"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia, American motivational speaker and author.
Unsurprisingly Harper broke his promise again.
The second we got back to my house he had ripped open a bottle of pills, downed three, and put three in my mouth. They were small, circular, and white. The taste made me want to throw up but soon I could feel whatever it was taking effect, I felt as if the ground beneath my feet had vanished and I was flying. I'm invincible.
I like whatever it was I took. It's strong.
Opioids are substances that frequently produce a euphoric effect. When Harper gave me opioids, I almost immediately felt the intense pleasure and excitement that came with it. I like the substance and I should take it more often.
I danced on the table as Harper held my hand to keep me from falling. We kissed for what felt like hours and I drank until I blacked out. The next day I wake up to Harper with a needle in his arm.
"I've never seen you with needles," I comment, suddenly craving whatever is being injected into him. An unexplainable need to take something, anything, it doesn't need to be what's in the needle, takes over and I reach for him.
"I went out this morning," he groans as he removes the needle. "Got 'em for free."
"Why?" I wonder what drug dealer in their right mind would give away anything for free.
"Candy has me test his shit before he sells it," he explains, a smile on his face as he walks towards the bed. "If I die he doesn't sell it."
"Is that... normal?" I wonder. I'm not very educated in the world of drug dealing.
"Only for Candy," he says, "And it only happens with people who used to work for him. If we want out we have to take whatever he wants so he doesn't accidentally kill any of his clients. He's respected and he wants to keep it that way."
"I don't want you to risk your life," I tell him. If I lost him, too, I might actually lose my mind. I'm not sure what would happen but he's currently the only thing keeping me sane... well, sane enough.
"I trust Candy," he kisses my cheek and moves to that his stomach is pressed against my back. "Would you rather me go back to dealing."
"It might be less of a risk," I tell him. My urge to take something from his box grows stronger by the minute and I'm starting to feel anxious that I might not get to it.
"I'll ask if he'll let me," his lips move against my throat as he brings his head up, taking my earlobe in his mouth and tugging. He's trying to make a move but all I want is what's in the box.
"Please," I whimper and he takes that as a sign to unbutton my shorts. "No, Harper, please get me something. Anything from the box."
"Shit," he scurries away from me as quick as he can and stumbles over nothing. "Yeah, of course, I can, I'm sorry."
He takes out a needle and brings it to me. Usually, needles scare me but something about this one excites me.
"Do you want to try it?" He asks. "It's heroin."
I nod my head quickly and hold out my arm. I feel like I'm sweating all over and all I need is some kind of release or else something bad will happen like the world will end.
I feel the tip of the needle sink into my skin. I heard once that taking heroin just one time can create an addiction. I don't think that matters at this point - the box has already ruined me completely and a needle full of heroin probably won't make a difference. I sigh as Harper injects the drug in my body and I grin when he takes it out. I feel calmer now.
Calm is better than anything else I could be feeling.
***
Fire. The rapid oxidation of a material in the chemical process of combustion, releasing light, heat, and smoke. When Harper lifted the cigarette to his mouth, fire emerged from his lighter and brightened the dark room for a second.
That split second seemed like forever. The light illuminating from the small, plastic cylinder lit up the middle of his face, showing his slight smile holding the cigarette, and vanished.
It's almost sad how something that I used to think was so horrible is beautiful. Cigarettes can destroy your lungs and kill you early but lighters will light up your whole world if you need it to.
I need it to.
I feel nothing and I want that light back but I can't do anything about it. I can't just distract myself with fire to make myself feel better.
I can't just take his lighter.
I refuse to put any cigarette to my lips when it does nothing for me. It doesn't get me high, it just kills me for fun.
On second thought, maybe I should try it.
I pluck the cigarette out of his mouth and take a puff. He doesn't seem to mind. I cough and decide that I hate the thing, vowing never to try it again. Harper finishes his cigarette and laughs.
I haven't been to school in I don't know how long. I don't want to go back - the only reason I would do so would be for Stella, but I doubt she cares if she sees me again. I'm probably just some girl that she made nice with because her boyfriend hung out with her. Nobody in secondary school seems to give a shit about anybody else, anyway.
