Until I Met Her

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I come out of the bathroom fully clothed, my phone's still ringing. This time, though, it's a different ring tone and I hurry to answer it.

"Connor?" I breathe out. I can hear voices and music in the background.

"Why aren't you here, where are you?" Connor's voice is harsh and yet, somehow soft. Like a caress on a bruise. "You should've told me if you wanted me to pick you up. Everybody's already here and some girls asked for you."

"No, no," I shake my head and sit on my bed. I look at the full-length mirror, would he like it if I wear this? It's nothing fancy, just ripped jeans and a t-shirt. My hair's still wet and I have no intention of doing anything to it. I'm sure he'll be disappointed, he likes it straightened. "I just— I took a nap after I got home. I'll be there in a bit, though."

"Sleepyhead." His laugh comes out natural and carefree as if there's nothing in the world that bothers or affects him. "Don't be lazy, and hurry. Give me a call when you're ready so I can get you an Uber."

I hum in response. After telling me that he loves me, he hangs up. I'm instantly hit with waves of overwhelming feelings that I can't begin to describe. All I know is that everything in me feels heavy, my body, my chest, my hair, my eyelids, everything feels heavy.

It's sadness.

I think.

But then again, I could just be bored.

It's a weird feeling. It weighs you down and makes your chest heavy with... something... something ugly and it makes me want to be sick.

I hate feeling like this. I hate it so much that I do what I can to avoid it.

I close the door, even though I know nobody's home. Mami's at work until at least 2 am. I reach under the desk and I can feel it, the little plastic bag I keep hidden.

There're only two pills left and for a moment I'm so anxious I feel like crying. Certain opioids aren't easily found and they aren't cheap either. It's not like I'm a drug addict or anything but co-codeine does nothing for me and from time to time, I need something to make everything hurt less.

I take one pill out the bag and reach for a trophy I got when I was 13 during sports day. It's heavy so it'll do the job. It has my name on it, written in big letters, Mia Saint-Cruz. They misspelt my last name and when I complained about it they said they couldn't rewrite the plaque. Santacruz, how difficult could that be?

I lay the pill on my English book and crush it with the trophy until it's nothing but powder. I grab my student ID from the mess in my desk and I draw my first line. Not too much, just enough.

The first time I put shit up my nose, it was unpleasant at first. The burning sensation lingered even after hours of having done it. I kept feeling like there was something up my nose. I don't like it but it hits quicker if you snort it. And once it hits? Nothing, absolutely nothing matters.

I draw another line with what's left of the powder and I snort it quickly, afraid someone might knock down my door and catch me.

I take my phone out and send a message to Connor. He reads it but doesn't reply so I guess I'll just wait for the Uber. Connor doesn't like my neighbourhood, nor does he like it when I take buses if it's dark out. He says there are lots of creepers out there. I wait for the Uber inside my building, covered by my jacket and with enough makeup on that no one can see my eye bags or the bruises on my neck. I wait and I wait until seven minutes later, a car pulls up and I get in.

The ride takes about forty minutes and as we go, I can see the change in the scenery. I've always liked coming down these ends. Kingston has the nicest houses in South London; they're huge and so beautiful.