The End

Prologue

    The wind blew against me as I sped down thte deserted road. The hot Georgia day had subsided into a chilly evening, though it seemed you could collect water by running your hand thtrough the muggy air. Tightening my grip on the handlebars, I increased my speed.

    I needed this. My life depended on it. I've never gone this long this long, and for a reason.

    My thoughts racing, I willed the tires to spin faster. A shiver ran sown my spine, and it wasn't due to the wind blowing through my thin jacket.

    Crouching closer to the bike, I rounded the final corner. I was almost there.

     As I approached the chain fence, I began to decelerrate. Finally stopping, I slid from the motorcycle, deploying thte kickstand to keep the bike upright. Looking down, my legs were shaking, my arms going numb. I only had a few hours. He better be here.

    Creeping forward slowly, as to assure I don't fall, I began to search for the loose section of fence. Pulling the chain from the ground, I crawled under, to find him waiting.

    His black ski mask exposed his mouth, which was twisted into a dark smile. Stumbling forward, I handed him the wad of cash I had tucked into my pants pocket. Eyeing the money, his smile grew. He swiftly thrust the paper bag at me, uninterested. Putting the cash in his pocket, he turned and walked away, whistling softly, as he had done each time I'd seen him over the course of the last year.

    Yanking the bag open, I found fifteen viles, enough to last until mid-September.

     Knowing I need to be on my way, I forced myself back through the fence and over to my bike. Caustiously tucking the bottles into the saddlebag, I mounted and set off into the night.

    The road stretched before me, the sky black. Black, like my jacket, like my hair, like my soul.

    The bike rumbled beneath me as I pulled to the curb, the substance in the bag calling my name. Racing to the door, I fumbled with the key before successfully shoving it into the lock. As I turned the knob, the creaky door swung open. I would have my release soon.

    I ached with every fiber of my being for the clear fluid which filled my syringe. Though I wanted to inject myself immediately, I forced myself to wait, even a few more seconds.

    Slowly, I stripped off all the clothing that acted as a barrier between my flesh and the harsh outdoors. Boots first, then shirt, then pants. I stood in only my underwear, my emmaciated body almost fully exposed. Running my hands over my prominent ribs, I shivered, unable to wait any longer. I needed it now. Looking at the hypodermic, I began to hate myself. If only I were strong enough to go through this hellish withdraw for even twenty minutes, it may all be over. I may be over.

    Gently, in my speckled thigh, I placed the tip of the needle. Though I'd been doing this for years, I could never get over the initial sting.

    At a snails pace, I pushed the plunger of the syringe. As the liquid began to pulse through my body, I began to grow warm. Finishing the hypodermic's worth of fluid, I pulled the needle from my side and waited for the euphoric state to hit me. The edges fo my vision grew white and splotchy as my breathing quickened. My heart threw itself against the wall of my chest, repeatedly skipping beats.

    Slowly, I began to level out. Thirty more days. I had enough to last thirty days. Growing exhausted, I thought back to the forty-eight hours I had gone without.

                                                         *                               *                             *

    It wasn't an addiction, it was my lifeline. The only thing tethering me to the utter hell I've been through seventeen years of. If I stopped taking it, I would stop existing. Though I had thought about it, I couldn't. Not yet. I needed to hold out for a bit longer.

    I wasn't a deadbeat drug-user. I was a victim fighting to survive. Not stuck in the clutches of  recreational chemical abuse-turned dependence, but stuck in the clutches of an actual need, like a human needing air, or a plant needing light. This wan't my doing; it was completely out of my control. My life was completely out of my control. But to fully understand me, you had to understand my story, which is something I'm not even capable of...