“Jaselle!” I shake her as hard as I dare. She throws up, still on her back. It doesn’t even wake her up. I jolt into action and yank her on her side, then scrape the puke out of her mouth with my finger before she inhales it.
Shoving my finger in her mouth makes her jump awake for a second, and instantly she’s fading again. She can’t say more than a few words without drifting off.
“I need it,” she says. “Please.”
“No.”
“I can’t…” She gasps and winces. Her skin is burning hot. I can feel her heart beating too fast. The shadows around her eyes are getting darker, jarring contrast to her pale skin. “It hurts.” She reaches weakly for her nightstand drawer where she keeps the meth. “Rainn…” She can’t finish the sentence, but I know what she’s asking.
“Don’t make me do this,” I beg.
“She’s withdrawing super hard,” Noah says from the doorway. I spin around. “You’d better give it to her.”
I choke up. “I don’t know how.”
“Sure, you do.”
“I can’t. You do it. Please.”
“You wanted to be there for her. Have fun.”
“Noah!” I scream. He turns his back. I grab the closest object, which happens to be a shoe, and hurl it at him. It misses, but it’s still satisfying.
“Jaselle,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to do this.” She reaches for the drawer again, signaling me to get it more than attempting to herself. I open the drawer and take out a clear bag of crank, a lighter, a spoon, and a needle. I know the gist of this. I’ve seen other people do it before, but doing it myself seems so much more demanding, and doing it for someone else so much more precarious.
My heart is pounding. I put the crank in the silver spoon. There are too many emotions in my blood. I feel them flashing through me like one of those Japanese cartoons that give people seizures.
“Mix it with water,” she says.
“What?” I forgot about that. The fact that I already missed a step makes me realize this is beyond me. I want to run away. I want to demand she does all of this herself, but I know her hands are shaking bad, and I don’t want her stabbing around her arm fucking herself up.
“You can’t just heat it up like that. You need water.”
“How much?”
“You see where it says one hundred?”
I look at the markings on the syringe and find it. “Okay.” I go to the bathroom for the water. I fill it up to one hundred and carry it back into the bedroom. “Is it okay to use tap water?” What a ridiculous question. I’m about to shoot drugs into her veins and I’m worried about the water. Jaselle just shrugs like she’s thinking the same thing.
“You’re going to need cotton,” she says. I nod. I remember this part. The cotton acts as a filter. I go to the bathroom again and rip off some fluff from the end of a Q-tip. I set it down on the nightstand until I’m ready for it. I pick up the spoon, now full of crank and water. I use the end of her syringe to mix it a little.
“Don’t burn it,” she says. I haven’t even started heating it up yet. I guess that’s her way of telling me to get moving. I strike the lighter under the spoon and move the flame around in little figure eights. If you leave it in the same spot too long it will burn. It will smell really bad, and you will get in giant trouble with your drug addict.
It starts to bubble. The drug dissolves in the water, but there’s some crap that floats on the surface. That’s whatever the meth is cut with. I look at the who-knows-what that won’t dissolve and try to focus on the positive, that this crap won’t be in her system like it would if she smoked it. When it’s ready, I grab the needle and stare at it for a long time.
“Is this clean, Jaselle?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I can’t tell if she’s even listening. “No one else has used it, right?”
“Nmm-uhh.”
I sigh and drop the little piece of cotton in the center of the spoon.
“Don’t let the needle touch the spoon,” Jaselle says.
“Why?”
She sighs like she can’t believe I’m forcing her to go through the effort of explaining this. “Because the spoon is hot. It will melt the tip and make it dull. Then it’ll hurt a lot when you try to inject it.”
Jesus, when did she become such an expert at all this? I want to puke. I muscle past the nausea and put the tip of the needle in the cotton. I pull up the drug, careful to not to let the needle touch the spoon as instructed.
Then I tap the needle. I don’t know if that matters or not, but I figure it can’t hurt. Air in blood is bad. I might be stalling a little too. I turn my attention back to her arm.
“Use my belt,” she says. I set the rig back down on the bed and sigh. I rip the belt out of her jeans and loop it just above her elbow. It doesn’t take long for her veins to be easily visible from the pressure buildup. I touch her skin and my eyes well up fresh.
“Are you sure you want to do it here? You already have a bunch here,” I say. It looks sensitive. It looks like it’s trying to get infected too. I should probably clean it first.
“I’m so sorry, Rainn,” she whispers. I kiss her cheek and wrap my arms around her neck. She starts sobbing. “I fucking hate myself. I want to die.”
“Shh. It’s going to be okay.”
“Remember the boy on my street who hung himself in his parents’ closet?”
My throat closes at the image of Jaselle hanging herself, and I can’t even answer.
“I don’t think he did it in their closet because he hated them anymore,” she says. “I don’t think he wanted to blame them. I think he just wanted them to see his pain. He wanted them to know how miserable he was so that they would be able to let him go.”
“Jaselle, we’re going to get through this. You know it’s going to get better right? We’re going to fix this.”
“No. You’re going to hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” I say.
