Nightingale

forty-five

TW: Substance abuse

I feel like absolute dog shit. A literal pile of shit.

My head is throbbing, body clammy and shaking, both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. Cold turkeying being sober is the hardest, but it has to be done. My stomach is churning with every shake of my body, a layer of sweat covering me. Today marks day 4 without cocaine and normally the first 5 days are the hardest for me. The whole car ride back I was vomiting, my body detoxing itself from the shit I put into for 2 months, that was the first 48 hours. Yesterday I spent most of my day locked in the bathroom in Harry's room. I took freezing cold showers to shock my body in a different way but also to try and cool myself down. I took boiling hot showers to burn my skin so I didn't try to rip it off.

I fell asleep in the bathroom last night, hunched over the toilet and unable to move without extreme pain. It's now roughly 4 in the morning from what I can tell. I can hear the early morning chirps of birds as I pull myself off of the bathroom floor. Harry tried to come in a couple times, asking if there was anything he could do. I'm hoping he believed the lie I fed him saying I was coming down with a cold. He tried to get me to go to the doctor because it wasn't normal but if I did they would send me right back home, probably just give me fluids and call it good.

I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth with mouthwash to get the disgusting taste out of my mouth, gripping the counter while doing so because the change of elevation makes me feel 10 times worse. My unsteady hand unlocks the bathroom door as quietly as possible to avoid waking Harry up. As I open the door I see him sleeping on his stomach on the bed, the comforter lazily pulled up to cover part of his body. The sunlight beaming through the windows here signifies that it is later in the morning than I expected. I slowly drag my body out of the room, making my way downstairs towards the kitchen in need of water.

I grab a glass from one of the cabinets and fill it half way full with water from the kitchen sink, drinking it down as fast as possible before refilling it. The house is silent, myself being the only person awake. I drink some more water before setting the glass down on the counter and leaning forward to rest my head on it, the coolness of the countertop giving me slight relief to the pound in my head. Everything in me wants to get in a car, find the closest drug dealer, buy a gram and kill all of my symptoms, but that would only make me fall back into my old ways. I was weak, pathetically wasting my days away getting high to avoid life. Existing and not living.

When a cabinet behind me closes I quickly jump up out of fear, the unexpected noise startling me. I quickly turn around and see Liam with a coffee cup in his hands, starting a pot of coffee.

"Someones jumpy." He states while looking over his shoulder at me.

"I thought I was the only one awake." I groan while rubbing my temples.

"I'll keep your secret of relapsing a little longer but you need to tell him." Liam says matter of factly.

"You think I don't know that." I flatly state, irritability laced in my tone.

"You need to go to a meeting today too. I can take you if you want."

"I can do it myself."

"No you can't."

"Yes, actually I can." My irritability grows the more the conversation continues.

"No you can't. You won't actually go. You will say you're going then end up getting high. I think you forget I helped Gemma get sober, I watched the lies she fed Harry. So you can keep feeding him bullshit for all I care but just know I see right through you."

"I'm not feeding him bullshit lies" my voice raises as Liam keeps targeting me.

"Right, so you telling him you are sick wasn't a bullshit lie?"