“He was depressed. He was addicted to heroin. And I think there comes a time when all the beauty in the world just isn’t enough.” ― Antony John, Five Flavors of Dumb
Ian makes his connection and gets his fix. He hates this. This addiction. What it makes him do. He hates leaving Maggie. Hiding from her. He thinks he loves her. Hasn’t loved anything or anyone in so long. Not since he lost her. The love of his life. Maggie deserves a better man than he will ever be. He’s never been good at anything. Except writing.
These secrets that he keeps. What he does to get the drugs. Where he goes when he does them. She’d be appalled. She’d hate him. That’s his worst fear. That she’d hate him.
As the connection drops the envelope of H into his palm, his senses are set on edge. He knows he’ll drop soon. Ian almost becomes aroused by the thought of the drug coursing through his veins. His hunger will be sated soon. The shakes and headache will subside and he will be swimming in a drug induced ecstasy. It will feel as if a thousand tongues are caressing his body. Sex can’t even come close to the effect it has on him. Not even Maggie’s love for him can make him stop.
He rushes back to his flat. Maggie won’t be back for a few days. She’s visiting her friend Jane. Ian finds his kit and lights a single taper candle. He likes it to be dark and quiet when he injects. No music. No lights. Nothing. Just the bliss that comes with the let down. This is the only thing that’s better than fucking Maggie. Damn is she beautiful. Red hair. Green eyes that pierce his soul. Freckles across her pert nose.
“Dammit Maggie! I want to stop this. For you. For me. For us.” , he yelled to the empty room. Ian knows he’ll never stop though. He’s in too deep. Just like the needle he craves.
The steps are simple. Add water, mix, filter, and draw up. Then BANG!
Ian grabs his belt and straps it to his arm. He pulls it taut with his teeth. Grabs the clean hypo. He’s done this enough to know that you have to use a clean needle. He places it in the glass containing the filtered H and sucks up his bliss. Turning the hypo upside down, he checks for air bubbles and finds none.
Looking at his arm, he locates a good vein. It pulses with his hastening heartbeat. He pops the needle expertly in. His body quakes in anticipation as he sees his blood pollute the plastic well. Ian pushes down the plunger with his thumb and blasts the drug into him. His respiration slows and he feels the euphoria coming on. Just before the nod takes him under, he thinks of Maggie.
“I love you Maggie Cochran, but I will never be good for you.” he breathlessly says to the single candle that lights his eyes. The black pupils become the size of pin heads in his black eyes. And Ian is no more. He is in oblivion. He is in Heaven. He is flying.