Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction Page 5

  I could have called Michael and asked him to put us up, but since I started basing dope three months ago, I'd only been to his place once. It was weird too, sitting there all high while my brother talked about—I don't know what. I nodded out after dinner, just so full and warm. I woke up in the guest room, tucked under the blanket with pillows surrounding my head. He had taken my sneakers off before putting me in bed, and on the dresser was a towel and toothbrush. All the lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and his bedroom door was shut. I grabbed the leftover pizza from the fridge and left. We didn't talk again for a few days, but when we did, he told me he'd planned on cooking me breakfast.

  If we stayed at Michael's, we'd have to hide our smoking. And then there was the whole nodding out thing. What would I say about that? I'd have to deal with his questions too like why I didn't have a place to live. I decided Michael was for emergencies and this was a fender bender. The way I saw it, as long as I had Eric, Renee, and a bag of heroin in my pocket, everything else would work itself out.

  There was a hotel near the bar that advertised rooms for nineteen a night. Eric wanted to check the place out. Renee didn't. She rested her back against a tree and pulled out a full foil and a pipe. After she took a hit, she said sleeping under the stars on H would be an adventure. I didn't disagree with her, but I sided with Eric. There weren't any cops around, but if they showed up, we couldn't afford to get arrested.

  When Renee was high, she'd agree to anything, so it didn't take long for us to swing her decision. The owner of the hotel hooked us up with a week's stay for a hundred bucks. We could pay the hundred in installments as long as we gave him a little cash each day.

  As we walked down the hallway to our room, I could hear moaning and yelling from the doors we passed. Flies swarmed around the flickering overhead lights. And there was a strange smell, not smoke or burning chemicals, although there was plenty of that too. The scent was like rotten peaches.

  Renee passed out when we got in the room. Eric and I took the other bed and shared a foil between us. The mattress was comfortable compared to Renee's lumpy couch and the grass in the park. The room wasn't too bad either, even with the funky smell and smoky haze that made everything inside look yellowish.

  We never made it back to the apartment to get the rest of our stuff. Before we smoked, we talked about borrowing Mark's truck and moving everything to the hotel. After the pipe hit our lips, our plans went to shit. We promised each other before we went to bed we wouldn't smoke the next morning until all our stuff was moved. Then a week passed. We figured by then it was too late, the landlord had probably scrapped it all anyway.

  When I first started basing, I'd smoke an hour before work, and I'd be high the whole shift. Being on dope at work was like sitting in class the morning after a keg party. I had no energy and couldn't concentrate. All I wanted was to sit in front of the TV and rip cig after cig. I'd forget to check on my tables, glasses went empty and I ignored them, and requests like extra napkins and silverware never got delivered. I used the other servers to help me out. Mark had a hard time keeping employees, so there was always a new face who wanted to prove herself. I'd have her run my food and check on my tables, and I'd pretend to be too busy. By the time the waitress got sick of doing my job, she had either quit or was let go.

  Soon the high was lasting only a couple hours, and the cravings would set in at work. I'd leave during my dinner break to smoke at the hotel. The thirty minutes I was given would turn into an hour, sometimes two. I'd come back to the bar prepared with an excuse like a doctor's appointment or family drama or the ATM machine had eaten my card. My excuses weren't very creative, but somehow they worked.

  It didn't take long before Mark caught on to my lies. I told him one day I had food poisoning and had gone to the hospital to get checked out. He wanted proof like an invoice or a statement from my insurance company. He knew I didn't have either and chewed my ass out. I'd seen him fire other servers over stupid things like forgetting to roll the silverware in napkins and stock glasses at the end of their shift. And here I was, stumbling into the bar three hours late, and all Mark did was yell at me. He must have had a thing for brunettes with big boobs, because there was no other reason he was keeping me around.

