Bit more

A little more on my new boyfriend, before I go home for the weekend. It's 5.11 and time is ticking.

He was born addicted to heroin, to a scummy slut of a mother who beat him from a baby, until he was old enough to run away. Eleven. He stole cars then, to survive. That was 19 years ago.

He's surprisingly charming and deft with witticisms, smart, cute. You'd never think all that stuff had happened to him. I'm not sure how he turned out so nice, but somehow he did.

Honestly, it worries me, how he hasn't broken. Unless it's like a dam, with cracks creeping their fingers through the concrete. And I'll be that final crack he can't take.

It's okay for now, I love him back.

But one thing that getting clean has taught me, is that it changes reality. And everything isn't quite so nice anymore, or so easy to love. And fuck it, the shadows are too long already, I can't keep using forever.

It's 5.32, see ya.

Um

Sorry. I know I've been away for a while. I've fallen in love, gotten clean, fallen out of love, started using, and fallen in love again.

My beautiful sweet new boyfriend cooks rather well. Food as well as drugs.

I got home last night to a syringe full of cherry red liquid. Injected it quickly as mum drank sweet blackcurrant tea in the lounge. That sort of thing makes me sick. Sometimes I wake up with the rain on the windows and I just want normality so fucking badly.

Today. I'm in the office eating ice cream out of a cup at my desk. I'm on the 11th floor. The top. A storm is beating the glass beside me. My legs are starting to ache.

My boyfriend will be here soon. Sticky and sour smelling as he is at this time of the day. It will be hard to kiss him, it always is when I feel this raw. But in his pocket will be a little something for me. And once I've had that, I'll be able to kiss him all night.