The Trouble with Loving a Milkovich Part 5

Ultimatums

Winter passes rather uneventfully. As surely as the sun rises and sets, snow falls and melts, my birthday comes and goes, seeing me in and out of the emergency room due to overdoses. Promising my husband that I'll stop using the needle, I just stop using it in front of him. My near death experiences have a sobering effect on Collin; sometime in March, he decided to quit drugs altogether. Much like his father, he finds comfort in the bottle. Not a stupid man, I know he knows I'm still using. Denial is one helluva coping mechanism, I suppose...

I sit on the toilet seat, needle still in my arm. Tears stream down my face. It's not even about getting high at this point; it's not even about not getting sick, tho that is a huge part... at this point, I'm nearly as miserable high as I am sober. An onslaught of memories, traumas, heart aches, everything is always just lurking on the peripheral of my conscious. It's like I'm surviving just to be miserable.
Collin cant know, so I don't tell him. I hide my arms, which isnt easy since its summer now. My head rests in the palms of my hands. Scratching my face, I feel a sore forming beneath my fingertips. "Shit," I mumble, my head slipping from my hands. Jerking it back up, I try to shake the grogginess. A few minutes pass before I exit the bathroom. A pregnant Svetlana is walking towards the door. "Move, baby on bladder," she tells me in her heavy accent. Out in the living room, I see Mickey fixing his tie while Igfy sits on the couch, ogling the half naked hooker ironing Svetlana's shirt. "Where's Collin?" I ask, grabbing on to the door frame to keep from falling. Mickey shoots me a worried glance, until Yevgeny starts crying. "Oooh, somebody pooped!" Ian calls, running over to grab the baby. From the hallway comes the sound of my bedroom door opening then closing. "Someone say my name?" Collin buttons the top of his collared shirt then turns his tie so that he can knot it. "Wanna help?" He asks me, glancing briefly at my face before turning away. "Yeah..." my nose itches and I try to scratch it without notice; Collin sees, but he only glares on the ground. "Don't worry about it," anger floods his voice. Ignoring me, he walks into the kitchen and reaches for the vodka. "Hey man, really?" Mickey throws his hands in the air. "Weve got a legit fucking job to do!" Iggy opens up the gun cabinet, to which Mickey yells at him to close it. "No guns, no weapons!" Ian waltzes by with a freshly diapered Yevgeny. Grabbing Mickey by the tie, he pulls him in for a kiss. Mickey and Iggy make towards the door, but Collin hangs back. Turning to the topless hooker, he points a finger at me. "Keep an eye on her; I dont know how much smack she shot up, but I don't need her dying while I'm gone." The ghost of hurt seeps into the bottom of my stomach. Shame covers my features and I want to cry but my body won't let me. "Fuck you, Collin," I slur, clinging to the doorframe for dear life. Sighing, Collin's exterior melts and walks over to where I'm falling. "Come on, you gotta lay down. On the couch." Gently, he half carries me over to the sofa. Once there, he lowers my body and lifts my legs. Talking to the prostitute again, he tells her to make sure I'm breathing. "Every twenty minutes if you have to; I can't miss work over this shit." As if to drive the point home, one of his brother's lays on the horn out front. "Gotta go," he grumbles, kissing me briefly on the cheek. "Pull your head outta your ass; I can't lose you to this." Oblivion washes over me and I want nothing more to succumb. Once I hear the latch, I allow my head to fall into my cheat and my eyelids to flutter shut. Sleep wraps me in it's warm and seductive embrace; I'm in that place right between the waking and the dead, and it feels like a stranger I used to know deeply... floating somewhere between existences, I drift, float, go away...
But its never far enough. Every single time, I wake up again.

