Life of the Party (49 page)

Courtney barely
batted an eye when we asked for heroin, just threw her car into
gear and started driving, tearing through the streets,
chain-smoking and swearing a lot. She knew someone in town that
could hook us up and was taking us straight there. I was amazed and
surprised by the fact. I figured our little town too small, too
innocent for anything like heroin.

We stopped
before a small, decrepit old house; the saggy entryway lit by one
dim, failing bulb. Charlie and I eyed the exterior nervously as
Courtney got out of the car.

“I’ll go talk
to him, and if he’s cool with it, you can come inside.” She
explained. I nodded silently, my eyes wide. I wasn’t usually
involved with dealers and I didn’t really want to be now. But I
didn’t want to argue with her, either.

Charlie and I
watched as Courtney ambled up the crumbling sidewalk and paused
upon the entry, the dim light casting over her little figure. It
took a few seconds before she was let in—a single hand pushed the
door open and then she was swallowed up inside. Charlie and I
glanced at each other silently. I bit my lip. I didn’t know what it
was about the situation that made me feel so sketchy, but it seemed
to have the word “danger” written all over it.

But then
Courtney reappeared in the doorway and waved us in. I really didn’t
want to go, but as Charlie clicked her seatbelt off and opened the
car door, I found myself following her. We ushered silently into
the little house, hit by a wave of heat and stranger smell as we
trailed behind Courtney into a tiny living room off the main
entrance.

I was nervous.
Part of me wanted to get away, to run right out the door and keep
on running until I felt safe again. My heart was beating loudly in
my chest. But the other part of me—the part that wanted the
heroin—was more than willing to stay, to sit with the sweaty,
shifty eyed men that occupied the dim, hot little room as we waited
for one of them to get us our stuff. I didn’t look at them, I
didn’t look at anything but my sweaty hands in my lap, I didn’t
want any recollection of that place and how dirty it made me feel.
Thankfully Charlie was beside me. She seemed calm, anyway, though
neither of us was brave enough to speak to the other. Courtney was
the only one that seemed totally unaffected—she smiled and swore
and joked with the guys around us like they were her closest
friends. For all I knew, they were. I could feel the sweat
trickling down my back, but I was too afraid to even wipe my hands
down the legs of my jeans, too frightened to bring any kind of
attention to myself by moving. I wished fervently that Grey was
with me. I just wanted to get the dope and get out of there.

“Okay, ladies.”
The man who introduced himself as Jack strode back into the room.
He was good looking enough, with longer blonde hair and a huge,
built body. He was just as sweaty as everybody else. I could
understand the need for privacy, for the thick curtains hanging in
the windows that would block out every ounce of light and all the
neighbours prying eyes, but really, couldn’t they open a window or
something?

“Here you go.”
Jack handed Courtney a little ball, it looked like a balloon or
something, full of black sticky stuff.

“Uh ….” My
craving overcame my terror and stupidly, I spoke. “The kind I had
was like, powder. Do you have any of that? China White, I think?
You can sniff it.”

“No.” Jack
looked at me from the side of his eye, like it angered him that I
had opened my mouth. I clamped it shut. “Mexican black tar is all
we serve here. Like it or leave it.” The way he said it sounded
like a threat.

“No, no, this
is good.” Courtney gave me a quick glare, like, shut up and quit
being an idiot. “But I don’t think she knows how to do it this way.
Can you show her?”

I wanted to
intercede, to tell them I really had no interest doing it any other
way—but at the moment I was too petrified to argue, terrified of
angering this lumbering hulk of a drug dealer any further. My
tongue seemed swollen, dry, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I didn’t
know what to do. And I wanted the heroin.

“Well, why
didn’t you say so?” Jack smiled at me, creepily, like he enjoyed
teaching new users how to inject. “Let old Jacky here show you how
it goes.”

He sat down on
the beat-up, old reclining chair beside the loveseat we were
occupying. Pulling out a kit from beside his chair, he proceeded to
take out a spoon, a lighter, a cotton ball, some water, and two
clean syringes that he set on the coffee table before him.

