Tweaker

xi. sleeping through the screaming

xi. sleeping through the screaming

     A COOL BREEZE swept over me, where I remembered Finn's arms had been and I jolted myself awake.  My eyes didn't refocus right away, so I was trapped in a blurry world with nothing to do but wonder.  Not long after that, though, my vision cleared up and I looked around my bedroom, where my three friends had all been sleeping the night before. 

     "Wh-"

     Right as I was about to speak, a crashing sounded through my ears.  It was numbing, making my mind buzz annoyingly until I'd had enough and stood, walking out of my room in my panties and tanktop.  I hadn't remembered changing, but I shrugged it off.  I was still in one piece, right?  So it didn't matter what I was wearing, right? 

     "Well . . .  Good morning, Greyson Harris," I heard a cocky voice say from behind me.  Rolling my eyes, I spun around and glared at Preston. 

     "Or not good morning.  Whatever works," he shrugged, walking past me and to the kitchen.  Sighing, I followed him, running my hand through my hair as I entered the room.  In front of me were both Finn and Benji, standing and staring at me with empty eyes.  I could feel a grimace coming on, but I changed it quickly to a sarcastic smile in order to conceal it. 

     "Who made me coffee?"  I asked, even though I didn't see any made. 

     "Actually, Finny boy was doing that just not, before he dropped the coffee pot," Benji said, looking up at Finn with an expecting expression. 

     "I did no such thing." 

     "You did, too!"  Benji called out, sounding just as guilty as Finn looked. 

     "I did not!" 

     "How old are we, guys?  Three?" 

     "Shut up, Pres," they both said at once, causing everyone in the room to genuinely smile for once since they all arrived. 

     My smile was the first to fall and I told them it was alright; that coffee pot was hardly ever used.  I asked Preston to come to the basement with me and help me get the spare we had and he nodded, understanding my secretive question to talk alone.  It didn't take us long to escape from the boys and when we did, his happy expression dropped and he sighed loudly.

     "They're really not doing so good this morning, huh?"

     "No," he said, contradicting my question, "They're fine . . . but that's what worries me.  I mean, Finn was out for two weeks.  How much time did he have to relapse?  How much time did he take to get a hit?  How much time did he need to dose himself up with that hit?  How mu-"

     "Asking how much time for anything to me isn't going to help you get your answers.  I'm just as clueless as you are," I reminded him. 

     "I know," he sighed, again, as he spoke before sitting down on the concrete while I grabbed the coffee maker from on the middle shelf next to the washer and dryer.  "I know . . .  I just can't help it.  If it had been Benji out there, I wouldn't have been able to handle it like you.  I just don't get what's so great about meth . . . or drugs in general." 

     "That's because you're the only one in the house that hasn't done meth," I stated, causing him to nod.  "When I first did it, it was one of the greatest rushes of my entire life, but it wasn't long enough lived for me, so I kept going back.  And going back.  And going back . . . until I just couldn't be sober, anymore.  I don't know why Finn started.  I can probably come up with a good reason as to why, but I won't get it right.  I'm not Finny."