  Renee was never late to work. The way she moved behind the bar was like she was on coke again. When Mark reamed me out for being late, I asked her how she was holding it together so well, and she taught me how to be a functional smoker. It was common sense really: take just a few hits rather than basing half a bag, and pound Red Bull to give me the energy the dope took away. So instead of spending my dinner breaks nodding out in the hotel, I smoked in a bathroom stall at work. I thought I was being more responsible. I was real slick about it too. I'd blow into the toilet and flush, so the water sucked down all the smoke.

  And then I got busted. Someone must have ratted me out, probably one of the prissy waitresses who was picking up my slack. It all happened so fast. I was freebasing off the foil, and the next thing I knew, Mark had pried open the stall door. Our eyes locked. His got all watery, and his hand went over his mouth like he was witnessing a car wreck or something. There wasn't anything I could say that would justify what I was doing. He saw the foil and the pipe, the bag of dope in my lap, and the stream of smoke coming from my lips.

  He yanked me by the arm and pulled me out of the bathroom, dragging me through the restaurant. His grip was strong and should have hurt. The customers glared and whispered from their tables. I didn't feel the pain or the humiliation. All I could see in the back of my mind was a foil of heroin Mark flushed down the toilet, and I wanted to dive into the water and save it.

  He plopped me down in a chair in his office and sat in front of me on the edge of his desk. I was expecting a lecture about how much potential I used to have and how I screwed up all the time, and blah-fucking-blah about my lies and excuses and worthlessness. If he did say any of that, I didn't hear it. I couldn't hear anything. My ears were buzzing like bees were dancing on my eardrums.

  Damn, I had smoked more than I thought. I couldn't keep my eyes open. My chin was falling to my chest, and I couldn't stop it.

  When my eyes were closed, I saw fields of sunflowers. When my lids fluttered open, I saw compassion and tenderness like I was Mark's sick child.

  I couldn't control the nod. I couldn't tell him I wasn't sick. All I could do was follow the path of sunflowers, smell their petals, and touch their prickly stems.

  “Nicole, stay with me,” Mark said.

  I felt the warmth of his breath and the light slaps of his hand on my face, and my eyes shot open.

  Mark was no longer sitting on his desk. He was kneeling in front of me and his hands were rubbing my cheeks. “Are you okay?” he asked, his lips close to mine.

  I thought, without a doubt, I was getting fired. I needed him to believe I was sorry, even if I wasn't.

  “It won't happen again,” I said. “I'll change, I promise.”

  My eyes filled and I blinked, so the tears ran down my face, a skill I'd learned in drama class at my high school. I'd stare at something without blinking until my eyes welled. Right now, that was Mark's face, and he reacted by pulling me into a hug. When he finally let me go, he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the employee entrance. He told me to go home and rest. I still had six hours left of my shift, and there was some big game on TV, so the tips would be good tonight. But I didn't argue with him.

  Eric was sleeping when I got to our hotel room. I woke him and asked him to cook up for me. While he spread it over the foil, I told him what happened.

  “You're shitting me, right?” he said.

  From the look I gave him, he had to know I wasn't joking.

  “He hugged you, isn't that a good sign?”

  I took a long pull and held it in until I coughed. The point wasn't that he hugged me. I was pretty sure the tears had worked and I was in the clear. The point was how careful I was going to have to be. I couldn't smoke at
work anymore. I couldn't go back to the hotel to smoke because I couldn't be late. I couldn't go more than five hours without smack. How was I going to make it through my shift without hitting the pipe at least once? He might as well have fired me.

  “You have any dope left, my foil's short,” he said.

  I checked my pockets and purse. Both were empty. What had I done with the bag of dope when Mark came into the bathroom? I called Renee and asked her to look for it. She put me on hold and when she came back to the phone, she said it wasn't in any of the stalls and hung up. Mark must have swiped it when he reached for my arm.

  “It was a full bag,” I said.

  Money was too tight. I had to get it back. “Can you distract Mark while I search his office?”

