We were parked on the street, it was dark out and raining lightly. Jenny reached to unbuckle her seat belt and said something to the effect of how nice it’d be to get out of the car and run around in the street. She was serious, and about to do it, even though if you ask her now she’ll say she was just trying to get a rise out of me. Maybe she was, but she had also eaten a whole box of Triple C’s. Cough meds that make you trip. We ended up down here, on this street, because she had begged me to take her for a ride. She’d told me stories, stories that ended with her in the back of an ambulance on her way to a psych ward. I knew I had to watch her closely. She wouldn’t give me a moments peace until I agreed to take her for a ride, take her somewhere to do something, to have some experience. That’s what she craved most of all, to not be sitting around doing nothing, to feel some excitement. So we drove down to the city, the bad part of town where all the dealers hang out.

I figured I’d take her somewhere she wouldn’t wanna get out of the car, but someplace that would be exciting too. We were waiting for the guy I called to walk up to my car and hand us the drug we needed so badly, the drug she was using the Triple C’s to quit. I wasn’t trying to get clean with her this time, this would be for me. She can’t use any, and has to get clean cos her mother might want to piss test her soon. All she has to do is pass a piss test to get her car back. It’d make our lives so much easier. She never was able to get her car back, and maybe it’s been for the better.

I don’t know where to take this story, or what part of it will be interesting to you. Everything I’ve done so far has been pretty mundane. Maybe I’ll be able to answer someones questions about why people like us do the things that we do. Why we choose to live this way, to hurt everyone that wants to help us.

For me those answers are vague, I really don’t know why I’ve set myself down this path that I knew from the start wouldn’t lead anywhere I really wanted to go. I knew I’d be killing myself when I let Chuck put that needle in my arm the first time. I knew I’d be killing my girlfriend when I let him do the same thing to her.

Let’s start with that one, that choice to inject the drug for the first time. We had been using for a few months, I was pretty sure I was experiencing withdrawal when I went a day without (I wasn’t, it was just an excuse to use more, but I swear to god I didn’t know). Up until then We’d been sniffing the stuff, started with half a bag and at that point I was sniffing two bags at a time and hardly feeling anything. We’d been using with an IV user, so each time we’d sniff our bags and watch Chuck hook up. He would get way too high for my liking, high enough that he’d have been annoying me if I wasn’t so blasted myself. I knew it’d be better if I shot it. Jenny knew too. She’d ask me if today was the day we’d ask Chuck to show us how. I’d always say no, we’d never go down that road, since there was no coming back from it. No easy way back. I still remember the moment I let him shoot me up the first time. The needle going into my arm, his creepy, half erotic tone, “Pop it like a cherry”. I liked it, but I wasn’t blown away like I thought I’d be. It was nice, it’s always nice. My favorite word to describe a heroin high is cozy.

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