“I slept with him.”
I’m a thousand miles away. The world is on mute, and the only thing I can hear is a dull ringing in my ears. I see her lips moving, but I don’t know what she’s saying. I’m falling away, falling backward. I’m Alice. I’m falling down the rabbit hole. I’m falling infinitely into nothing. And her face at the top of the hole is getting farther away. It’s just a shape now. It’s just a shadow now. It’s just a memory now.
“I slept with Ice.” Her mouth makes the words. Her voice can’t.
I’m on the brick wall again. Gravity is sideways. I’m lying on the wall. His forearm is crushing my throat. He’s pressing his hips into me so hard my jeans he could only pull halfway down are cutting into my thighs. He’s ripping my flesh with every thrust. He’s pulling my hips. He’s determined to go deeper than either of our anatomies will allow. He’s excited by my pain. He crushes me into the wall even after I’ve surrendered. Cold metal on my temple. He pushes harder. A moan in my ear. Helpless. Weightless. He has all of me. Pressed against him far too completely. His possession.
“Rainn?”
Her lips are wrapped around his dick. He grabs her hair. He pulls her closer. He pulls me closer.
“I’m so sorry, Rainn. I hated every second of it. I hate myself. I hate myself.”
“How could you?”
“I couldn’t stand it. I needed more.”
“You fucked him for drugs?”
She gets on top. He holds a bag of meth over his shoulder. She pushes harder trying to reach it. He goes deeper.
“It hurt so bad. I needed it. I’m so sorry.” She sobs. She’s hysterical. “It was the only way he’d give it to me.”
“You should have bought it from someone else.”
“With what, Rainn? We don’t have any money. We haven’t had money for weeks.”
“I would have found you money!” I scream.
“Out of the gutter again?”
“I told you never to go back to that house! You promised me, Jaselle!
How many fucking times did you promise me?” I get up and punch the wall as hard as I can. I punch the wall so I don’t punch her. Her bones would break and her face would be mush and she couldn’t fuck him with that face.
“I know. I know! I want to die! I deserve to die!”
She moves her body like a wave on his cock. She fucks him hard, the way he likes it. He tells her, “More. Harder, baby, if you want it.” She pulls his head back and rides him, watching the meth. Dreaming of the smoke.
He grabs her hips. He grabs my hips.
She kisses him. She kisses me.
She rips my shirt.
She grabs his cock.
She sucks my neck.
She breathes me in.
He shoves again.
She takes it in.
He makes me bleed.
She’s on her knees.
I’m begging please.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” She’s falling apart. “He shot me up, and I can’t breathe without it. It’s fucking killing me.”
“Why him, Jaselle? Why did you go to him?”
“He’s friends with Shane. He was the only person I could think of that might spot me some.”
“But he wouldn’t.”
“No.”
“But he made you a deal, huh?” She shrinks into herself. “How many times?”
“Rainn…”
“How many times!”
“A lot.”
“Fuck you.” I turn away from her. I don’t want to see her face. I don’t want her to see mine. I hit the wall again. Then I do it again. And again. I just keep punching the wall. I feel my knuckles split open and I scream at the top of my lungs, trying to scream some of this pain, any of this pain out.
I feel her hands on my sides. She’s somehow found the energy to sit up. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. I pry her interlocked fingers apart and push her hands away. She starts sobbing harder.
“I’m so sorry, Rainn.”
“How could you do this?” I know there’s nothing she can say, but I just feel like screaming. I slide down onto the floor and bury my face in my hands. “Do you even love me?”
“You’re the only thing in this world I love,” she says.
“Why did you do this, Jaselle? You could have done anything but this. Not this. How can I get over this? How can I look at you?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You should have bought it.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Then you should have fucked someone else for it!” I scream. The space between us expands. I regret it instantly, but her face isn’t full of the shock I expected, just sadness.
“I know I don’t deserve you. I’m just a fuck up. You’ll be so much better off without me. Will you hold me while I die? Please? And let me hold you too.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t be like that,” I say.
“It’s over for me, Rainn. What do I have? I’m stuck in this shit and I can’t get out. I can’t breathe. I can never breathe. I love you so much. I need you. But I’m just fucking you up too.”
“Stop it.”
“Will you hold me while I die? I want you to be the last thing I feel. I don’t want to die high anymore. I’m not scared. I just want to hold you. I want you to know I love you. I’m just not cut out for this shit. I don’t think I was ever supposed to be here.”
I start crying again. The sadness is so deep. It never ends. Hers. Mine. Now it’s rage tears. “I said stop it! Don’t turn this shit around so that I’m begging you to stay.”
“I’m not trying to turn it around, Rainn. I know I’m the one that fucked up. I’m always the one fucking up.”
“Goddamn it! Why won’t you just love me?”
“I do love you.”
“Love me!” I crumble again, and she wraps her arms around me. I try to push her off of me again, but she won’t let me. Finally. It feels fake. It feels stupid after I screamed it at her. What is it worth now?
“I love you,” she says.
“No, you don’t.”
“I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”
She loves meth more than anything.
