A binge week has gone by and I am stuck in a daze. How the hell have I gone through almost all of my dope and money? It’s simple. Nobody wants to be alone. Tyler and Shelly spent a week spending it and shooting it with me. I declined their little offer for a threesome. In fact, I declined that offer several times this last week. Tyler is hot and after being confronted with his bare, ass junk, I was intrigued. However, Shelly is nasty. She is pale with long stringy, mousy brown hair. I have zero attraction to her at all and she appears so dirty, I decided not to risk sleeping with either of them. Shelly got pissed with me when I cut off their dope supply and gave them a small last shot, so I dropped them back off at her house. The bitch got high all week off me and had the audacity to argue with me about knowing I have more dope. Of course, I do, but I need to conserve it so that I don’t get sick.
I’ve got three hours left for my motel stay. After that, I am not sure where I am going. In the meantime, I called Jason over. Jason is a guy I met in the Walmart parking lot about a month ago. Eric and I were almost out of gas and had no place to crash. Walmart won’t bother you if you sleep in the parking lot because they are against drunk drivers and would rather you crash there than literally crash into an innocent driver on the road. Eric had passed out and I eyeballed the traffic going in and out of the store during the 4:00 a.m. hour. When Jason came out, I thought I could score a few dollars off of him. He is an attractive, preppy looking guy. He was wearing a polo shirt that represented his cleaning company; however, his pupils were huge so I knew he used something.
After approaching him and explaining my situation, he offered to siphon some gas from his truck to put into my vehicle. In addition, he had noticed my pupils and dark circles and asked if I liked to get high. He doesn’t fuck with tar. He actually orders his drugs online and has them shipped directly to his house. Who even knew that was possible? He explained he uses something to cut with MDMA. I guess it is some pure form of molly or ecstasy, but it has a methamphetamine element to it. He showed me the website, but from what I read, this product has been classified as bath salts. Even being the true fucking drug addict that I am, I was reluctant about smoking any with him. I had heard about some asshole eating another person’s face off while on something called bath salts. Shit, I like the Walking Dead, but I ain’t trying to go all fucking nuts and consume somebody’s brains.
Eric woke up and observed the interaction between Jason and I and began calling me a fucking whore and junkie. I had already told Jason about Eric asleep in my car. Nevertheless, Eric insisted I was flirting and being deceptive. Jason tried to defend the truth that I had told him I had a boyfriend asleep in the car and that he was going to siphon some gas for us. Eric was relentless, in a dope sick rage and refused to listen. Jason offered to smoke us out and Eric refused, saying he could get me high and fuck me in his truck for all he cared, but he wanted no part in it. I was mortified and angry. Once again, I had hustled us gas and free drugs and Eric found a way to fuck it up. At that point, I didn’t care and hopped into the truck to smoke this mystery drug with Jason. Inside the truck, Jason instructed me on how to hit the foil. This drug had a funny taste. A chemical taste like meth, but not the same at all. It was almost like the taste of gas of some sort, or maybe plastic?
Jason had slid me his number and told me he didn’t feel right hanging in the parking lot while being accosted by Eric. He was fearful about the cops being called due to how loud Eric was getting and he didn’t want any trouble. The end result was that I had gotten high, but Jason didn’t siphon any gas for us. I was so freaking pissed at Eric. We fought half of the night, or morning, as it was. Whatever that drug was, it felt like I had done a more euphoric, (body buzz) type of meth and it lasted for like ten fucking hours! This pissed Eric off even more. I was feeling all kinds of good that day and he felt like shit. The memory of this causes me to smile.