  Eric reached for my pipe, and when our fingers touched his eyes scanned my face. “You sure you want to do this?”

  My dope was somewhere in his office, and he kept his door unlocked. I just had to get in and out without being seen.

  I looked around our hotel room. The few clothes I owned were on the floor. There was trash covering the top of the dresser. On the nightstand were burnt foils and spoons and empty packets of heroin. This was who I was now. And I needed my dope back.

  We waited until midnight to go to the bar. There was a line by the front door that wrapped halfway around the block, and Big Dan was checking IDs. We went to the side entrance, and I punched my code into the lock. Once we were inside, Eric went to find Mark. Mark and Eric were bar buddies, so we figured Mark would think it was just like any other night. I just hoped Eric could keep their conversation flowing with the bar this packed.

  From the employee entrance, it was a straight shot down a long hallway to Mark's office. I kept my back against the wall and looked both ways after each step. When I was halfway down the hallway, I ran the final stretch before anyone had a chance to spot me and closed the door after I got inside.

  His office light was on. Had he forgotten to turn it off or was he coming right back? It didn't matter, I still had to hurry.

  I sat down in his chair and scooted close to the desk. My hands were shaking like I had drunk a pot of coffee, and every few seconds my eyes darted to the door.

  I couldn't find anything in the drawers but office supplies. I needed it. Where the hell was it?

  I found a first aid kit, and I pulled the lid off, rummaging through all the medical stuff. My hand grazed over a pair of latex gloves, but stopped when I touched something hard and rectangular inside the glove. Through the latex, I saw the packet of heroin.

  It was all there, every little speck of powder I hadn't smoked sealed inside the pouch.

  There was a reason Mark hadn't flushed my dope. What was it? Did he want to try it? He did look like a partier, one of those eighties rock stars with his long hair and a dangly left earring.

  A plan started to come together in my brain. Mark would need me, he just didn't know it yet. And I'd never have to worry about losing my job again.

  I poured half the powder into an envelope and put that in my pocket. The rest of the dope went back in the glove, just like I found it. There was enough there to turn him on and have him coming back to me for more. I knew after a taste he'd be hooked.

  I pushed the chair under the desk and backed out of the office, closing the door quietly.

  “What do you think you're doing?” Mark asked from behind me.

  I turned and faced him. He towered over me by at least a foot, and when I moved to the side, he moved with me.

  Where the hell was Eric? He was supposed to call my cell phone if Mark headed towards his office.

  “Don't worry, I left you a taste.”

  “That's not why I kept it.” His palms landed on the door behind me. I was trapped in a Mark cage. “Let me help you.”

  His mouth was searching for mine. One of his hands touched my waist and lifted the bottom of my shirt. He caressed my stomach, running his fingers from my bellybutton to the wire of my bra.

  “Get off me,” I said, trying to wiggle his hand away.

  He found my nipple and squeezed like his fingers were a pair of pliers. His lips brushed my neck.

  “You want to keep your job, don't you?” He clamped my earlobe between his teeth.

  I thought of that mound of powder in my pocket, how it would feel to have its smoke fill my lungs and the rush that would enter my body. Without my job, we wouldn't have enough money. Without money, my cravings would go unfulfilled, my nightmares would return, and I'd be left with nothing but the sickness of withdrawal.

  “How bad do you want it?” he asked.

  I wanted it worse than anything. In the back of my throat, I could still taste the hit from a few hours ago. If I could make him come real quick, I'd be able to taste it again in twenty minutes, thirty tops.

  I opened my mouth and it was filled with Mark's tongue before I had the chance to respond. His lips were hungry. His saliva tasted like cigarettes and beer.

  My head smacked against the door. My face got slapped with the back of a fist. There was someone hitting Mark from behind, and he turned to defend himself. I couldn't see who it was. My jaw was throbbing. My head was cloudy from hitting it against the door, and arms were flying in my direction, so I slid to the side, shielding myself from the wrestling bodies.