“Rainn, don’t you know I’d be dead without you? Don’t you know I’m only here for you?” I can feel myself shaking in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Rainn. I wish I was better. I wish I was stronger.” She rocks me back and forth. “I love you.” She squeezes me harder. “I need you.” She buries her face in my neck. “Please don’t leave me.”
“You want to be with me?” I ask.
“Of course, I do.”
“I mean it, Jaselle. Do you want to be with me?”
“Yes.”
I grab the rig we still haven’t used off the bed, stab the wall with it, and yank so that the needle breaks off in the dry wall. The drug spills out, down the wall, in the carpet, irretrievable. The needle is useless now.
“Got it? This is it,” I say, daring her to protest. She nods. “We’re done with this shit.” She opens her nightstand drawer again and pulls out what remains of her meth. She stares at it for a second, then presses it into my hand, deliberately closing my fingers around it.
“We’re done with this shit.”
I hold there, waiting for her to try to rip my hand back open, but she doesn’t, so I stand up.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’ll be back in a while.” I head for the door, but I can feel her panicking behind me. I can feel her wondering if I’ll come back, where I’m going, what I’ll do, who I’ll fuck. I can feel it as vividly as if I were feeling it. I’m connected to her forever, whether I like it or not. I turn and look at her. She’s still beautiful to me somehow. I hate her. I love her.
“I’ll be back,” I say again. I know she wants to hear “I love you,” but I just can’t right now. I leave.
Chapter Twenty-three
A crowbar makes an incredibly satisfying weapon. When Ice opens the door, I swing it at his head. I hit my mark. Blood spatters through the air. He staggers backward, and I send him to the ground with a kick in the gut before he can compose himself. I crouch down over him and punch him in the face. While he’s still dizzy, I grab the gun from his jeans.
I have no intention of using it. I don’t even intend to threaten him with it. I just don’t want it factoring into this encounter at all. I don’t dare walk away from Ice and give him time to find another weapon, so I scan the room carefully, searching for signs someone else is here, locating all places someone could come from.
There’s the front door, obviously, which is behind me. There’s a hallway to the right that leads into bedrooms, and there’s a doorway to the left that goes into the kitchen. I listen for voices, for footsteps. Nothing. I tuck the gun in my own belt, by my back so it’s not as easy to get to.
I hold the crowbar over Ice’s face. “I want you to listen to me carefully,” I say.
“You’re going to regret this,” he says. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Shut up.” I put the bag of crank on his chest. “You are not to bother Jaselle again.”
He starts laughing. “You think I’m the one bothering her?”
“I know you will be when you stop hearing from her.”
“Look, it’s not my problem your bitch likes crank. I’m just a dealer. I’m not a fucking rehab center.”
“You will not sell to her again.”
“I haven’t sold to her in a while, baby, if you know what I mean,” he says. I punch him again, and again. Has he forgotten I have every reason in the world to kill him?
“She’s not going to talk to you again. You will not try to contact her. Do you understand?”
“What if I like her pussy? What if it’s not about crank? Maybe we’ll go out sometime.” He smiles.
“Are you high? She doesn’t like dick.”
“She sure seemed to like mine.” I hit him again. His face is getting pretty messed up. “Hey, baby, it�
��s cool if you want to join. I know you two have a little thing going on.” This time I use the crowbar. That takes the smile off his face. “Fuck, bitch, would you quit hitting me?”
“You want me to stop hitting you?” I do it again. “Do you even remember who I am?” I hit him again. Blood sprays from somewhere this time. I know I need to hit the brakes before I kill this guy, but the rage is too much to contain. “Do you remember me?” I yell.
“Yes. I remember you.”
“Then what the fuck makes you so goddamn sure I won’t blow you away right now?” He doesn’t answer. “If you can’t keep your dick to yourself I will shoot it off, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
The second I say it I realize I want to shoot it off anyway. I don’t want to threaten it, I want to just do it. He’s already lost dick privileges. It’s liberating to hate someone as completely as I hate Ice. I have no guilt. “Maybe I’ll shoot it off anyway,” I tell him.
“No.” I finally hear some fear in his voice.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I like that. What better revenge for what you did to me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“And it’ll certainly take away your motivation to see Jaselle. I mean what do you need her for if you can’t fuck her, right?”
“I won’t fuck her again. I promise! I’m sorry!”
“Threaten your life, you don’t blink. Threaten your dick, you turn into a little girl. Have you ever wondered if you’re a sex addict?”
“Naw, I’m just an asshole.”
“Wow, a little honesty.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really sorry.”
“So much for that.”
“No, I’m for real. I’m—”
“Shut up. I didn’t come here to hear you apologize. What did I tell you, Ice?”
“Don’t fuck your girl,” he says. I don’t allow myself to think about that too thoroughly. I don’t want him to see any pain.
“And?”
“Don’t sell to your girl.”
“That’s right. I think that’s reasonable, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you doubt my psychosis?” I sang something like that in a song once. Funny how lyrics I wrote a long time ago are starting to make more and more sense to me now.
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