Occiditur

Hurt

"Are you sure about this?" Peter asked.

"Just do it!" I snapped at him.

"Micky, Heroin is not a once and done thing! You'll crave it day and night until your next temporary fix. And in that craving you can easily overdose." Peter warned me. 

"That's why you're my dealer." I said to him.

"Yeah, tonight, tomorrow, next week; but what about a month from now, and maybe im not here and you crave it. How can I trust you or anyone else to give you a non lethal dosage?" Peter stalled.

"Dang it Peter! Just do it!" I yelled. You've fixed the needle and everything! Stop prolonging my agony! I need to forget everything that's happened to me, now!" 

Peter stared at me in shock. He shook his head slowly. "Micky I can't do this." 

"Why not?!" 

"Heroin destroys people, and you aren't right without it. I can't be responsible for this." Tears began to fill his eyes. 

"Marijuana does the same thing to you." I jabbed. Peter hung his head in shame. 

"I know it does! And I have been trying to get off it. It's a terrible thing, Micky."

I waited and watched my now crying friend. 

"Micky, you're not right. Something is different about you. I don't know what, but you're no-longer the Micky I once knew. That Micky didn't do drugs. I haven't seen that Micky in a long time. I wish I could see him right now. 

I'm in here! Save me!  The old Micky called out from the pit it was in, but it was too weak and oppressed to be heard. I wasn't even sure it was his voice I'd heard. 

I didn't answer Peter. I had nothing to say. And I knew he wasn't going to give me the heroin. Why couldn't he just do what he was told?

Pete hung his head and stood up from my kitchen floor.

"If you're going to destroy yourself, DO IT yourself." He handed me the needle and walked away and out of my house. 

Old Micky fought to break his chains and emerge from within me. He fought to run to Peter and embrace him. But he was too late, Peter was already gone. 

I couldn't bare old cries for help as they ran down my cheeks from my eyes. I silenced them by injecting a needle into my arm. It hurt like Hell, but as I pushed the drug into my system I focused on that pain. It helped me to forget alright! I couldn't think of anything other than the agony. 

You may say that this was a bad thing, but for me it was heaven. I couldn't remember a thing and for a moment I was almost happy. 

When the syringe was empty I pulled it slowly from my skin and threw it to the side. The heroin still burned in my veins. My breath quickened with my heart rate. I squirmed and sweated, uncontrollably, but I smiled through it all. Thou that too was involuntary. The drug was seeping into my brain. Soon I was not sure what was real and what was the effect of the drug. Everything took on very psychedelic colors and strange things danced across my vision. I watched it all willingly. 

I stared at my needle as an angelic creature pulled itself from the head. 

When it was free it flapped its tiny wings and fluttered about. It was looking out the window when it spoke to me. 

"I bet it felt great, huh?" It said with the voice of a child. 

"Marvelous." I sighed.

"Pain does have a way of making people feel better, whether they recognize it or not." The angel floated around the room while I sat and watched.

"You're right."

"Especially when that person has hurt everyone he loves." The angel became angry with me. 

"What?! No! I haven't hurt anyone!" I protested. 

The angel laughed "Have not hurt anyone?! That's a laugh!!! Of course you've hurt others. You're hurting aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Then you've most definitely hurt someone. Hurting people hurt other people." The angel informed me. 

"Who?" I asked.

"Oh, there are too many to say right now." The angel floated down and nestled in my cradling arms. "Why don't you come back tomorrow and we'll discuss it from the beginning." The angel snuggled up to me and closed its eyes.

Its face morphed and changed. From male to female, its face molded to be like my daughter's. I smiled down at it. 

"Ami." I whispered. 

But as soon as the word escaped my mouth the angel hissed and attacked me. It had changed from its innocent looking features. It was now a demon. Skinny with green decaying skin. Sharp, shinny rows of teeth, with a razor sharp tongue. Its eyes were like cats, full of hate! On each hand and foot were three eagle-like talons. 

I thrashed around the room with this hideous creature on my head. It had dug its claws deep into my head. I tried to beat it off but it wouldn't budge. I screamed and screamed. The pain was so real! I couldn't believe how much it hurt. 

I soon ran out of energy. I couldn't fight it much longer. I collapsed on the floor and let the demon have its way with me. I drifted to sleep somehow and woke up where I'd collapsed in the kitchen. The table and chairs where strewn across the floor and the syringe was smashed to pieces. 

My head throbbed so I took three or four Acetaminophen and downed it with a beer. I downed that beer with two more. 

I'd woken up with the feeling of being alone. My instinct was correct. Sam had left a note on the fridge. It said that I woke her up with my screaming last night and it scared her. She left to spend the night with Davy and his wife. She didn't know when she'd be back. 

I was numb to her leaving after the alcohol. It wasn't enough though. So before going to sleep on the living room couch I drank another half beer. 

Peter had said that Heroin would destroy me. I hoped it would, because the demon was right. I was hurting. And by hurting I hurt other people. I deserved the pain heroin caused me. I deserved it because I was a terrible person! How could I hurt my loved ones if the demon was wrong? No, he had to be right. 

He had to be right...

He had to be...