My heart began
to pound furiously in my chest at the sight of the needles. I hated
needles with such a passion. In school they had to wrap me up in a
sheet to immunize me, and the only way I could get my belly button
ring was with Riley standing between me and the needle, holding my
hand. My mouth went horribly dry, like the cotton ball on the
coffee table. The part of me that was scared before nearly got up
off the chair and bolted, but I knew I couldn’t go now; I was
trapped there, feeble, helpless. I tried to calm myself down, to
focus on the heroin and how good it had felt, how good it was going
to feel. How all of this would be worth it, in the end. But it
didn’t work. The same, panicky sentence repeated itself over and
over in my mind, “… not safe, not safe, not safe, not safe ….” I
nearly wanted to cry. I wished for Grey, prayed for Grey. For
Riley. For anyone to come and get me out of there.

I watched
anxiously as Jack took a chunk of dark, sticky heroin from our
balloon and put it on the spoon. He added a splash of water and
then expertly flicked the lighter and began to heat up the
concoction. I watched the heroin dissolve, turning the liquid an
oily, browny-black. Then, using a little piece of cotton as a
filter, he sucked it up into a syringe.

“Ready?” He
wondered wickedly. I shook my head as he held the needle menacingly
towards me.

“N-No, I think
I’m good.” I stammered thickly, trying to be cool.

“Yeah, you will
be, in a moment.” Jack promised, ignoring my request. He grasped my
arm and quickly tied one of those rubber band things they use at
the hospital around it, the kind that pinch the skin with their
tightness.

I tried to pry
my arm free, but he had it locked in his hand. My heart hammered
wildly as I watched the veins sticking up in my arm.

“No! D-Don’t!”
I blurted, tears of terror stinging my eyes. I couldn’t get my arm
free. What had I done? What had I gotten myself into? Jack held the
syringe just above my elbow. He gave me a wicked upwards glance and
re-gripped my arm like a vice. I struggled against him as then,
with a grin, he plunged the needle into my arm.

It was instant.
It was intense. It was wonderful, beautiful, magical. All the fear
was gone, all the tension, all the anxiety. I’ve never felt so good
in my entire life, I’ve never known that kind of euphoria—not in
all my drug use had I even been so overcome with such overwhelming
bliss. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t do anything but relax against
the couch cushions, my mouth open in awe, a tear slipping down my
cheek. I was awash in utter joy, I could feel the heroin dancing in
my veins, spreading and peaking and making me tremble with
uncontrollable pleasure.

Charlie went
next. At least, I think she did. I couldn’t really concentrate, but
suddenly she was next to me on the couch, slack and motionless, her
eyes shut and a peaceful, ecstatic smile on her face. I don’t know
how long we lay there for. I forgot everything, my fear of the
sweaty men, the dirty junkiness of the house, the unbearable heat.
I couldn’t even feel the heat. It couldn’t even affect me.

When I “came
too,” basically, when I was aware enough again to take in my
surroundings, we were back in Courtney’s car. Charlie was slumped
over in the front seat, Courtney was driving us around the darkened
town, smoking, humming quietly along with the intro to the Rolling
Stones song,
Gimme Shelter
. I’d always found that part
creepy and haunting, but right now it seemed to fit.

“How you
feeling?” Courtney chuckled, eyeing me in the rear view.

I didn’t know
how to put it into words, the warm nothingness that consumed me,
the peaceful lethargy I felt, the emanating bliss that wound its
way through my entire being.

“… Good ….” I
answered simply, my head nodding with pleasure.

Her blood-red
lips smiled at me in the mirror.

“What time is
it?”

“I don’t know.”
Charlie groaned. Her beautiful blonde curls were a tangled mess
around her face, her make-up smudged beneath her eyes. She peeled
her cheek from the carpeted floor. “Morning?”

“It’s too
bright to be morning.” I argued, laying my arm over my eyes to keep
out the blinding rays from the window. My throat was parched, it
hurt to swallow. I tried to sit up but my stomach muscles still
ached from the all heaving and vomiting I’d done, a blur in my
distant memory. “Can’t you see the clock?”

“No.”

“What time did
we get to bed last night?” I wondered.

“I don’t
know.”

