Paper Trails 2 | Draft

3.

TRIGGER Warning: substance abuse. (First & last warning. There will be more chapters in which drugs are mentioned or used and it may or may not go into depth. If it makes you uncomfortable, so will many of the other themes brought up. This is not a book that will stray away from such themes.) please take that into consideration.

I DO NOT condone my characters actions. DO NOT do drugs. Do not allow yourself to be sucked up into a life where you're consumed with a need for something so dangerous.

"Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly."

*****

When Christopher first tried to get me off drugs, he failed. It wasn't too hard to get my hands on some pills. All it took was a pretty girl willing to spread her legs.

It'd be easy to label me as an addict.

I was a whore who got too used to the affects those drugs had on me. Little by little, I started to rely on them. To depend on them.

An addict would do anything for a fix. Anything. It didn't matter who they had to hurt, steal from, con, or exploit. None of that matters. Drugs don't only ruin the person taking them. They destroy relationships, cause rifts in families. They push people apart, and they make sure the person using them are alone. Completely and utterly. And they settle into your system and your mind, and seep into your thoughts and your blood.

Your body becomes co-dependent. And without them, you go through withdrawals. There's so many forms of torture in this world.

Withdrawals? Very close to being the worst. Your body turns against you. You shake and sweat and itch and hurt. You cry. You need.

Nothing makes a person more vulnerable than need.

Christopher hated knowing there was something I needed more than him. Especially when it's him who got me hooked in the first place.

I can't blame him, of course, not entirely. I make my own choices. I chose to snort that line of coke the night I met him. And I chose to take whatever came after.

My choices.

He just gave me the option.

And here I was again. Making my own choices.

Making the wrong choices, and not giving a fuck.

It started off as recreational. The pain was immense, the nightmares were persistent, and I was desperate.

For something.
For anything.

Most people start off small, light. A little drinking, a little pot. I wasn't any different. But drinking left a foul taste in my mouth and I'd grown resistant to the effects of weed. Then came coke, and soon after, heroin.

I liked H. For some reason, I preferred it. It wasn't easier. I didn't like needles. But maybe that's why I preferred it. Maybe I really was just intense.

There was one thing I did know.

I was untouchable. Happy. Warm. Comfy. Indifferent.