Time Is Nothing (John Frusciante)

Chapter 30

I will fucking die here.

John lay on the floor of his downstairs bathroom, only able to move as yet another surge of nausea took over and he had no other choice, but to bend himself over the toilet once again. His body tingled and flushed and all he wanted was to lie still and ride this thing out in peace, but his system rejected all attempts of doing that. It was a nightmare at 5 AM.

Did he absolutely regret it, though? Not sure.

First it was such intense nausea that he thought he would crawl out of his skin right there on the spot, but somehow he managed to fight it off. Then, a rather dry mouth and some itching. And a rush. What a fucking rush.

So warm and fuzzy and.. safe? John couldn't really describe it any other way than that. No sign of his underlying insecurity. No sign of his anxiety. Just like that, vanished. Actual relaxation. This intense high and pleasure only lasted a few minutes and then..

Twilight.

He was still high alright, but the rush began to wear off only to be replaced by drifting between being awake and somewhat asleep. John wasn't sure how long he had spent in this haze, but an hour seemed to be an adequate assumption. He managed to gather himself enough to get out of the club and get himself a cab in order to get home. He was a bit dizzy, but nothing he couldn't really survive.

But then..

Discomfort. He got home and started to feel drowsy and disoriented. And above all he started to feel sick. So, barely making it into the bathroom on time, he now lay there after an hour and came down from his high, contemplating this experience.

It sure had some side effects, John couldn't argue with that. He didn't even remember the last time he had gotten so sick over consuming anything really, but the elusive rush it offered proved itself to be one of complete euphoria and comfort. It did something no other drug he had tried had never done before — it made him.. happy? No, that's not the word, he thought. It made him.. numb? That suited better. It made all the supressed feelings, thoughts and worries go away.

He found it rather interesting. Most drugs function only one way — they take you further, push you. Want to feel really good? Here, a line of coke. Want to be elevated, energetic? How about some meth? Want to feel ecstatic, social? Pop a pill. Want to take a trip? LSD. Want to get.. away?

Heroin?

While other drugs intesify, heroin withdraws and disconnects.

Fascinating, he thought.

Cecilia used to do it. This is probably why. John knew that she felt lonely, insecure and unhappy in New York. He could now see what she must have found in it when she was using. Was it weird that he felt like this experience made him closer to her in a way? He felt like he suddenly understood her past choices better, without her even knowing about it. Perhaps it was weird, but he didn't really care.

It's not like she would actually ever know about this anyway. He knew that she didn't like it when he messed around with anything other than weed, so in order to keep peace in the house, he had learned to watch his step.

Besides.

It was a one time thing anyway. Nothing. He just got curious.

*

"Hey," John smiled to himself as he held the phone to his ear and placed yet another joint of weed between his lips, "I miss you. I wanted to hear your voice."

"Hey, baby," Cecilia greeted, now smiling herself and making herself comfortable in her and John's bed along with the phone, "I miss you too. Can't wait for you to get home."