Addicted | ✔

C h a p t e r F i f t y - S i x

                                                                              PART FIFTY SIX

                                                       ❝I still love the man who drained me.❞

I stood there. Shaking,  I thought I knew the streets okay. I knew people died, I knew people were killed by dealers for not paying money they owed. I'd seen shows, mafia shows violently watched people have their limbs chopped off with chainsaws. This was not that, but my husband had killed a man. I watched Jack get off the floor and turn to me.

"We better split before this idiots realize what I just did."

He said this, as if he was sugesting we go to a seven eleven.  I turned, not looking at Landon and carried my child with me outside where I stumbled to the car. My hands were shaking, I was shaking. As I slid into the passenger seat Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Why you trippin baby?" He asked, running his hand up and down my thigh. I shrugged.

"You, you killed a guy." 

Jack rolled his eyes.

"One of many Katie. Old you would've sucked me off as a reward for that shit now you freaking out what the fuck?" He pulled the truck onto the highway. He looked tired, I reached for his hand. We were in Phoenix Arizona, I had nobody else. There was nobody I could run too if things got hard. Which they were.

"Where are we going?" I asked and Jack just grimaced.

"Last option Kaitlyn." He said.

I knew what he meant. I knew where this was going. I turned to him, an idea flickering into my head.

"You could be my pimp, might make some cash selling me."

It was half a joke, half definitley not. Jack laughed.

"No. We'll figure sum else out promise." 

The truck slowed to a halt. In front of what I would call, the shittiest motel known to mankind. I looked at him.

"Are we this broke?"

"You don't really think my friends shot you up for free do you?" He asked, I nodded. It hadn't occured to me we had been paying for all of these drugs. I grimaced. Suddenly my whole "Jack become's a pimp" idea seemed a lot more reasonable. Would I do it though? Probably if it meant my daughter would get to grow up wearing nice clothes, who cares what her mom and did to keep food on the table. I shook my head. 

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As I tried to fall alseep that night, with sheets with cigarette burns and walls with peeling paint surrounded me I kept seeing Jason's unmoving body, on the floor. How his eyes had still been open. Jack had made a fairly decent point. I had at one point been the type of girl to hit any bitch who looked my way. I crawled out of bed. All day I'd been desperate for a buzz. Opening the small medicine cabinet in the smelly bathroom I found those little brown bags and a clean needle. As I, as I had before felt that familiar rush of pleasure I sighed. Maybe, just maybe we would be okay.

I stumbled back to bed, reaching across the sheets for the hand of my husband. He rolled over to face me.

"You okay?" He asked in a tone I had not heard in a while. I shrugged, as of right now I was more than okay. I was actually wonderful. 

"I'm not going to hear her." I murmered, as the distance between my thoughts became farther and farther apart. Jack looked at me and placed his hand on my face.

"This is all just in good fun right?" He asked, maybe it was because I was high or just generally stupid. But I was not exactly sure what he meant. Did he mean that I was using to much? As if we hadn't spent two days in a trap house where I'd been drugged and raped by his "best friend." 

"What is?" I asked.

"Like you just like the feeling you don't want to be, doing it all the time though right?" He knew I was high. It came as no suprise, the subtle light from the hallway mixed with the cold shine of the moon provided enough light for him to see how pale my skin was, the wateryness of my eyes, and how generally calm I was.

It was, in a way, easier this way. If I could I would feel like this all the time. As if everything was going to be okay, because for these couple hours everything would be okay. If it took a drug to make me feel some sense of calm and happiness I could make that work.

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I do not talk about why I chose to use drugs very often. In a way it felt as if they chose me. Like, anytime seeing old women pick up medication from the pharmacy fills me with jealousy. As well as, my father had a surgery once. Was prescribed Vicodin, and Oxycotin, I had waited for him to fall asleep then I would shimmy the pills out of the little orange bottle that meant happiness, in the bathroom where I would crush them and turn into a metaphorical pumpkin. That's how it started, curiosity. Most people's overdoses scare them. Mine didn't it just made me realize I needed a better tolerance. Maybe my family was right. 

I am too far gone.