It didn’t matter if I put three layers of blankets on him, he couldn’t stop shivering. His body was convulsing and he was in and out between hot and cold sweats.
I was sitting on the bed with my back against the headboard. Austin’s head was on my lap, his arms securely wrapped around my waist. He was sweating profusely as if he had just stood in the pouring rain. His body trembling so hard that it vibrated the entire bed.
I was lightly rubbing his head, trying my best to ease his discomfort. Anytime I touched any other place on his body he said my skin felt like daggers against his sensitive flesh.
That stung my heart, but I knew it was the withdrawals talking.
“Baby! Please, please! I’m fucking dying! It hurts… everything fucking hurts… please, just a taste,” he groaned in pure agony, punching his legs from the intense muscle spasms.
Arching his back then contracting into a ball like a possessed man.
“Austin… shhh… you’re okay… you’re okay… come on… I know… baby…” I soothed the best I could, knowing it didn’t mean anything.
“I’m going to get a cold rag, okay? I’ll be right—”
“No! Don’t leave me!” he panicked.
He wouldn’t let me out of his sight, no matter what I said. We had moved from the couch to the bathroom where he laid with his head on my lap on the tile floor for the first few hours, throwing up constantly once the drugs wore off. At one point I just sat him against the bathtub to let him puke in there. His body was so weak he couldn’t crawl to the toilet. I don’t know how he still had shit coming up.
I was in and out of consciousness, not wanting to leave him alone, although his physical distress wouldn’t allow me to anyway.
I used to lie awake counting the freckles and scars on his arms that he always laid across me. Holding me tight against his body. Now I counted the tracks on them, which were almost physically impossible to see under his tattooed sleeves. All the colors, shadings, and inks covering what our reality had become for the last year.
Austin hadn’t slept at all, the extreme pain keeping him from being able to drift off. Insomnia set in fast and with no remorse, keeping him wide awake to feel every ounce of withdrawal. His body was craving the drugs that it had been living on for years. I knew opiate and heroin were the worst withdrawals. I just never imagined that watching it would kill me as much as the drugs were killing him.
Terrified he wouldn’t make it through the night.
And the addiction would win.
It was like that for two more days. Same old shit just a different day. Both of us were so fucking exhausted. I was able to get him to eat some crackers and drink some water, and for the most part it stayed down. He had no energy. Even when I would help him walk around our apartment for a few minutes every few hours just to get his muscles to move. It seemed to help with the cramping and spasms.
By the fifth day it looked like we were passed the worst. I saw light at the end of the tunnel again.
At least physically.
Mentally he was so out of it, but I knew a big part of it was from him not sleeping. I crushed up two sleeping pills in his water without him knowing and even that took several hours to finally kick in.
I took a hot shower for the first time since we got home from the bridge. I stayed in there letting the hot water drown out my sorrows. Trying to cling on to hope, praying to God we would make it through this.
That he would make it through this.
Austin took the first step by flushing every last drug we had in the apartment down the toilet. He was fine for like twelve hours before the withdrawal crept in slowly then it just took the fuck over.
I had never seen that many emotions take over a person’s body before. Why anyone would do this to themselves was beyond me. I just prayed that the pain was enough to keep Austin sober.
Enough to keep his demons at bay.
One thing was for sure, there was no way we could stay in this apartment, possibly even New York. There was no way we could continue this lifestyle and Austin make it out alive. At that point in time, my uncle never questioned what the fuck was going on, but he had to assume. Austin hadn't been around or answering his phone. I would be lying if I said it didn’t shock me that he just didn’t show up at our apartment demanding to know what was going on.
I placed my memory blanket on top of Austin, careful not to wake him. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and went outside, leaving the balcony door cracked in case he woke up.
It rang two times before he answered.
“I’ve been expecting your call,” Uncle answered.
I took a deep breath. “Hello to you too, Uncle.”
“How is he?”
Shaking my head in disgust. I scoffed out, “You knew?”
“Briggs, there’s very little I don’t know when it comes to my fucking business, and even then, I always find out.”
“And you still had him dealing? Even though you knew? What the fuck is wrong with you? When are you going to start—?”