“Don’t lay down and die,” a voice whispered, but I was too far gone to decipher if it was Reina’s voice or the ghost of my dead wife.
In the darkness I searched for her, desperate to see her one more time, hopeful that if I did it would erase the image of her lifeless body in my arms. I’d kiss her one more time and her lips wouldn’t be cold like they were the last time they touched mine.
“Christine? Chris! We have to talk,” I shouted as I stalked through our apartment, searching for her. I needed to fix this shit with her, needed to know how deep she had become with that douche bag Brantley. I prayed to God I wasn’t too late that she didn’t turn her back on me, that she didn’t give me or my club up to the cops and more than that I prayed she didn’t give up on us, on who we used to be before I became Satan’s soldier.
Before I sold my soul to the devil.
I heard the water running in the bathroom and started down the hallway, glancing down at the water that saturated the floor. My boots sloshed through the water as I followed the stream to the bathroom and watched as it poured from the saddle of the doorway. I lifted my hand, tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked.
“Chris!” I shouted, pounding my fist against the door.
Nothing.
I didn’t hesitate as I took a step back before charging forward, driving my shoulder into the door, tearing it off the hinge with hardly any effort. I pushed the door out of my way as the water made its way past my boots. I turned my head and then I saw her.
My world stopped.
She was faced down in the tub, her arm dangling over the edge with a needle hanging out of it.
“No, no, no,” I cried, pushing my legs through the water before bending down and lifting her body from the tub. I dropped to my knees, holding her as the water continued to run, overflowing the bathtub, drenching me. I turned her over so, her face was visible and noticed the shade of gray her skin had already turned.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as my eyes filled. I blinked through the tears, clearing my vision so my eyes could do a sweep of her body, hoping to find a shred of life left. My eyes fell on the needle still sticking out of her arm, the rubber band tied tightly around her bicep.
A nightmare.
I was living a nightmare, the same one I inflicted on the parents of those young kids that overdosed on my product. Did they find their children with my needle still in their arm? The blood stopped flowing for those kids but the poison stuck. Their hearts stopped, but the needle stayed.
Just like the woman in my arms.
The one I vowed to love, honor, and care for all the days of my life.
Until death do we part.
Until now.
I bent my head, closing my mouth around the needle and pulled it from her arm with my teeth, spitting it onto the floor.
My needle.
My product.
I untied the band from her arm before leaning back against the wall of the tub and cried.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to her, leaning forward to kiss her ice cold lips.
I woke, thrashing violently as the nausea worked me over and I vomited.
“Blackie, look at me,” Reina pleaded.
So this isn’t hell.
I’m still fucking here.
“Look at me, damn it,” she ordered.
There was nothing left, yet still I felt like I needed to get something up. I dry heaved over and over until my body calmed down and I could turn my cheek, wiping my mouth against the leather that covered my shoulder.
I lifted my beady eyes to Reina’s.
“You’re okay, you just need to remind yourself you’re okay,” she said, softly.
I closed my eyes.
I was okay.
But why?
Why me and not her?
I opened my eyes, blinking as I focused my attention on Reina.
“I’m not a junkie,” I whispered.
People can change whether it’s a choice or a result of circumstance… it’s possible. Picking out a grave, figuring out the words to carve into my wife’s headstone, deciding what she would wear when she was laid to rest, those were the things that forced me to change. I did the detox thing, suffered the withdrawals, thought, I was dying, prayed for it... but it never came. God didn’t spare me and take her. He made me the survivor but he didn’t grant me any favors. He knew the game he was playing when he took her and left me here. He spared her from me, granted her peace, leaving me behind to suffer without her.
Life.
It was his revenge on me.
Live.
Breathe.
A burden bestowed on me from the almighty maker of heaven and earth. Life wasn’t some divine gift, it was my punishment.
“I know,” she said. “Why is he doing this to you?”