Tweaker

xiii. relapsing

xiii. relapsing

     "WHERE DO YOU want it?"  He asked, holding the syringe filled with meth.  I swallowed hard, watching it sway a little back and forth with his hand as it teased me.  After a moment, he said my name and I nodded, holding my arm out and pulling up my sleeve.  He took a moment to squeeze my arm in order for my veins to pop a little.  I knew he didn't want to go prodding and digging around in my arm, like I used to when I would shoot the dangerous drug.

     Once it hit my veins, I felt the rushing through my body start.  It was this amazing pulsing sensation.  It felt like an adrenaline rush, almost; when your body reacts in a way you can't control, but it's a good kind of uncontrollable.  Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and coughed a little as the chemicals hit around my lungs.  The coughing even felt good; everything was enhanced.  Everything was delicious -- even the air I breathed.  I could still taste the cigarette on my lips that I'd had a few minutes ago and the beer I'd finished right before Finn asked where I wanted it.  I smiled; I felt so light, so relieved, so happy.

     "Help me," he muttered, digging around his arm to find a vein.  I turned towards him and grabbed the needle, extending his arm and hitting perfectly my first try.  I'd always been good at hitting someone else's vein; it's my own I have a problem with.

     I could tell when the drug hit his system, being he closed his eyes and smiled, swaying side to side as he let out a small cough.  I leaned over into his arm and rested myself there, letting the world pass by fast and slow at the same time.  After awhile, he reached into his pocket and pulled out another baggy; I could tell what the white powder was and I didn't protest as he chopped up and laid out two thick lines of the substance. 

     "Want to mix?"  He asked, causing me to nod and sit up.  He grabbed out a dollar bill from his pocket and rolled it up into a straw shape, taking the first line for himself.  Then he handed it to me and I copied what he did, the drug hitting me faster than the meth had.  Cocaine tended to do that to me and I smiled, loving the mixture and reaction they had with one another. 

     I knew my problem was that I loved mixing.  The drugs, together, both loved me tenderly.  All of them did; I often talked about meth as if it was a woman.  Whenever I would say something to Finn about it, I'd call meth 'her' or 'she'.  

     "Like you say," he interrupted my thoughts, "She always loves so tenderly." 

     "Damn right she does," I smiled, letting my voice drop a little.

     Mixing drugs was a dangerous game; I knew that, but I couldn't help myself.  It was one of the greatest feelings I'd ever experienced.  Teetering on the finest line out there -- the one between life and death.  I knew the drugs could kill me at any point, but I didn't care.  I'd gotten so used to laughing in Death's face that it no longer mattered to me whether I lived or died.  I would be glorified by death; it would be the greatest thing that would ever happen to me, but since it hadn't yet, I could only go hand and hand with my most seductive lover: meth. 

     She always knew exactly where to take me and she was oh-so good at it.  It never took long and it was never the same.  The difference came with what I mixed -- what she liked and what she hated.  I found that meth and weed didn't really go that great together, but meth and cocaine or meth and heroine was amazing.  The other drugs, though, really didn't clash well together.  It was almost as if she picked her favorites and thankfully, I was on that list . . . but only for a little while, because she always left me in the end.  She left me cold and broken and alone, and I always went out looking for more of her because I loved the way she touched me, the way she loved me, the way she crushed me.