"MICKEY YOU'RE SHOT!" Ian yells from the front seat. Mickey hurtles his body into the car and Iggy and Collin slam the doors shut behind him. "I fucking know I got shot!" Mickey yells back. The feel good effects of the drug are wearing off. A surge of paranoia grips my brain. Grabbing the small baggie of pills from my pocket, I toss them out the rolled down window. Ian floors on the gas. "I got someone who can help," he pulls out his phone and I reach over and take wheel. A stoicism takes over me. "Keep your foot on the gas and change spots with me," I direct. Ian does as I say and we switch spots so that I'm driving. Iggy drags Mickey into the back and Collin hops into the passenger seat. "Drive to my house!" Ian yells, pointing me at which street to turn. Who ever he calls picks up and he simultaneously tells me where to turn and instructs the receiver of his call where to go. Paying attention to the speed limits, I take his directions. Once we're on Wallace, I speed up til I see the Gallagher house. Ian and Joey carry Mickey out of the van. Once they're fully out, I speed off and head towards a storage facility under my Uncle's name. Once there, Collin and Iggy unload the van as quickly as they can, while k stay behind the wheel, engine running. After the van is unloaded, they hop back in and we're off. "Dump this thing down by the docks!" Collin tells me. I take the next corner a little too sharply, and I wave of nausea hits me. Rolling down the window, I throw up along the side of the van. Sirens blare and I hot the steering wheel. "FUCK!" I scream, panic setting in. I pull over, my hands shaking and the full effect of the withdrawal closing in. The cop pulls over behind us. "Call my cousin," I tell Collin, who's face is as white as a sheet. "Fuck no, trade me spots!" His hands shake too but k shake my head. "Too late," I mumble, lighting a cigarette. "Have my cousin call the Rosellis. Bail me out." Turning, I kiss him on the cheek just as the cop comes over to my rolled down window. "License and registration," he asks, peering into the empty van. Reaching for the dash, I instead throw up into the cup holders. "Im gonna have to ask you to exit the vehicle."
The holding cell is cold and sterile. Goosebumps form beneath the hairs on my arms. Paper thin scrubs were given to me for my mugshot and holding and it does nothing to keep me warm. Withdrawal symptoms hit me like a ton of breaks and suddenly I can't hold my body upright. Crumbling to the floor, my body aches and I have to puke. A shiver runs thru my bones and a sheen of sweat breaks out all over my body. Unable to move my head more than a few inches, I puke on the floor then do my best to crawl away from it. A cop hears my retching and pokes his head around. "Fucking junkies," he mutters in disgust. Unable to do anything, I remain on the concrete floor, shame mingling with the draining void that begins to fill me, a void that is somehow colder than the room I'm inhabiting. Closing my eyes, I try to sleep, but the involuntary jerks from my body make it near impossible. Hours pass before I hear a clinking. My cell door opens and the cop tells me I've been bailed out. Weakly, I raise an arm, but it's nearly impossible for me to get a decent enough grip on the bench to pull myself up. "Help me..." I plead. Unsympathetic, the cop rolls his eyes. "Give me a second," he grumbles, leaving me and the pile of vomit all alone. Several minutes pass before I hear the shuffling of feet. Two sets of shoes come in and just as I recognize who they belong to, four hands lift me up from beneath my arms. "I got her, Ig, thanks," Collin's voice comes. My eyelids droop and feel Iggy transfer my weight solely into Collin's arms. "She weighs like nothing," Iggy pats me in the back. Laying my head on Collin's chest, I fight back the bile rising in the back of my throat. My eyes close and I hear the buzzing of the gate. Iggy moves from next to us and joins us again at the doors. "Got your shit, Jag," he tells the back of my head. I grunt in recognition, but it's too much for my system. The cool air hits the back of my head and, eyes still shut, I turn my head as far away from Collin as I can muster and vomit into the pavement in front of the jailhouse. "Jesus christ!" I hear Iggy yell. Collin's chest rumbles against my body as he tells him, "She's sick."y hed collapses back onto his chest until I'm placed into the back of our car. Collin gets in on the other side and places my head on his lap. "Open your mouth," he brushes the sweat from my forehead. Parting my lips, I feel his fingers place a pill in my mouth. "Heres some water. I got you an oxy. Should help." I swallow the pill and curl up in the backseat, my head resting on the warmth of his lap. It takes the entirety of the ride for the pill to kick in, and once it does, I'm less sick than I was in jail, but only to the point where i can walk into the house on my own. "Go to the bathroom; I'll be in there in a second," Collin's voice is gentle, his hands guiding me up the steps and thru the door. Once in the bathroom, I strip off the shitty jail scrubs and sit on the toilet. Collin comes, a mirror, straw, and line in his hand. "Its just H," he tells me, sinking down in front of me and holding the straw up to my nostril. I inhale deeply, bring my head back and taste the drip from the drug. Most of my sickness is alleviated and I'm finally able to speak. "We cant keep living like this," I tell him, tears forming behind my lowered lids. "I know, baby," he tells me, his pupils pinpoint and glossed over. "We gotta quit," I beg him, my voice wavering. "We will, baby," he promises, his hand brushing the tears from my eyes. "After this. We're done. No more shit. Let me run you a bath. We'll clean you off then lay down." Relieved, I listen to the water hit the basin of the tub, mentally preparing myself for when I'll have to face this withdrawal again; this time, for the final time.
