Tweaker

xix. without him

xix. without him

In the days that followed, I was left alone. Finn, nor Preston, came back to me and in this time, I had truly known what being alone felt like. I wasn't accustomed to it and I never in my life thought I would have had to live without him.

Without Finn.

The memories were flooding me like the dam in my head had finally broken and I hated myself more now than I ever had, or ever would, in my life. I was in love with Finn Fintry and I had been since the beginning . . . but the problem was, Finn would never let himself love me -- not in the way I loved him.

I suppose I understood, but there was a point to his words that I could not see.

I don't think I ever would.

He was just too important to me and losing him was only the beginning of the battle. I knew this one, I would be left to fight alone. All I could do for the past few days was listen to music and a song I knew well, and only one that could fill part of that void was one Finn had always sang to me and the words were more true than ever.

I could still hear his voice, "Well I never pray, but tonight I'm on my knees yeah. I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah. I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now. But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me now."

The impending breakdown I knew was coming washed over me, then. It was a wave I could not stop, one I didn't even fight. I had done this to myself.

"I've done this to myself," I cried out, my soul begging Finn to come back to me, howling to the Heavens I could never have believed in now, because if Finn was going to die, there was no way he was spending eternity in Hell. He was too good, too pure, too selfless.

I couldn't see someone as beautiful and good as Finn going to a place meant for those who could not control themselves.

No, that was a place for people bad -- people like me.

Whatever was in store for me I knew could never be good. I knew it could never be pure and happy . . . and somewhere inside, I knew I didn't deserve a good place. After all the horror I had put the people I loved through, I didn't want to go to Heaven. I wanted to go to Hell, and I deserved it. All I wanted now was to get what I deserved and if that had meant going off and doing the one thing I promised Benji and Preston and Finn -- and myself -- that I would never do again, then I'd be damned, because that's what I was going to do.

I stood up, weak and breaking, and opened the bathroom door. I hadn't gotten off the floor in days; I had just laid there and waited, hoping he would come back, but he hadn't. What did I need to fight for, anymore?

I walked down the steps quickly, slipping on the floor as my leggings began pulling down on my waist making each step I took even more dangerous to my life than the last. The thing was, I didn't care anymore. I wanted agony and pain, because I hated myself for what I'd done to everyone around me.

Those things I did, I did without a care in the world. The way it would affect my life, and those around me, had never crossed my mind . . . because I had never let it.

Finn was gone.

And so was I.

Crossing the hall after I stood back up from where I tripped, I grabbed my leather jacket, my cigarettes and lighter, and my wallet. As I slipped on my combat boots, all I could hear in my head was that I was doing the right thing.

Checking my wallet, I noticed there wasn't much compared to the amount of cash I usually had on me, but I figured a fifty dollar bill would be as good amount as any. It would get me enough H to at least attempt to overdose on, taken all at once.

I was a tad bit surprised Finn hadn't taken my money when he left, but then I realized why: he was giving me a second chance. The choice to live with or without him . . . and I knew I was doing the exact opposite of what he wanted me to do.

Did I care?

I didn't even give myself the chance to think twice, I just walked out the door.

No. I didn't care.

Why would I care if he hadn't?

I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat the second the cool autumn air hit my lungs. This time of year usually spoke to me, but now all it was whispering was that I was doing the right thing. The weather was egging me on and I welcomed it without doubt.

I crossed the road with, looking both ways. I know what I'd be asked if someone knew my plans: If I was going to kill myself anyhow, why did I care about traffic? There was no right or wrong way to go about this, but there was both rhyme and reason to my actions. If my death was on someone else's hands, Finn would never know why I wanted to die. He would just think I was being reckless, again, and I wanted him to know that I was dead because he had left. I didn't want him to blame himself, but if I went out and overdosed, he would at least know that I wasn't choosing to live without him.

If he was gone, so was I.

I walked for what seemed like miles to my death. When I reached the bridge, I went up instead of down and grabbed a stone from a pile. That's how we used to do this: if there was a pile of stones on the top of the bridge, someone was able to sell. So I grabbed one and dropped it below. Turning around, I didn't stay to hear it hit the ground; I walked down the bridge, underneath and sat down on the ground.

Waiting; always waiting.

Before I knew it, someone had approached and sat down beside me.

"What can I do for you, Grey?"

I handed him a fifty.

He nodded, stuffing it in his pocket and pulling out a small bag. He stuffed it in my leather jacket and laid down on his back, closing his eyes and saying, "Don't shoot this all into your veins at once. It'll kill you."

"As if it won't kill me either way," I bitterly spat.

Standing, I made no move to say goodbye or thank him. I wanted him to think I was coming back for more like I always had. I made my way slowly back to the house, wishing Finn would show up and stop me.

He didn't and I doubted that he ever would.

When I got back to the house, I went to my room, emptied my pockets and grabbed a spoon from my drawer. Heating chunk after chunk with the lighter until it was liquid and pounding the needle into my vein, I had a hard time focusing enough to get it all into my system . . . but I succeeded.

Because I was determined, as ever, that tonight was my last night.

When it was all inside me, I stepped out of my window and onto my roof. I had one syringe full left and I knew it would be my last.

Laying down, I slammed the last bit into me. I watched the sky as it turned from blue to a beautiful mixture of pinks and oranges and finally fade to black.

While the sun went down, I could feel it hitting me harder and harder than it ever had before. Fifty worth of H was a lot and I knew it . . . I doubted there was anyone on this earth that could handle fifty all at once and live to tell of it. No matter how high your tolerance was, there was a limit that any junkie would be willing to push.

I lit a cigarette, took a drag and closed my eyes.

The back of my eyelids were playing me a movie I never wanted to stop watching: Tweaker, The Story of Finn Fintry, a junkie knowing no boundaries, a junkie who crossed every line . . . no matter who he hurt, he didn't care.

Even if it was the one girl he loved more than anyone.

I took in a deep breath, letting the memories flash before my eyes. I watched and listened to the songs and movies playing deep inside my mind. It was a place I could never have reached sober, because I couldn't remember anything sober . . . but being high was my clarity. I knew exactly what I wanted and how to get it. Everything made so much more sense when I was rocked out of my mind and everything was so much easier that way, too.

The last thing I could remember before the blackout was Finn's voice: "I can't save you if you're not willing to save yourself."