As he placed his hand over my throat, he whispered "Don't scream "
It was summer time. It was hot outside. I went looking for him but I did not care if I found him. I no longer cared about anything. The life force that had gone through my beating heart had traveled out into a useless receptacle. He held my life in his hands. He was a rabid cat playing with a meager mouse.
When I was young, I wanted everyone to like me. I did not understand that I was different. My parents swore that I was special. Special meant I was fragile. Special meant I would cry at the television. Why was Jesus put on the cross for cruxifiction? I asked my mother in tears. Why were they so mean to him. I saw the movie Logan's Run. I wanted to be one of the young people that was pulled into the light while everyone celebrated my demise. I could not imagine beyond thirty, beyond twenty five.
I was so young and naive. Those blue eyes pulled him in. That is what he claimed. My eyes saw him in a way that drew him across two thousand miles from Florida to this place. Except he never knew me. I was so starved for attention. Like a fat kid that gives candy to strangers just so you realize that I am here. I saw him but my eyes were cloudy with heroin.
He kicked the door into my life. He literally kicked my door in because I would not answer it. Some people would describe him as a savage. I was unaware that he was a killer until I went to court with him that day. The judge was so rude to bring up that time he had been in prison for manslaughter. My mouth dropped opened. Five minutes earlier I had been in the mens' bathroom with him giving him head in the stalls of the county courthouse. I was a down ass bitch, so I thought. Really, I was just sinking lower and lower and lower.
He said he would get me off heroin. There would be a price. A broken nose here or there. A chipped tooth that I later repaired. A developed hardness, an armour that was plated with his broken promises. He never wanted to hit me, he reassured. I was making him do it. I was fucking forcing him to do it because I wouldn't listen. I was so fucking stupid that I wouldn't listen. Just let him talk he said.
"Don't move..." he was so angry he was almost foaming "just don't move."
I was not moving. I was retreating in my own world. In my youth I used to hide in the closet. I used to rock back and forth in the closet and hold my knees. I was so tired of hearing people yelling. I was tired of living. At ten years old, I was so tired of living. Here I was not ready to die. I started screaming and he held me down a little tighter. He had a knife to my throat. I had on a nightgown and no shoes. I had been sleeping. But I was awake now. And I had a plan. I would get rid of this man.
The heroin is no good for you he said but I encouraged him to try it. Try it. Do some more. Do some more. Do some more.
Our relationship did not end with a scream but with a whimper. You see, he was not my type of addict. He liked to go fast. He was a user. He used me, that was for sure.And when he used me for my heroin, which he had never tried, I got my revenge. I was more than willing to share my drugs. I was as nice as I could be to him. I shared and shared and shared and I smiled as he enjoyed my watered down remnants. And one morning, there was none to share.
"I don't feel very well " he told me as he limped off to find a hustle. Except he had none.
And then I disappeared.
I heard he was sick for four days. I wish it would have been five. I wish I could have seen it but I was hiding from him. I was laughing to myself. For once in my life, heroin had done me a solid. We would never be equal he and I but I had revenge by heroin and I was okay with that.