“Babe, I can’t do this,” she said, the fever-soaked delirium setting in her arms weakly clinging to mine while I prepared her last fix for the evening. As my hands dug through our stashbox, I said nothing
She sobbed then vomited and I putting the fear of my own dope-sickness aside (I had yet to experience any actual effects from opiate withdrawal but at the rate we’d been using, I was sure beyond sure that it was in the mail; signed, sealed and delivered...fuck), kissed her on the forehead with as much solemn passion as my strung out lips could muster.
The paramedics that came to the scene stared her the same way an office worker three steps away from blowing their brains out would stare at the last-straw-covered stack of paperwork on their desk… One of my many regrets was not being able to see any of this up close. The partygoers, (including myself) that hadn’t ran off at the first sign of trouble were all hiding in the woods surrounding Ricky’s house. Despite all of this, I was close enough to see the not so subtle disgust in their faces. I popped a couple Ativan to get rid of the speed jitters and spare myself the withdrawals that come from a night of chasing Ritalin with a fist full of ecstasy pills, then made my way to the hospital as soon as the ambulance left.
"What time is it?”