JENNIE KIM IMAGINES

Drug

It's been seven days since I managed to stay clean. Seven endless, stretched-out days that felt like a lifetime. Some people talk about sobriety like it's a straight path, but for me, it's a constant battle—a game of tug-of-war that leaves me drained, barely holding on. I don't know how those "sober people" do it, waking up every day without the itch crawling under their skin, without that pull calling them back into the dark. For them, getting clean seems like a steady climb, one step at a time. But for me, it feels more like scaling a cliff with no safety net below.

Jennie has been by my side, and she's tried so damn hard to pull me out of this pit. She believes in me more than I deserve, more than I believe in myself. She holds my hand, looks into my eyes, and tells me I can do this, tells me I'm stronger than this. Her words are like an anchor, something to grab onto when the waves crash in. But even she doesn't know how relentless this need is, how it eats me alive from the inside out. And now, after all her faith and all her patience, here I am—hiding from her in this empty room, my hand trembling as I reach for the familiar, poisonous comfort of cocaine.

The small bag sits in my hand, glaring at me like it knows what I'm about to do, mocking every promise I've made. My throat tightens, and my mind splits in two. Part of me is screaming, begging me to throw it away, to walk out of here and prove I can make it past a week. But the other part, the addict in me, the part that's always lurking in the shadows, keeps whispering how much I need it, how much I deserve it. Just one more hit to calm my nerves, to take the edge off this miserable reality.

My hands are shaking as I pour out the powder, heart pounding like a warning siren. I hate myself for this weakness, for undoing all the work and support Jennie's given me, for giving in after all those promises. It's like I'm watching myself from outside my own body, seeing every pathetic move, yet feeling too trapped to stop it.

"Shit, I missed this," I mumbled, almost to convince myself that this was worth it, even if I knew deep down it wasn't. As I took that hit, a rush filled me, a twisted relief that spread through my veins, making everything blurry, making me feel numb for just a second.

Then I heard it—footsteps, getting closer. Jennie. I panicked, my mind snapping back to the reality I'd tried to escape from, the air suddenly thick with tension.

"Baby?" Jennie's voice called out, her soft knock echoing through the silence. "You in there?"

"Yeah?" I managed, glancing at the table smeared with powder and frantically trying to wipe it down, swiping at the residue and fanning my hand through the smoky haze. "Just... one minute," I called back, my voice tight, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

"What are you doing in there?" She asked, and I heard the twist of the doorknob. She must've noticed it was locked because the knob rattled again, this time with force. "Open the door."

"Yeah, just a sec!" I yelled, desperately dusting the powder off my hands, rubbing it against my jeans, trying to get rid of any evidence. My heart was racing, stomach churning with that raw, sick feeling that only comes when you're inches away from getting caught. I threw the bag under the bed, wiped my face, and opened the door with a forced grin, hoping I looked casual enough.

But Jennie just stared at me, her brows knitted together, her eyes sharp with suspicion. She looked past me into the room, sniffing the air. "Why's it smell weird in here?" She stepped in, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room like a detective piecing together a crime scene.

"Jennie," I started, swallowing hard. "Babe, let's... let's just go eat, yeah? I'm starving."

She didn't answer. Her gaze swept the room, flicking over every surface, and her eyes stopped on the faint streaks on the table. She touched it, rubbing her fingers together, and a cold dread pooled in my stomach. I tried to block her path, to steer her away, but she stepped around me, determined.