“Yeah.” Knees bopping restlessly, I blew out a shaky breath. “I feel like it, too.”
Last night was the closest I’d come to cracking up in a very long time.
After finally calming the kids down and persuading them to go to bed, I’d necked a few of my mam’s valium to calm me the fuck down and help me get some sleep.
The only problem with that had been the fact that my old man decided to make a reappearance in the middle of the night, which meant that I had been too strung out to defend myself when his fists started swinging.
When I woke up this morning, it was to a body of bruises, and a mind that had hit its limit.
I couldn’t fucking do this anymore.
I couldn’t.
I tried.
I did.
I tried so hard to be good, but it never seemed to matter, because nothing was going to change for me.
I was never getting away from that house, not while the kids were still there, which meant that in order to survive another day in hell, I found myself breaking promises and slipping back into old habits.
“Was surprised to get your message last night, kid,” he stated. “Haven’t heard from you for a while.
Twist the fucking knife why don’t you.
“Thought you switched up suppliers or something.”
No, I want to keep my legs.
“Listen, lad, it’s like I said last night; I just need some benzos. Same as always. Just something to relax my brain.” Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the folded wad of cash and dropped it on his lap. “It’s all there.”
He picked up the cash and counted it before offering me a clipped nod.
I was ashamed to say that I lunged for the glove box to retrieve my poison of choice, only to frown when my eyes landed on some serious bullshit.
“Weed, Shane?” Furious, I tossed the bag back into the glove box and ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”
“There’s been a situation with my carrier,” he explained calmly. “A temporary delay in delivery.”
“Fine,” I bit out, feeling jittery at the prospect of not getting what I’d come for – what I fucking needed. “Got any oxy? Or hydro? A few benzos? Come on, Shane, don’t throw me under the bus like this.”
“Like I said, kid, there’s been an issue with my supplier.” Sparking up a cigarette, he inhaled a deep drag and then tossed both the box and my cash on my lap. “Which means it’s going to be a while before I have your usual.”
“How long are you talking?” I bit out, sparking up a cigarette, as I shakily tucked my cash back in my pocket. “A couple of days? A week? Because I’m fucking drowning here, lad. I can’t wait.“
“Relax, Lynchy,” he interrupted, tone coaxing. “I know you’re in a bad way.”
“Yeah,” I seethed, chest heaving now. “I am.”
There was no point in denying it.
Shane had known me since I was a child.
He could read me like a book.
Nodding in understanding, he reached into his pocket. “Which is why this is on me,” he added, sliding the small paper fold over to me. “No strings.”
Unfolding the neatly wrapped paper, I stared down at the off-white-colored powder in my hands. “That’s not coke, is it?
He shook his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
My pulse skyrocketed. “Shane.”
Keeping his eyes trained on the windscreen in front of him, he said, “Gear guaranteed to give the desired effect.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I told you before that I don’t want heroin!“
“I know, I know,” he coaxed, holding his hands up. “But this shit just hits on a different level. It’s cheaper, too, kid.”
“How cheap?”
“What you’ve been paying for one flush of your usual will keep you good for a week in smack.”
“No. No goddamn way. I don’t do needles,” I snapped, running a hand through my hair. “I’m not a fucking junkie.“
“You don’t have to,” he was quick to explain. “You’re watching too much television. That’s brown sugar. What I’m offering you is pure. The good stuff. You can smoke it or snort it. Whatever you like, lad. It’ll make everything else feel like smarties, kid. Take my word for it.”
“I can’t,” I strangled out, staring down at the temptation in my hands. “It’s too fucking risky.“
“Not when it’s used safely,” he encouraged. “Come on, kid. Do you think I’d fuck you over like that? We’re from the same terrace. I’ve known you since you were in nappies.”
“Listen, Shane, I just need something to help me get by,” I heard myself argue, and I wasn’t sure who I was arguing with; him or me. “I’m so fucking fucked in the head here. I don’t need anything that’s going to make my life worse.”
“I get it,” he said, giving me an understanding nod. “Those GAA trainers are breathing down your neck, you have teachers giving you shit, and that little ride of yours has you strung up by the bollocks. You’re under pressure, kid, and need a little release. I get that. They might not understand, but I do. Don’t feel bad for needing a little help to get you through that bullshit you have to take from your old man.” I glared at him, and he held his hands up. “Your old man’s a scumbag, kid. It’s common knowledge. I’m not judging you for needing a reprieve from a bastard like that.”
That was the problem; I did need that reprieve.
I needed it so damn badly that I heard myself relent and say, “Fine, but only until your supplier comes good with my usual.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed enthusiastically. “Have at it, kid.”
“Fuck.” Shaking my head, I stared down at the contents of the fold and muttered, “You said I can snort it, yeah?”
“Here.“ Reaching across the seat, he took the fold from me and quickly went to work on splitting it. “This is enough at a time to get you fucked,” he explained, handing me a CD case with a small amount of powder. “Snort it like you would any other line and feel yourself relax, kid.”
“The hell am I doing?” I grumbled, as I looked around the empty carpark before taking the rolled-up fiver from his hand and leaned in close. Disgusted with myself for my weakness, I pressed the make-shift straw to my nose and inhaled deeply.
STRUNG OUT
SEPTEMBER 1ST 2004
AOIFE
Joey didn’t follow me into class.
In fact, he didn’t show up until the class before big lunch.
“What the hell, asshole?” I whisper-hissed when he sank into the chair alongside mine during Business. “Where have you been?”
“I had to go home,” he explained quietly, as he withdrew his textbook and pencil case from his bag. “I, uh…”
“You what?” I asked, waiting for his answer.
Jerking, he shook his head, and mashed a hand against his cheek. “Must be out of credit.”
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes. “Are you high?”
“No.”
“Joey.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’ve been crying?” I whispered, as concern rose inside of me at a rapid pace.