My reminiscing is interrupted by a knock at the door. It must be Jason. To my surprise, he has brought me a red rose. Perhaps, he was attempting to be sweet, but the cliche of the red rose is lost on me. I fake a smile and thank him. Jason doesn’t waste any time pulling out his bag and asks if I am ready to smoke out. Just smoking a few pulls last time, had me fucked up all day, I wonder what taking a shot of it would do? Jason knows I bang dope, so I ask him if this shit can be shot up. To my surprise, he pulls out a bag with fresh rigs in it and says hell yeah. Oh my. I had no idea that he shot up. He carries himself with an athletic build, owns his own business and works overtime. How is he able to function? Of course. He doesn’t fuck with tar. Even I was a more functioning addict on meth. Heroin is the devil and the devil takes you down.
Jason observes the track marks up and down my arms and suggests that he can hit my foot for me no problem. While this sounds great, many junkies before him have claimed the same thing. Only, they were unsuccessful at being able to hit me and I fear he will be too. This drug causes you to speed up and talk at mock speed, much like meth. It doesn’t feel as dirty as meth though. It has a euphoric element that crystal doesn’t pack. Before I know it Jason and I are having sex! My body is tingling and excited to be touched. This is an entirely new buzz. A buzz that makes me want to be in constant physical contact with someone and nonstop kissing them, but Jason is a two-minute man. Oh My God, do I have to count this as another sexual partner? Fuck! He is already buttoning his pants back up. Before he leaves, he breaks me off a small amount of his stash and tells me a story about his friend that is trying to hook up with a female he likes. The moral of the story is something to the effect of, why romance a bitch to get in her pants when you can just bring them drugs. After he says this prince charming, the man of my dreams type statement, he kisses my forehead and tells me to call. It’s official, I am a whore for drugs now.
Oh my God, I basically put out for drugs. Didn’t I? I didn’t know he was going to say that shit. I thought he liked me. Wait, did he think he was paying me for sex with those drugs? We are in a cheap motel room. Oh my God! He thinks I am a dope whore. Am I? This feels like a new low to me. Is this my rock bottom? I didn’t intentionally trade sex for drugs. There was no discussion about it. It just happened. Who knew he was going to hop up after two minutes and be on his way? He broke me off more drugs before he left. Was that a tip? A fucking tip for my services? I am so confused right now. I don’t have much time to think about it, as I need to finish packing my shit into the car. My stay here is nearing its end. Quickly, I run through the shower and freshen up my makeup. As much as I hate what just happened, I feel so fucking good. I decide to call Angie and see what she is up to. After all, I am couch surfing again and am hoping she might need me for something so that I can crash there. As suspected, she is angry at first. Of course, when I tell her I got some good new shit for her to try out, she instructs me to come on over. Now, who is the drug whore? I return my key card, hop into my car, blast my Tech N9ne and make my way to Angie’s place.
Angie meets me at the door. Her face is excited and she extends her arms out for a hug. This is really more a formality than the desired engagement. We head to her bedroom, as she rambles on about her week and what she needs me to help her do. My body is buzzing with this new drug and I am only half-way listening. We have not spent any time together recently, so she inquires about where Eric is, speculating we are fighting again. This causes me to burst out into laughter. She will certainly delight in the details of his whereabouts. As I begin to explain that he is in jail and the circumstances of what landed him there, she interrupts me to ask about putting money on his books. I haven’t. An entire week has passed by, I think, and I have not put any money towards talking to that bastard.
She is shocked, but also, seems outraged. This girl is confusing me. She has repeatedly expressed hatred towards him with me. Many times now, she has begged me to stop putting up with his bullshit. In addition, she has gone off on him and even thrown him out of her apartment on multiple occasions. Why suddenly is she upset with me for leaving his ass alone? Angie has been to jail before. Because I haven’t been, she expresses that I have no idea how horrible it is. Especially detoxing and all alone. She elaborates that she wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy. I have always been there for Eric. It is likely, that I am the only one he has attempted to contact while in jail. While I have been binging all week, he has been detoxing and is completely clean from all substances. It is not unreasonable to believe that he has leveled out some and is going through what all addicts do after detox; experiencing a sincere desire to stay clean.