Life awakens me and I hear people flooding the living room. What feels like softened paper hits my face and I open my eyes to Mickey rubbing wads of cash across the bridge of my nose. "Wakey wakey!" His tone is infectious, and I can tell by his grin that it was a good haul. "What you make?" I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Nauseated, I choke back on the bile and shove my head into the pillow. "Over five grand," his voice says. Motionless, I breathe in thru my nose; it's no use. Losing my footing a little, I scramble towards the bathroom. Flinging myself onto the toilet bowl, I heave all that I've consumed into it; nothing except stomach acid comes up and the bitterness makes me sick all of again. From outside the door, I hear footsteps getting closer. Once I'm done, I collapse next to the cool basin and turn to see who it is that has approached. My husband stands at the door, a look of disgust and anger contorting his lovely features. Hands shaking, he takes a swig from his silver flask. "I'm getting really fucking sick of this," he starts, wiping the vodka from around his mouth. At a loss for words, I stare at my feet. Shame washes over me and I start to sweat. "Get fucking clean, or get the fuck out; I'm tired of being the only one making a fucking effort." His words sting and I feel an anger rise up inside of me. "All you've fucking done," I start, hearing the venom with every syllable. "Is switch from one substance to another. Don't get fucking high and mighty with me." Collin walks over to where I'm slouched, kneels down and places a finger under my chin. Forcing my head up so that we are eye to eye, he tells me, "I'm going thru the house, and I'm throwing away every single fucking thing that even remotely looks like something you're using to get high. This fucking ends. TONIGHT." I struggle to pull myself up, but I'm weakened by the exertion of vomiting. Rubbing face, I call after him, "yeah?! Well two can play that!" Forcing myself up, I follow him into the kitchen. Ian is standing in front of the oven, holding baby Yevgeny. Mickey sits at the table, counting his money. Hearing us enter, he looks up. "Trouble in paradise?" He smirks, still gloating from today's work. Ignoring him, Collin heads to the drawer with all the spoons, pulls every single one out, and slams them as hard as he can into the garbage. Everyone freezes; looks of terror resonate around the room; I set my features into a defiant stare and watch as he rifles thru every drawer, pulling out every single hidden baggie and needle I have stashed. A fury slowly builds in the center of chest; palms sweating, I cling to the back of the chair not occupied. Mickey turns to Ian. "Take the baby to his mother," he instructs under his voice. Collin ignored everything else and continues on his tearing up of the kitchen. Once he has found every single hidden item and thrown it out, he turns to the hallway and makes towards our room. Following him, I grab the bottle of vodka that sits on the kitchen table.
Back in our room, Collin knows every single hiding spot o could ever think of. "Been married to you for how many fucking years? Huh? Been together since I was 14? I know every book and cranny of this room and exactly where everything is!" Object fall to floor and break as he aggressively tears apart our room. Smashing his bottle to the ground so that vodka splatters my feet, I finally get his attention. "YOU THINK THAT FAZES ME?! YOU FUCKING BITCH! I DON'T NEED ANYTHING, I CAN QUIT WHENEVER THE FUCK I CHOOSE!" he roars, the blood rushing to his face. The fury that has been boiling in my heart leaps out and I get in his red, sweaty face. "Dont you EVER fucking scream at me, you piece of SHIT! I'VE HAD YOUR BACK THRU EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING! BUT WHEN IT'S ME WHOS STRUGGLING-"
"WHEN AREN'T YOU STRUGGLING, JAGGER?! EVER SINCE I FUCKING MET YOU-"
Suddenly, my hands are on his chest and I push him with all of my might. Shocked, he takes a step back before coming right back at me and pushing me so hard, I land on the bed. "You're a fucking black hole, Jagger! You're never fucking satisfied! I've bent over backwards and catered to your every fucking whim and mood swing and addiction, and what do I get for it?! A thankless, junkie fucking wife who can't make it an hour without shooting up! You know what, stay on this course, do what you're doing; but when you're sucking dick under a bridge and get served divorce papers, know that I give it everything I fucking have!" The threat resonates around the tattered room. "What is that? A fucking ultimatum?" I ask shakily, my breathe catching in my throat. "You know what Jag, yeah, yeah it is. Get off this fucking shit, or we're fucking done."