Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

19. Would You Kindly?

            “Do you want the pain to stop?”

            I heard the voice, echoing repeatedly in my mind, bouncing angrily off the inner walls of my skull. I don’t know whether I nodded or shook my head, but a hand came around from behind me. I was leaning against someone apparently - they held me slightly upright. My eyes opened, though the focus was shoddy. The arm produced what appeared to be a syringe within reach of my own fingertips.

            “You can make the pain stop now. Just like that. Just one hit. Will you?”

            I remember taking the syringe, but only to make sure it was real. I wasn’t sure if I was awake or dreaming, completely deluded from the pain. It felt real and whole in my hand, full of a liquid I had been very familiar with once upon a time. Or so it seemed. Theoretically, it could have been anything. But I knew better. I twisted it around in my fingers for a few seconds, admiring the shine of the glass.

            “Just one tiny prick and you’ll be better. Right?”

            And I remember smiling slightly despite the pain, despite the confusion and madness. I remember staring at that tiny vial of salvation, realizing the bigger picture here. I’d been clean for months, but I’d never been tempted in that time, never been tested. This was the perfect opportunity to fail. I had to prove not only to myself, but to Riley, that there was life outside of the addiction. That there was hope. I had to show her that it was possible to carry on without.

            I turned the syringe around slowly, the needle facing towards me…and stabbed it as hard as I could into the ground. The sharp metal tip snapped off immediately, ruining it for use. I tossed the remainder aside as far as I could manage with limited strength, satisfied with my cleverness. The form behind me bent down slowly, kissing me on the forehead.

            “Congratulations, Deacon Burton, you have discovered the true meaning of sisterhood.”

            The voice was Dacien’s, and she was especially careful as she got up from her kneeling position and helped carry me to a softer corner, assuming a bed. That silly smile plastered on my face, I lied there completely oblivious to the pain. I had proven them wrong. I had shown a dedication to Riley, a dedication even she had never known. And I was proud. No. I was hopeful. I had offered her an example, a positive example, to use as reference. Something that could guide her, a single ray of light when she needed it. And I hoped that it would be enough. I stopped fighting the fatigue shortly thereafter and returned to sleep, knowing I needed it, but when next I awoke, I found my sister wrapped around me. The embrace was almost tight enough to break my already fractured ribs, but I didn’t care. All other details were insignificant. I returned to sleep, clutching her just as tightly in return, hoping she could understand the ferocity with which I would defend her if need be.

            “Everything is gone.”

            Dusk’s voice roused me from my half-awake stupor a few hours later. Pain kept me between states of consciousness. I looked over to the source of the voice, unable to focus on his shape. He seemed to shift and mutate, coming closer, coming slightly into more focus.

            I coughed as I tried to speak, unable to make real words appear.

            “The dope. She’ll quit as you did – cold. You’re not banished either. You’re always welcome back, with open arms. Riley intends to stay here though, with me. She is happy here, despite the drugs. You’re welcome to visit anytime, and we wish you would.”

            I smiled slowly, nodding back at him. My throat was battered and much of my jaw didn’t seem to be working right, but it was okay. As long as they understand my allegiance to them, that I was sorry for my rage, but frustrated in my powerlessness.