find a vein in my forearm, it takes more time than usual pushing the plunger. The rush kicks in before I push it all in. I stop to see if the needle is still in the vein. Blood rushes into the chamber telling me it's in. My head, already growing heavy and dreamy. 
 Fuck it, I tell myself before shoving the rest into my arm. 
 The immense sensations of tingling and dizziness flood my head and quickly work their way down my body. It warms me. My blood begins to heat, until it's uncomfortable. Then, it's as if a hand grabs my heart in a fist and shuts off the valve to my lungs. I look at Skags but he's busy looking for a vein. He has no idea of what is happening two feet away from him. 
I'm underwater and can't find the surface. 
While making the shot, I only wanted to escape. I didn't intend on this happening. I had wanted death, yet, now I'm terrified. I can feel the confusion in my heart wanting to relax while it can't stop trembling with the panic that's washed over me. I don't want to die yet. I want to get high a few more times. 
I lay down on my pillow, living a paradox. My body fights for air while my head floats in mental euphoria. 
I can't help but think of my family. How they are going to be devastated. My mom dropping to the floor as her legs give out. Her screams are piercing. My dad suffering from that heart attack she had always warned me about every time I relapsed. My brother giving up on everything. It's too much. 
In an instant, a valve is released. I exhale everything I had imagined. A fresh feeling of relief sets takes place of where there was panic. It's cleaner and more true than any feeling I could get from drugs. I'm saved. Or am i?
The heaviness of the nod lulls me to sleep. 


I awake the next morning with Skags making a shot. I make one as well, though not as big as the last one, and push off. 
Skags says something, but I don't understand him. Pins and needles burn my head and tingle my neck. My eyes close. I realize my mouth is wide open, so I try to close it but wind up opening it again. 
After I don't know how long, I turn to him and say, 
“I just got some really bad news.”