This morning I took a shower after eating some kind of gummy in Harper's box and the water felt like droplets of fire burning into me. I cried from the pain for hours until Harper came in to check on me, only to find me screaming in a fetal position in the tub. I told him to check me for burn marks but he didn't find anything. He threw away the remaining gummies from his box and I wept over the loss of the mystery substance that helped to keep the voices at bay.
He went out at noon with the box and said he would be back around two. I didn't like being separated from the box, it gives me anxiety. My body shook and I smacked the walls, hoping the bugs crawling inside of them would shut up. They wouldn't stop talking about plants - orchids, lilies, tomatoes, you name it - and all I wanted was for them to die. Die so I know that they'll never be a problem again. Never again whisper in my ears.
Harper came back happy. He was grinning from ear to ear, a box in one hand and a stack of cash in the other.
"I've got four hundred dollars just in my hands!" He boasts excitedly. I smile at him and mentally wish that he'd hand over the box before he continues. He didn't. "You know what this means, right? I can buy you anything you want, anything you need, I've got you. Do you want a bracelet? Done. Some kind of fancy lobster from Maine? Done. A mother fucking mansion? Done!"
I want food so that I don't have to listen to my stomach constantly screaming at me. I swear I haven't been hungry for days, it just grumbles for no reason.
I want whatever is in the box more than food, anyway.
"What did you sell?" I ask. I have to know so that I can bawl over the loss of that drug, all I do is cry so at least the next it happens it will be for a reason.
"Ecstasy," he climbs on top of me to straddle me and sets the box near my head. "A crap load of ecstasy."
***
Harper will leave at odd times of the night and come back with hundreds of dollars. It will be two in the morning and he'll be prancing around the house, a blunt in his mouth and a load cash flying from his hand while he sings some kind of song about how he's the 'money man.' Sometimes he'll wake me up, hand me a hash brownie or an opioid pill just to get me awake enough to celebrate with him. We'll sway around the room, kiss on the bed, and talk about the things we want to do with our lives. It's a wonderful world we live in, void of the problems I would be thinking about if he weren't with me.
He's not always happy, though. Sometimes he will come home and he will want nothing to do with me. He'll shut me out and lock himself in the bathroom only to come out more than an hour later with an article of clothing missing or a mysterious injury. He'll yell at me and tell me that I ruined his life by getting him back into the dealing business. He'll tell me that the voices he hears when he's on drugs are back and that they tell him to leave me and then he breaks down. Sometimes he will think that people are after him, that whoever Candy is will kill him if he finds out he uses some of the things he's supposed to sell.
Tonight he came home a mess. He's crying, his clothes are ripped, and there's blood all over him. I can only assume he's been attacked.
"Are you okay?" I try to rush to him but my lack of energy makes me stumble and fall. He catches me. I open my mouth to ask him what happened but the second I do he places something on my tongue. It feels like a sheet of paper and it instantly dissolves.
Did he drug me?
"Candy died tonight," he cries into my shoulder. I don't know what to say. Whatever he put in my mouth seems to be taking effect and I feel like I'm flying, flying in a peaceful, empty sky with nothing to prevent me from doing anything or going anywhere.
"How?" I ask, trying to focus on the exquisite feeling of ecstasy I feel shooting from the tip of my toes to the top of my head.
"They had a gun," Harper mutters, "They said Candy owed them something and they shot him. I didn't know what to do, Rose, I didn't. I just wanted to come back to you where we would both be safe and away from all of that. They didn't see me. They left and they didn't see me and I ran straight home to you."
"Are you sure he's dead?" I wonder. I try to push all thoughts of death and Maggie out of my mind when I ask.
"I don't know," he admits. "I didn't check, I just fled. I didn't want to get caught up with that. I didn't want the cops to come and find me with him. I just wanted to get back to you."
He wets my shirt with his tears and doesn't stop. He places the box down and continues to weep as I think of any way I could make him feel better. I need him to feel better, so feel as good as I feel after that thing dissolved on my tongue.
