After the gig, we all pile back into the bus and Phil brings out a little bag of heroin, throwing it at me. I catch it and look up at him, surprised.
"Present," he laughs drawing a line of coke out on the table. Those guys prefer coke, so that's usually what we have, and heroin is not something we have very often at all, "for you and Rayn, mind," he smiles, inhaling his line. Damien says nothing, settling down opposite Phil and snorting up his own line. I glance awkwardly at Gemme, the temptation and cravings burning at me, but I know how she feels about my highs.
"For what occasion?" Gemme asks coolly. Beats me and Phil just shrugs.
"He doesn't get heroin very often. It's his treat," he giggles.
"Humph, of course. What happened to the days when people gave guitars as presents, or flowers and chocolates?"
"Have I ever done flowers or chocolates, Gemme?" I ask, walking away to the end of the bus to the L shaped sofa. I clench my fist around the bag and try to convince myself I don't want it. But I can't fool even myself.
"I don't hear you objecting to a new guitar however."
"No but I don't need a new guitar, do I?" I mutter, closing my eyes. Rayn wanders over and takes the bag from me. I watch as he sits on the floor with his water bottle, lighter and a spoon. I can feel a muscle in my jaw as I do my best not to snatch it back from him and take it all myself.
"No, you're right. Nor do you need a high, yet still you crave it." she points out and I wish she would shut up and leave me to it.
"A high is different to getting a guitar."
"yeah, a high can kill you." I laugh.
"No it can't," I retort. Okay, well it can kill the other guys. It can kill me mentally, I s'pose - I guess that's why I'm in such a state right now. But I'm not about to admit that. I just want it so bad.
"You shouldn't push your luck. So you'll come back, I still don't want to see you die, even if it's only for a moment," she says as Rayn fills up his needle and pokes it into his arm. I stare as he pushes the heroin mix into his body, a grin lighting up his face. His grip on the needle slackens and I pull it out before a bubble of air can get in and kill him.
But now it's in my hand and I look back up at Gemme, swallowing hard.
"I'm not gonna die," I mutter quietly. My hands are working on their own, now, tipping the heroin onto the spoon, mixing it into water, the lighter floating beneath the spoon, heating it all up. I'm hardly even aware of it, until I see the look on Gemme's face.
"I should never have left you. I shouldn't have let it get this bad. You nearly gave them up and I just pushed you back." She pauses, looking away from me. "I'm sorry." I dunno why you're sorry; I'm the one that let it get like this. If anything, I should be the one who's sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with this. But I can't really make the words come out of my mouth. I manage to whisper a "sorry," but I don't know if she hears it.
"You have nothing to be sorry for." She whispers back as I fill up the needle.
"Sure I do," I mumble, pushing the needle into my vein. If she replies, I don't hear it as I slump back on the sofa, smiling stupidly. Everything goes muffled and I'm in a happy place where I feel like I'm on top of the world. Half an hour later, it goes dark and I fall asleep, drifting in the happy place.