Last night

I pushed the door open, the heat hit me in a wave. It was muggy last night, my hair plastered to my forehead, sticky at my neck. I had just received a call from my landlord. The rent cheque had bounced again. This time it was for two months rent. That meant there was money in my account, when I thought it was at zero. Not enough to pay two months rent maybe, but enough for a nice hit. Somehow, it was 8pm already, the day at the office had been longer than usual but finally there I was, in the fresh air with a full bank card in my pocket. Silly me, I had a new(ish) fit with me, but no spoon. If only I had remembered then, I could have grabbed one from work and the night would have turned out differently.

I walked as fast as I could, my white heels shredding my feet. I didn't care. The subway seemed to take forever, the man seated opposite winked and smiled at me, trying to flirt. He was in his fifties maybe, messy grey hair and a dishevaled outfit with a bursting briefcase. Not attractive. I looked at my hands, feeling the bumps in the track as the subway brought me closer. A dealer's house is near my subway stop, usually I would never ring his buzzer without calling first, but I didn't have his number with me and I was prepared to risk being yelled at, for a yes. Just outside though, there was Claude. One of the dealer's friends. He didn't recognize me at first, but once I said my name his eyes flickered. He called the dealer and asked him to send his girl down with something. Claude asked me if I had somewhere to do it. I said no, and what I really needed was a spoon. All the cafés near by only use stirring sticks and the deps don't sell cutlery. He told me to come with him.

His house was three blocks over. He led me down a narrow corridor with flowery green carpet. The walls were crooked with stained white paint. Everything was crooked. His place was a bed, a tv and a couch pushed up against the bed. there wasn't even a bathroom. He must share with the other tenants. Usually I'm quite shy about shooting up in front of others. I know it must seem ugly to non-users. I didn't want him to see my blood and the way my eyes relax when I have my hit. It's private. But he said to do it in front of him, he didn't mind. And there was no where else to do it anyway, so I didn't have a choice. I told him to give me a spoon he didn't want back, the needle I was about to use wasn't exactly brand new. He turned on some soft music and adjusted the lighting. I felt clumsy and shaky with the spoon, it was awkward and large, and I'm used to being spoilt with user-friendly pharmaceutical spoons.

I was on his bed, he was on the couch. Then he was on the bed too. Too close. Stroking me softly. Playing with my hair. Gazing into my eyes. He asked me if I'd come here because I thought he wanted something. I said no. He asked me what I'd say if he did. I reminded him of my boyfriend (the times he is good for something!). He whispered sweet nothings. My mind is too cynical for sweet nothings, it just translates them into what I know he's really thinking. Men are so easy to read it's pathetic. I extricated myself and had the shot I was saving for my boyfriend. Then I said I wanted to leave. He walked me to the door, breath on my neck. By the time I was back in the warm evening air my high was gone.