No. I can’t do this. I furiously begin to list everything that meets my eyes. Flickering lamp, musky carpet, dirty dishes, rough pencil marks on the wall, crumpled clothes, discarded teddies, poster of who cares…Agony beyond anything I have ever experienced. There are needles in my hands, my toes, my abdomen, and my spine. I hate myself for feeling like this. I can’t do this. Oh God, one hit. I again try to distract myself but I can’t remember how. Who was I?

A grab my jacket and scuttle down the stairs. I can’t do this. Grabbing my father’s car keys, I stagger out the front door; consequence no longer has any meaning to me. The engine coughs noisily three times before I jerkily drive down the driveway, my destination unknown. My appearance reveals itself as I glance at myself in the rearview mirror causing my senses to awaken themselves. I can see dark, dangerous circles around my eyes. The sour smell of sweat crawls through my nostrils. I hear the sound of the flickering radio and taste the flavor of my rotting breath. What does any of it matter?

I come to an abrupt halt and hastily exit the vehicle. I need money. My head begins to spin; too many ideas are coming too fast. Opportunities smile and wave at me. An old woman’s wallet is casually beckoning me out of the top left hand corner of her handbag; an old Indian man is sitting outside reading a newspaper (his cash register left unattended); round the corner, young women with old eyes stand shivering in short dresses and high heels. They pray their worst nightmare arrives soon. How else would they get their fix?

They could be me, I could be them. We’re all after the same thing. I decide on the woman’s wallet. It is an easy target; a target easy enough to be cruel? Perhaps. I casually stroll towards her, my breathing becoming heavier, my face an epitome of cool. I snatch it as I purposely bump into her. I hurriedly apologise while she glares at me.
Thankfully she notices nothing. There is only one step left. I need a dealer; a simple merchant of heaven and hell.

They’re easy to spot when you know what to look for. “I need a hit,” I softly whisper.
“50 bucks missy,” he replies.
I open the wallet and glance inside. S***! It’s empty, nothing but a library card and a crumpled photo of young faces.
“Um…I don’t have any money but I swear I could pay you back.” I’m desperate now.
“Ha-ha, stupid girl. If you don’t have cash you can piss right off!” He begins to walk away. I crumple to my knees and begin to sob loudly. He’s getting smaller now.
“Wait! Please don’t go, I can offer something else.” He turns now and beckons me towards an abandoned, foul building.

I’m hunched in a corner with my clothing lying beside me. I feel filthy, both internally and externally. I shiver in disgust. I’m ashamed, humiliated; in such a state of shock that nothing seems real. Yet I am satisfied, I have it; the one thing that can still bring a smile to my face. My clothes briskly find my body as I hurry back to my father’s car, anxious to finally inject my merciless desire. I count to ten and exhale. I wonder how I have got here. Promise myself that this will be the last time. Screw it; it’s always the last time. My chest sharply contracts as the needle breaks my skin. The familiar drop of blood makes its way towards my wrist. An intense wave of relaxation overcomes me; it is everything I have been awaiting and more. People say it's like being hit by a truck. No. It's nothing like that. It's like standing on a rock, on the coast and having a tidal wave of warmth, security, of absolute apathy wash over you, it surrounds you, it goes into your mouth, it drives down your throat, and deep into your soul. Nothing matters anymore. I’m away from here. I’m in another place, another time. My foot finds the accelerator and I reach a speed that no conscious human being could control a vehicle. I’m flying. I’m free.