May 2007
Bayhollow, Ontario
I was waiting for Patrick to get back from a job. The place I was waiting was the home of a drug dealer, he was well known in our city. His wife hated him. He was a kleptomaniac-druggy, constantly bringing things home to her, hocking everything to afford his supply and starting over again.
She stayed for the drugs, which she shot up daily.
"I used to babysit you." She said to me as we proceed to her kitchen to drink coffee. We waited together for our significant others to return.
Unfortunately for me I was there just in time for her daily dose.
She set up, tied her arm and got the needle ready. She shoved the needle in her arm in the living room, where I couldn't see her. I heard her groan and curse.
"I can never do this part. Can you just push the syringe down for me." She ran down the hall at me. The needle was still full and hanging out of her skin. Blood streamed from the original puncture mark.
"I— uhh— no." I stuttered a reply while backing away. "I don't like needles."
My eyes never left her as she turned and headed back to the living room to finish.
YOU ARE READING
You Can't Break Her
Ikke-fiksjonThey say it's hard to find yourself after a traumatic experience. What if for the first six years of your life all you knew was traumatic experiences? How do you find yourself then? Amaris is a friendly child born to a mother with no patience for ch...
