((A Nic Sheff type of imagine, triggering topics ahead.))
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𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝑱𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝑺𝒖𝒇𝒋𝒂𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
I lit the lighter with a quick flip. The substance in the spoon began to fizz and pop. I drew the flame away, taking the syringe and drawing the plunger back as the liquid from the spoof was transferred into the tube.
I set the spoon and the syringe down and proceeded to tie a belt around my arm. 7 months sober and this is what I had to show for it. A boyfriend who hates me and a family who abandons me.
Slowly, I placed the needle to my skin, feeling nothing but a small poke. I pressed the plunger down. It was done. 7 months down the drain. But in seconds... no, milliseconds, everything was pure euphoria. It was bliss.
This is what I was missing I thought. I began to remember when my boyfriend and I would do this together and we always had the best time. We were happy.
But everything became sour as I began to cry. What was I doing? There was nothing I could do now, the drugs were already in my bloodstream.
Quick [ y / n ], think of something.
Tim.
The first thing I thought of was Tim. I quickly shuffled my hands around me. I probably looked like an idiot. I kept going back on whether I wanted to call or not. The feeling I was driving myself away from for months was back and I couldn't stop it.
When my fingertips grazed the back of my phone case, I was quick to grab the phone itself. I fumbled it due to how bad my hands were shaking. I found my emergency contacts.
He and I had just had a fight, but instead of being mature, I went to the corner and bought a bag of the shit that might as well kill me.
Boom, it was calling. The phone gave a silent dial tone before I turned on speakerphone, afraid that he wouldn't even pick up because of how late it was.
"[ y / n ]?"
"Tim," I quickly cleared my throat, "Tim, I'm sorry. About th-the things I said. I'm sorry. I j-just... I just n-need you right now." I fumbled over my words.
There was silence. I could nearly hear his jaw clenching on the other side. "Where are you?"
That was all I got. I looked around the room I was in. "U-Um... I... Motel 6 off of Highland, I think." It took me a second to even figure out where I was. Jesus, I was a mess.
And then the line went dead. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't. I just curled into a ball. And I just laid there. It didn't take long for me to realize I left the door unlocked. I heard a knock, the handle turning. But I was too out of it. My vision was just reflections of items that were in front of me.
"[ y / n ]! Hey!" I was being shaken. But I couldn't move my body. Instead, all that left my chapped lips was the name of the boy I broke. I could feel him looking at the needle wounds.
"Tim?" It was light. Oh so light. But he still heard it.
I felt my torso get lifted up. He smacked my face gently, but I was still out of it. My vision was still blurry. I was cold. I felt a tightness in my throat and stomach, vomiting the contents of whatever food was left in me.
When I sat up, Tim was there with a washcloth I had there previously. He cleaned off my face and I could see him semi-clearly.
"[ y / n ], god, I shouldn't have let you leave the house, this is all my fault." Tim was... blaming himself. No, no. It was me, Tim, I did this! I would think.
"T-Timmy..." I lifted my hand up with all the strength I had left as my hand cupped his cheek.
"Yeah?" He was crying now, "What is it, baby?"
"I'm sorry."
I really couldn't remember what happened after that. All that I do remember is Tim laying me in bed, my head on his chest as he held me close, crying from time to time.
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
The next morning was a trip. I woke up with Tim still there. I was agitated, but there was nothing to antagonize it. It was the hangover from the heroin. I sat up, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"Hey." Was all he said.
"Hi," I responded quietly, scratching my arm.
"So. I think you know what needs to be talked about."
"Yeah," I began to tear up.
I hunched over and began crying.
"I'm so sorry, Tim... I... I didn't know what else to turn to. I just... got tired. I wanted that piece of my life back. The feeling it gave me when I took it."
"Me. You could have turned to me, or your dad, or your sponsor." He was now frustrated.
"I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to," I was full-on sobbing now. "I just want it to go away, Timothée, please. I want help."
He got off the bed and got in front of me. All it took was one look of his teared up eyes for me to break, my arms flinging around him, my face getting buried in his chest.
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
The car came to a stop. Tim looked at me. I was biting my nails, anxiety taking over my thoughts. But I was doing this for him.
Only for him.
"These guys are professionals. They'll help you."
I just nodded my head. We got out of the car, walking in. I sat down in the waiting room. After I took some drug tests, I just stood in the waiting room with my bag.
"I love you, [ y / n ]. You need this. For us. For you." Tim's hands caressed my face, wiping a tear as it fell down my cheek.
"I love you, Timmy." I leaned in for a kiss. "You'll visit right?"
"I wouldn't miss it. It's just a week. Just to get things sorted out."