I gently initiate a kiss to his mouth and he immediately responds, roughly biting on my lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.
It didn't take long for us to migrate to the bedroom. He's on top of me, his thus far unsuccessful hands trying to unclasp my bra, and his mouth sucking and biting at mine. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him sober? Would he even want to kiss me sober?
I push those thoughts to the back of my head. I can't start thinking that Harper wouldn't like me without being impaired, that would just add to my list of many problems.
Problems that shouldn't even be on my mind right now. I have to focus on something else. Something like Harper with me in this moment.
I push my hips into his and feel his excitement. Maybe this time we can go all the way. Maybe that will be enough of a distraction from my shit life. I'm sure he'll want to, too, why wouldn't he want to?
I reach down and grab him through his loose jeans. He moans when my hand starts to move but puts his hand over mine to stop me. He pulls back and opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. We stare at each other.
"What's wrong?" I ask. All of a sudden it doesn't feel like I'm flying anymore.
"Nothing," he blinks. Once twice. Three times he blinks as if his vision is blurred and he's trying to see what's in front of him. "I just... respect you too much to have you do that."
"I can't touch you?" I've fallen out of the sky and am heading towards the ground, getting ready to crash and die if my surroundings don't kill me first.
"We aren't in our right minds right now," he tells me. "It feels wrong and my- my boss just died and-."
"I would want to if I were sober," at this point I've hit the ground but I'm not dead. I'm hurt, immobile, and squished to the pavement but I'm not gone yet.
"I would, too, but I can't," his words come out slowly. Too slowly. It's almost painful.
"What's the problem, then?"
"Dallas loves you and I can't do that to him," his words appear to be the trigger that lets a building collapse and kill me on the pavement.
I'm dead. It can't possibly get worse than this.
"He doesn't," I shove him off of me with as much strength as I can muster up. He stumbles backwards and continues.
"He does. He told me he's loved you forever. I know he stopped talking to you, that was a dick move and he shouldn't have done that, but he did it because he wanted to get over you for Stella-"
"He's a jerk, he doesn't love me."
"He is a jerk, he does love you, and I can't have sex with you."
I don't think about what he says. I don't know what to think even if I wanted to. I get up from the bed and crack open Harper's box.
"I'm sorry," he tries reaching for me but I flinch away. I find the bag I'm looking for and spill some white powder onto my nightstand, next to my jars. I've never done this myself but it can't be that hard to cut it with a card. I try searching my room for some kind of gift card but come up with nothing. I head to the bathroom for a razor blade.
When I come back I see Harper leaned by my nightstand, his hands white and sweeping the substance back into the bag. I drop my razor.
"I was going to use that," I tell him.
"You shouldn't," he sighs. "I shouldn't either. This shit kills people. It killed Candy and it killed my mom."
This isn't time for him to bring his dead mother into this. I want the cocaine and he's preventing me from having it.
"Put it back," I demand.
"No."
"I need it, Harper, put it back."
"You don't need it."
"Yes I do," I try to convince him. Convince myself.
"You're better off without it," he insists.
"I have to have it," I plead. I consider grovelling but something tells me that would make matters worse. "Please put it back."
"You shouldn't have access to this, anyway," he's one to talk - he gave it to me. "I'm doing you a favour."
"You aren't doing me any favours," I begin to cry. I'm standing in front of him crying and he won't give me what I want. He won't give me sex. He won't give me cocaine. He's taking away my happiness and breaking it in front of me.
"I haven't been good to you, but I will be. I'll get you food and take care of you. I'll make sure you get help. You won't be dying, not like my mom or Candy, you can't. I'll take the box out of your reach."
"Don't take that away from me!" I screech. He can't take that away from me, not the box. I need the box. The box makes me feel better.
"I'll be good for you, Rose, just wait," he zips up the bag and throws it into the box. His box. Our box. My box. He can't take my box away.
He takes the box on his arms and starts to walk out of the room. He can't do this. I need the stuff he's holding. I need it.
"Harper, wait!" I call out but he's already out the front door. I try to run after him, to stop him from taking the box away, but I step on the razor and am momentarily distracted from the pain.
He left.