"Just check" he asked me.
I didn't need to check, I already knew the answer. I don't want to get out of the car. It is cold as hell outside. He is fiending. Fiending is when drugs are the only thing on your mind. Your thoughts are completely consumed with acquiring some type of substance. Nothing else, no rational thoughts can enter.
I grab the car door "Fuck. Okay. This is pointless " I tell him.
I checked my balance, hoping it would say something difference this time. Nope.
Now I have to wait and see if the machine is going to take my card.
Luckily, it spits it back.
"My balance is -$2.03" I informed him. Nothing had changed.
I had put an empty envelope in the ATM last night to get some money. My paycheck from my little retail job is long gone. I am going to be completely fucked if my mom checks the bank statements. She has another card to this account so she can make deposits.
He starts banging on the steering wheel."FUCK. What are we going to do?"
Not we, I tell myself, he means what is he going to do. We used up all my money first. Whatever he gets now, he is not going to share with me. If he does share something, it would be some watered down bullshit anyway. We went through $120 of my money to get all the dilaudid and morphine we could scrounge. That is the only thing you can find around here without driving hours to another town. I am content having a some cheap gin. I can fall fast asleep until my shift tomorrow.
"Just drop me off" I direct him to my apartment. It is too cold to walk the rest of the way home.
My apartment overlooks the University of Cincinnati. This was supposed to be a good thing, although I never seem to make it to class. I had gone to the bar after class one night. I wrecked my car going 70 miles an hour. I hit one guard rail, spun out, and hit the other guard rail. They said I was drunk when they breathilzed me. I thought I had just fallen asleep. I can't drive anymore with 16 points on my liscence so my parents got me a cheap apartment across from campus. I am such a massive disappointment to them. I managed to avoid fuck ups until I was out of the house. That makes them much more willing to forgive me, I suppose. The worst is yet to come.
The family is no stranger to addiction. My mother spent summers and vacations with her father, the alcoholic. I only met him a few times. I remember him calling our house at midnight randomly to complain to her about one injury to him or another. She had told me he had been an actor, which made him self absorbed.
My father was a late in life drunk. He started drinking heavily after he lost his advertising business. Raised in poverty, he ended up becoming an engineer. He never left that county life behind. Even after returning to school and making good financially, he never saw himself fitting in there. He likes to have his friends that were missing a finger from a tractor accident or bookies that hustled out of the back of their Oldsmobile. He drank like I used drugs. It must have made him feel like the world was a safer place somehow.
He drops my off in a hurry. I am of no use to him now. I got a bottle stashed away down upstairs for "special occassions like this one. As I sip on my gin, I can't help but think about the last few days. Oh those pins and needles. That feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket. I want it again. I use my school books to prop up my ashtray. That is about the only use I have for them right now. I look for left over weed and find none. I flop down on the bed in disgust. I feel my heart race. Now, I am fiending.
I wish I had a phone to call someone for some money. I guess I can just sit here in the dark. I can get drunk until I fall asleep. The gin makes me feel warm, fuzzy, and sad. Why do I do these things to myself. I see the little bruises in the light of the street lamp. The holes where the joy went in and my money was sucked out. I want to feel that feeling again. I down the gin and close my eyes.
In the morning, I will drag my ass to work and start all over again. Five days until payday. Fuck my life.