  “What gives you the right to fucking touch her like that,” Eric shouted.

  Eric?

  Eric landed a punch to his nose, and Mark's head jerked backwards. He fell to the ground, and Eric kicked him in the gut over and over.

  “We've got to get out of here,” Eric said, grabbing my hand.

  I was frozen, unable to move, and my eyes wouldn't leave Mark's face. Blood was dripping from his nose, and his eyes were swelling.

  What did all of this mean? Was Mark going to blame me?

  Eric pulled me to his side, walking me down the hallway.

  “Don't ever come back,” Mark said. His voice was quiet and sharp. “Or I'll call the cops.”

  Who was he talking to?

  I looked over my shoulder. Mark was on his knees with his hands around his stomach. The look he gave me was the answer I needed. My job here was done.

  I ran back into the office.

  “Where are you going?” Eric yelled.

  I yanked open the desk drawer, but I pulled too hard and it came all the way out and fell to the ground. The first aid kit tumbled out, and I opened the lid, grabbing the latex glove. I shoved it in my pocket and rejoined Eric. We stopped at the end of the hallway, looking towards the bar. It was so swarmed with customers I couldn't even see Renee. I begged Eric to go get her.

  “She'll be fine, I'm worried about you,” he said and opened the employee entrance. He picked me up in his arms and carried me through the door.

  We didn't talk on the way to the hotel or when we got inside our room. He set me on the bed and cooked up the heroin from my pocket. He even held the foil for me. His hands were trembling, and the foil was bouncing, making it difficult to get a good hit.

  His eyes avoided mine, and knowing Eric, that meant he was too ashamed to look at me. I dropped the pipe, placing my hands on each side of his face. “It wasn't your fault,” I said.

  “If I had gotten there sooner, he wouldn't have laid a finger on you.” He took the pipe and placed it between my lips.

  “But nothing happened, you stopped it in time.”

  I wanted to tell him that his timing didn't matter because I would have done anything for him and Renee, even if that meant having sex with Mark. Eric was trying to protect me, but what happened wasn't anything like the rape. Then, I'd been drugged and double-teamed and then those fuckers left me to die, alone and freezing in the snow. Mark had given me a choice, and I was going to say yes. But the more I thought about that decision, the more I realized what it truly meant. I'd become that person who would sell my body for smack.

  Now, heroin controlled my body. And since it had been violated, did it really have any value to me anymore? N
o. I could whore out all I wanted. I could screw ten guys for a hundred bucks. As long as dope was inside me, I didn't care if a man was too.

  Eric was still holding the foil, and I sucked the smoke through the pipe as hard as I could. I couldn't get the dope in fast enough. The taste I had dreamed of in the hallway with Mark was finally filling my lungs, and with it came total silence.

  Renee was an hour late coming home. She walked through the door acting as if she'd found a purse full of cash on the sidewalk. She was smiling and all giddy, bouncing through the room like there were springs on the bottom of her shoes. Usually after work, she was bitchy and short-tempered and we had to avoid talking to her until she took her first hit.

  She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a bottle of water, taking a seat in front of me on the bed. “Guess what I got,” she said.

  Eric shrugged his shoulders. He was just as confused as I was. Why wasn't she saying anything about the fight? Mark would have told all the employees after the bar closed, wasn't that why she was so late coming home?

  She reached inside the apron tied around her waist and pulled out three syringes bundled in plastic. “I picked them up after work, aren't they pretty?”

  “How much did they cost?” I asked.

  Que had a hard time getting fresh needles. They went quick and he charged a lot. We'd never been able to afford them, plus Eric had this weird thing about needles. He'd been scared of them since he was young. Que wasn't the only hook-up, though. There was also a needle exchange program, but we'd heard bad things about it like how cops would hide out around the building and arrest people for possession after they re-upped on rigs. Renee didn't want to get arrested, so she must have gotten them from Que.