The putrid taste of liquor was hot on my tongue, burning my throat. I kept drinking the vile liquid, though. Letting it scorch my stomach, letting it take its effect. There is always a small price to pay for the epic high. You can't have you cake and eat it, someone said. Probably someone with a degree- maybe even a good life. Who knows, maybe they were sitting in my position (I doubt it), having a bunch of drugs shoved under your nose, in your mouth, begging you to take them.
I didn't object- not that I would have even if I had the capacity to say no. I couldn't remember who gave me the alcohol (a cheap bottle, too, but who was I to complain?) and the line of cocaine. I didn't like snorting it, the powder made my nose itch and bleed. A high was still a high, a drug still a drug no matter how you took it.
I couldn't remember who brought me here or whose house this was. I didn't even remember where I was. Oh, well. I'll hitch a ride with some pretty blond later on tonight. Or maybe just crash here. The sofa wasn't comfortable. It had burn holes and stains- wet and dry. I'll take my chances with the brunette- or was it the blond?
My friend (what's his face?) came up to me, a bag of week in his hand. He sat down next to me, shaking his black hair away from his face. He grinned at me, the stud in his lip moving around. I couldn't stop staring at it. The shiny metal, the little hole behind it. Maybe I should get my lip pierced. Maybe not.
“Alex, my man! Look what I fucking' nicked from some chick over there!” He exclaimed, pushing his hair back from his face.
I grinned back, “fuck yeah, dude!”
He shakily pulled out a zig-zag from the pocket of his tight jeans. My eyes trailed over the numerous track-lines on his arms where his black shirt didn't hide. Who did I know that did heroine? Jason, James, Jacob? No, Jason was in jail, James has been missing since last Tuesday (or maybe Monday) and Jacob quit. Who was it? I knew this. I knew him. Kyle. Yeah, Kyle. I remembered now; Kyle was the one who got me on heroin.
Best friends for life, huh? I couldn't even remember him until I saw his tracks. I rolled my head down toward my lap -I was wearing jeans today? Thought I was wearing shorts-, running my hand through my messy brown mop of curls.
“Man, you look like shit!” Kyle laughed, passing me a joint.
I took it, musing over his words. I probably did. I can't remember the last time I showered or brushed my hair. I had bags under my eyes, and my brown shirt was full of holes. My eyes were blood shot, and I kept twitching. Damn, Alex, try finding a chick that would take you home tonight.
The sent of week filled the room we were in- there goes more brain cells. I brought the smoking, poorly made joint to my lips, inhaling deeply. The key was to inhale quick, and exhale slowly. God, I was such a junkie.
"That chicks checking you out, man," Kyle laughed, his eyes were completely red.
I looked over to where he was looking. A cute little blond was grinning at me in a drunken spur. She wasn't’t that good-looking. She looked like she just got some (I usually hated someones leftovers, but right now, I didn't’t give a fuck). I smirked back at her, offering her what was left of my joint.
She seemed to find this hysterical, and wobbled her way over. She stumbled in front of me, giving a sultry grin with her smeared red lipstick. I resisted the urge to snort, opening my legs to let her sit. She giggled and dropped onto my lap, taking my joint from me.
“So, cutie, what’s your name?” She slurred, swaying on my lap.
I rolled my eyes over to Kyle ('alright, Alex!' He gave me a thumbs up) then toward the petite blond in my lap. “Alex.”
She giggled, playing with a piece of my messy brown hair, “I like the name Alex. My name is Patricia.”
Patricia? That name always reminded me of a raven haired cheerleader for some reason. Oh, well. Blond was good. I gave her a little grin, nodding my head toward the front door. Hopefully she was really as drunk as she was acting. Maybe I could score, get a shower, and a nice meal. Whoa, slow down Alex; we didn't even get her out the door.
The blonde... torpedo we'll call her, nodded eagerly as she sluggishly tried to get off my lap.
I glanced at Kyle for a second as he tried to make his “highlighter pipe” work. He shot me a suggestive grin when he saw me looking, gyrating his hips mockingly. I couldn't help the laugh the broke from my lips; Patricia on the other hand...
“Come on, cutie,” she all-but purred at me, her finger trailing down my chest.
She turned drunkenly and sashayed her hips at me as she walked toward the door. I'm a man. A man can't control some aspects of his mind or his body. One of those things was his blood. Normally, the blood flows to different parts of the body after being pumped from the heart (if I wasn't so messed up right now, I'd name a few). My blood was skipping all those essential parts and continuing straight down south.
Needless to say, Kyle didn't even get a word in when I jumped off the couch and ran (stumbled really) toward the blond torpedo that was walking away.