Enantiodromia (Kellic)

26. Im Low On Money And Need To Shoot Up

Vic pov

I sat on Ray's ratty couch in his nasty living room that reeked of the shit I've basically sold myself to. I'm here for more heroin and he went to the room to get it. As I wait, I dig my nails into my palms because I haven't been high yet today and honestly, I'm feeling addicted. I feel like I need it, but that's okay. I don't care. I have no reason to care. I hope these drugs kill me because I don't want to live. I'm using these drugs so I can temporarily getaway from my life so why would I be opposed to them fixing the problem permenantly. Why does it matter? I barely effect anyones life positively. There's nothing that can convince me to not do this to myself. Before this, I had the smallest amount of hope and didn't wanna fuck my life up, but I've lost that and now I don't care what happens to me, I'm not dealing with any of it. I just want to dwindle away. What's the point?

Ray emerges with a price on his tongue and I groan. "Ray, what the fuck man? Went from 10 to 15 and now 20 for like half a good dose. What happened?"

"Sorry Vic, this stuff is dangerous and there's a price to pay, man. This is business." He says with a shrug. "You in or out?"

I mutter profanities under my breath and pull out a $40 and hand it to him. I need this and he knows that which is why he's playing me. In the drug world, friends only takes you so far. We're all just looking for our next fix and my money is how Ray gets his. We are all narcissistic fucks and even if we have friends, our fix always comes before them. Always.

××××

When I get home after being at Ray's, it's completely dark. When I try to flick on a light, it's unresponsive and I groan. I've been low on money to pay for electric because I keep accidentally leaving lights on while I'm at work because I'm high most of the time and forget. The latest bill was almost $1000 which is way, way to much for one person. I still haven't payed it, as demonstrated.

I pulled a lighter from my pocket and lit it up so I could maneuver into the kitchen and find a flashlight or some candles. After finding and lighting one candle, I gave up and made my way to the chair in the corner of my room in which a little box sat. I set down the candle on my night table, pushing some various drug baggies over so it could have a place. I proceeded to pick up the little box and sit where it was previously. I opened it and pulled out all the things and then tied on the shoelace.

And there I sat that gloomy night in a rickety wooden chair in complete darkness only broken by a single candle, injecting straight poisen into my bloodstream.

××××

When I arrived at work the following morning, trying to pick up some more hours, some more money, I was high on heroin and shrooms at the same time and I was hobbling into work. I usually didn't come to work this high, at least not before heroine but lately I'd been come here barely being able to walk or do my job. I'd been stuck on cleaning duty instead of waiting on people because I could barely properly hold a plate most times.

I came eye to eye with my boss and he marched over to me as I felt a sneeze come on. Right as I sneezed, I feel over, unable to keep my balance. Customers were staring and all I heard was, "Vic, just go home for a while. Take off a couple months, get your shit together and then you can come back. Sort this the fuck out."

So I wobbled home. Right as I entered my house, only lit up by window light, I crashed against the door and began to nod off, little rainbow dripping Kellin's dancing beneath my eyelids.

I was awoken by my mouth opening and puke spilling from it onto my lap. I didn't even bother trying to get to the bathroom. I just continued to puke all over myself, I don't even know what I was puking at this point. I barely had time for eating recently, nor could I afford it, so I really know what the fuck was coming out.

Ask puked out my insides onto myself, all I could think was how pathetic my life is, and so, as fate would have it, I began to cry as I puked and it was just one big sad picture.

××××

I sat on the floor some time later, I can't even keep up with how long I just know the high had worn off and Its dark outside. I had a notebook and pen in my hand, my back against my closed bedroom door and legs propped up to use as a table. I was trying to write but I couldn't. Nothing came out even remotely right. My words sounded stupid and generic. Everything seemed so adequate when lyrics were usually something I prided myself in.

I shook my head, trying to clear it and focus on the ink on this paper but still, nothing was right. I became frustrated and threw the pen down beside me before chunking the journal across the room. It hit the wall and bounced off, thudding onto the floor dully. I threw my head into my hands and tangled my fingers into my hair, pulling at the stands as I began to rock back and forth. I pulled harder at the hairs and noticed that the sun was beginning to rise.

I pulled harder at the hair, beginning to feel hot tears running down my face as I rocked faster. I hate myself, why can't I be normal? Why can't I write? Why am I a fucking heroin addict? Why am I so fucking pathetic?

I need to shoot up right now. I need to shoot up.