Angie explains how she felt when she had been locked up. There was this one person she always knew she could count on. That is who she reached out to. She detoxed and felt like crap. After a few days, her mind was set on staying clean once released. It disgusts her that I am the one person for Eric to reach out to and I have ignored his failed call attempts. It enrages her that I have not put money on his books, so that if I were not the person he could count on, at least he could attempt to contact someone else. She asks if he snitched on me and I respond with a dismissive shrug. I really don’t know. Truth is, I stopped thinking about him altogether. There is unhealthy codependency with him. It has been nice to let go of that completely. Now, reflecting on what Angie has shared, I feel a small tinge of guilt for completely abandoning him in jail. He doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. He left me with all his money and dope and I ran with it. The idea that he is clean and might have a desire to remain that way sparks hope. This is something we have fought about repeatedly. He would never listen to me. He didn’t want to get sober.
Angie forgives my inconsideration. She acknowledges that I have never been to jail before. This justifies my naive and cruel behavior. It is decided. After we get high, we will go put a few dollars on Eric’s books. The sad thing is, she is right. He has attempted to call me. Every single day. He has no way of knowing where I am at or what I am doing. For all he knows, I might be in jail or dead. Because he is sober, his emotions are likely the sincerest and overwhelming emotions he has felt in a long time. Suddenly, I have gone from not giving two shits about him, too worried and hopeful I will get money on his books before he attempts to call me again. Angie asks if this new drug can be smoked in a meth pipe. Truth is, I have no fucking idea. The consistency is different. It is more like a powder than rock. When I smoked it with Jason, we smoked it off foil. It leaves a yellowish tint on the foil. It is insane that I have no idea what this drug is and yet, I am doing it and sharing it. The best I can describe it is, it has a body buzz like when you are rolling on ecstasy and a mental up like meth but without any paranoia. It lasts all day. Angie is not overly impressed.
That happens sometimes. People grow accustomed to their regular highs and introducing new ones doesn’t persuade them. That is true of me, as well. The idea of drinking alcohol or smoking marijuana is laughable. There was a time in my life when I used one or both of those substances. Every, single day. Now, they would not suffice. My drug of choice, (DOC) is heroin. As is Angie’s. Regardless of what other shit we put in our system, we both need the dope. Luckily, Angie has some tar and is willing to smoke me out. She hesitates about breaking off a shot worth for me, but she knows how desperately I need to bang and she gives me a little over a point to do so. After we smoke, she begins primping herself to go out and make runs, while I retreat to the bathroom to do a shot. It is exciting to have a new piece of tar to bang. It is sticky and tastes of vinegar. I mix it with 20 cc’s of water from the tap, before reaching for my Bic. My hand is shaky from the rush of the mysterious drug. The tar cooks down, into a heroin pool in my spoon. I sway the lighter back and forth beneath it. Thankfully, I have a fresh batch of Q-tips in my junkie kit. After removing a small piece from the tip, I roll it back and forth between my fingers and toss it into my spoon. The puddle absorbs quickly into the cotton. Because this is a smaller shot, (20 cc’s) the cotton soaks up the entire mixture. The tip of my needle slightly pushes into the center of my heroin-soaked cotton. Slowly, I pull up the dope into the barrel of my rig. The anticipation of tasting the dope in the back of my throat, causes me to lick my lips. Repeatedly. I force the extra air out carefully, before flicking the rig and tying off. My fist pumps. Over and over again. While I remove my hair band from my head. Old reliable is calling for me. The scar tissue is thick and painful around her. Nonetheless, I have a feeling she will cooperate today. The penetration of the needle through the scarring hurts and causes me to squirm. Blood begins to pour into my rig and slowly, I push the demon in. Quickly, I undo my tourniquet and remove the needle from my arm. It’s not enough to nod me out, but it curbs the dope sickness.
