Thursday, May 14, 2015

I can pretend

He tossed the uncapped syringe at me, narrowly missing the side table. I eagerly grabbed my share of the drugs. I made a mental note to myself- yell at him later- as I started to wrap the rubber tie around my thigh. I was already naked from the waist down. Sometimes, I could find a vein right next to my snatch. My skin tight boxer shorts got in the way. I wore leggings under boxer shorts because I felt like it made me less rapeable. In this lifestyle, any female was seen as a whore with little ability to say no. I figured if I passed out, the perpetrator would have to make some serious effort to cut off my underclothes.

"I took 50 and I gave you 30", he told me. As if this was okay somehow, because he told me. Offense number two.

I wiped off my vein with an alcohol swab. I am not sure why I bother anymore. It seems like every month I am getting another fucking abscess. This shitty tar heroin. Cut with shoe polish, baby laxatives, and coffee. It smells like Folgers instant coffee in my cooker "the best part of waking chivah with this cuuuuttt." I would sing this like the Folgers jingle from the commercial. I had to have a sense of humor about my shitty circumstances.

I finally stab the barbed rig into my skin. I haven't gotten to the exchange in a few days. I am using up 10 to 20 syringes every single day trying to find one usable spot. I hate this fucking guy. I hate how it takes him two fucking seconds. I hate the fact that he thinks he needs more than me. He is so full of shit. He doesn't realize I already got hooked up by the people I copped for earlier. That is what took so long. If he wasn't so busy smoking a rock, he would have noticed I wasn't sick. If you are down to $10 and you are dopesick, WHY BUY CRACK? This makes zero sense. ZERO.

I feel the warmth come over me for a moment then the moment is gone. I look over at him. He is starting to suck his own dick. Not literally. he wouldn't bother to suck it anyway. It never gets hard. He might let someone else suck it if he needed the money. He says no but he gay dude upstairs tells me otherwise. Whatever. The difference between a straight guy and a gay one is a half gram.

"Honeyyyyyyyyy....." he tells me with that gravely voice "Come cuddle with me."

This fucking guy. We were up all night fighting over what we were going to do with "our" money in the morning. He meant my fucking money but to him, it is ours. Fighting over drugs we didn't have. I got tired of waiting so I scoured the open air market for people who were too scared to approach the dealers. Some out of towners got me high plus the dealer gave me a bag for the customers. I got that bag shoved in the last place he would look- next to my tits. God knows the last time he grabbed them.

I am tired. Tired of this fucking life. Tired of this "relationship". Is this the best I can do? I curl up next to him. I put my head on his skeletal shoulder blades. For a second, I can lay on the bed. I can pretend he really loves me. I can pretend we will kick dope some day. I can pretend I will leave this life behind one day.

What is that smell? He burnt my hair with his cigarette. Ugh. Fuck my life.