I couldn’t
really remember either. I knew it had been very, very late when
Courtney finally dropped us off at home and Charlie had insisted we
shoot up again. I’d been just high enough from the last batch that
I hadn’t minded the needle so much that time, but I made Charlie do
it for me—I couldn’t even look as the cold steel penetrated my
skin. She was sloppier than Jack had been, but the results had been
the same, and we’d spent the rest of the night nodding off in the
living room, apathetic and perfectly, wonderfully happy.

Aside from the
odd bout of crippling nausea, of course.

“So, was I
right, or what?” I wondered, risking the light to look over at my
friend. “Did you like it? Wasn’t it great?”

“Better than
great.” Charlie admitted. “So good. Do we have any left?”

“I don’t know.
You cooked up our last one. Did you use it all?”

“I don’t think
so.”

I rubbed my
face with my hand, already craving more. “What time is it?”

Charlie laughed
at me. “I still don’t know.”

“I’ve got to
work tonight, and Grey’s getting in ….” I started, stopping myself
as Charlie’s face fell. I realized my mistake too late. If Grey was
getting in, that meant Zack was getting in as well. She closed her
eyes and frowned at my reminder.

“Sorry,
Charlie.” I grimaced.

“It’s okay.”
She shrugged. “Let’s do some more.” Her blue eyes lit up at the
prospect. “Jack gave me some more needles, they’re clean.”

“He did?” I
couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice. With much effort, I
sat up and peered at the clock. If I had even an hour to spare
before work, I was going to do some more with her. I stared at the
timepiece, puzzled by what I read there.

“What is it?”
Charlie wondered.

“The clock says
its 5:17.” I frowned. “It can’t be five in the morning, can it? I
feel like I’ve slept all day.”

Charlie just
shrugged. Confused, I flipped on the TV and changed the channel to
the cable guide. The channels scrolled down the screen, some twangy
country music playing in the background. And then I realized why it
felt like I had slept all day. Because I had. It was 5:17. PM.

“Oh, shit.” I
looked at Charlie, aghast. “I’m like, over an hour late for
work.”

Charlie grinned
up at me wickedly. “I guess that means you’re not going.”

I bit my lip,
lit a smoke and debated for a moment. I needed my job. I needed the
money I made to support all of my habits, to keep living on my own.
Surely, going in an hour late was at least better than not showing
up at all. They’d probably forgive me.

But Charlie was
already getting out the supplies to whip us up another batch. At
the very prospect of more heroin, all my responsible deliberating
went right out the window. All I could think about was how good it
felt, how in mere moments, I wouldn’t even care about missing work.
And then my decision was made.

It was like I
was moving in slow motion. Everything took me about three times as
long as normal. In the shower I just stood beneath the hot spray,
amazed at how good it felt, how the warm, beating water seemed to
soak directly into my skin. And when the water turned cold from my
lengthy stay, it still felt good, invigorating almost. I had to
take the time to appreciate the softness of the towel as I dried
myself, the smell of the laundry soap. Slowly I picked out
something to wear, amazed at the sheer beauty and variance of the
colours in my closet. I settled on a tight turquoise sweater dress
and some black skinny jeans. Then, like old times, Charlie sat me
down before her and did my hair and make-up. This too, took way
longer than intended, like we both lacked the energy to put any
speed into our movements, savouring each moment instead.

I was so happy
to be friends with Charlie again; I had missed her very badly. Not
just for her beauty expertise. We chatted now and then as she
worked. Our thoughts were slow and profound, but I’d never felt
more connected to her, I’d never been closer to her. We were on
such the same level that words didn’t even seem necessary.

Grey was going
to be home soon. The very thought sent tingles up my spine. That
was the reason for all the fuss, Grey’s homecoming. I was touched
when Charlie had offered to make me up, knowing how hard it must
have been for her to see me so excited. I wondered what it was
going to be like now that Zack and Charlie had split up, I wondered
if we’d all hang out again like before.

“So, what are
you going to do?” I asked her carefully.

“About Zack?”
She shrugged, but his name didn’t seem to ruin her mood any. “I
don’t know. I wonder if he was even going to tell me, or if he
thinks we can just pick up where we left off.”