Angie is all dolled up and ready to make moves. I’ve already showered and put makeup on prior to leaving the motel. I too am ready to head to the jail. The only downside to this plan is that I spent most of my money. When you are down to only a few bucks the idea of parting with any of it is scary. I need to make sure I have enough to score a bag. Angie will probably let me smoke with her, but I don’t like allowing for someone to control how I get high and I want to bang it. She broke me off this time because she needs me to drive her around. Plus, she is bipolar, (not literally) and who knows what might cause her to pop off on me and then fuck me out of getting high. This bitch is crazy. After all, who can forget the incident with the knife? About all, I am willing to part with is ten bucks and I ask if that will be enough for him to get a phone call in. Surprisingly, she throws ten more in and I add twenty dollars to his books. While there, I learned she needed to put money on her boyfriend’s books too. This trip was really about that. The idea of her calling this man in jail her boyfriend is laughable. In the past couple of months of him being locked up, I have seen her with several other dudes. So many, that I would have never guessed there was a man in jail she called her own. This bitch fabricated her concerns for Eric so that I would bring her here to put money on her man’s books.
After we leave the jail, we pull a boosting scheme off. She boosts, and I make the return. We make a quick hundred dollar gift card and she calls her dealer up. This will give us fifty bucks worth of tar, so really, only twenty-five a piece. It’s a start. She still has some dope, as do I. However, I have not been forthcoming with that information. She is upset because she had a gram of dope that is missing. She claims, she has torn her car and home apart looking for it, but it is gone. We are parked in front of her apartment and she insists we search her car together before going inside. Most likely, someone has stolen it from her. While she is upset about losing it, she isn’t too upset because the quality of the dope wasn’t that great. Nevertheless, while we wait on her dealer to come through, both of us are searching the floorboards of the vehicle. Hoping to discover her lost treasure. Her car is full of garbage, making it difficult to decipher what is what. She is adamant that she knows she lost it in her car. It is the last spot she can recall having it and she claims to have been extremely fucked up when it went missing.
The search turns up nothing but a few old foils. Old foils are temptations for heroin smokers. The temptation is to return to the foil, in hopes that you can get some smoke. Following the tracks of the previous smoke. Often times, there are remnants that produce mini hits, but nothing mind-blowing. You can tell by the tracks whether or not there are areas that aren’t charred. If the tracks are burnt black, there ain’t shit left. However, darker brown or even caramel coloring can almost always guarantee a cherished mini-hit. These foils are toast. We hit them anyways. One of the nastiest tastes to me is charcoal. I love BBQ but despise black lines on my food. My dad and sister fight over who gets to eat the charcoal on my chicken. Hitting burnt foils produces a similar taste.
After we connect with the dealer, we make our way into her apartment. I am pissed because she is holding my portion of the dope. It was a quick pull up and drop off. He had that shit measured already and didn’t care to stick around. Typically, I won’t agree to those terms, because I like to see all my dope weighed out before committing to purchasing it, but this is a common way of doing business and Angie insists he won’t screw us. Of course, once we get into her house we will grab her scale and split it, but who knows what this bitch might suggest is a fair split. I really don’t have any place to go so I won’t argue with her about it.
Her dog Rex, greets us at the door. He is a Pitbull and at times, can be aggressive. She tells me that he bit someone last week. From the details, Rex ripped into the guy’s calf muscle and he had to go to the hospital. It is hard to envision Rex doing that. He always lets me love on him and pet him. I have fed him and cared for him for a few days before. In fact, I watched him while Angie was in jail. He always rests his head on my lap when I come by and has been known to even cuddle on the couch next to me. Angie is worried that the guy who was bit might file a report. If that happens, it is likely that Rex will be put to sleep. Because it has been a week since the said incident, I don’t foresee that being an issue. Angie makes her way back to the bedroom to grab the scale. She asks me to feed Rex. I roll my eyes. This is most definitely, her way of distracting me while she cuts a bigger chunk of dope off for herself. Still, I comply with her request. As I bend down to scoop the dog food from its bag, my eyes fixate on a large, black speck on her floor by the baseboard. Holy shit! I have just found the gram of tar that Angie was complaining about losing and Angie isn’t in the room to watch me pocket it.