July…Age 22

 

 

 

“Will Clint be in a good mood when he comes home tonight?” I whispered the words as I shook the black orb in my hand.

‘Don’t count on it’ appeared within the blue triangle and I let out a small sigh of disappointment.

So much for a peaceful evening.

Maybe relying on a Magic 8 ball to solve my problems wasn’t the best use of my time, but I had nowhere else to be. I’d become what my parents had feared most—an unemployed nobody, shacked up with her loser boyfriend.

I certainly never saw it working out like that.

“You either need to buy something or leave.” The store owner glared at me from the other side of the counter and I immediately felt guilty—as if I’d been doing something wrong.

“I was just browsing—” I said calmly before he interrupted.

“I know what you’re doing—you’re either casing the place or looking to shoplift. I don’t tolerate either; so get out.”

I opened my mouth to protest when he pointed to the sign hanging on the door.

‘We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.’

I tossed my purse over my shoulder and held my head high as I walked out. I guess novelty stores were cracking down on the types of customers they allowed.

The bell chimed over the door as it swung shut behind me and I turned around with a smirk, middle finger in the air. That smirk faded the minute I caught my reflection in the glass.

Is that what I looked like?

No wonder he threw me out.

My hair hung in unwashed clumps around my shoulders. My eyes were sunken in, cheeks concave. A fading yellow bruise was the only color on my ghost white skin.

I lowered my hand and turned away. I couldn’t bear to stare at myself any longer. It was like staring at a stranger. The shopping center was almost empty, save for a handful of cars. Everyone was off enjoying their fourth of July weekend. I bet the Res was packed.

The Boulder Reservoir was a popular hangout spot and this weekend would be no different. In another life, I would’ve been out there with friends.

A lone desk chair rolled aimlessly across the parking lot as the breeze caught it and I found myself mesmerized by the sight of it.

How had something like that ended up here?

It was a great metaphor for my life. That chair and I had a lot in common. I should’ve graduated a couple of months ago. Instead, I was here, watching my life roll past. Looking back on it, I should’ve never allowed Paul to drag me upstairs. I should’ve thrown my beer in his face and run as far away as possible.

I’d snorted another line before I left Clint that night, with promises to meet up the next day. As I’d taken the bus back to my dorm, I’d decided that I would continue seeing him, but only use if I had a lot of studying to get done.

Unfortunately, I found that after a couple of lines, I could stay up all night. I wasn’t hungry when I was using either, so my fears of gaining the ‘freshman fifteen’ were alleviated as well. My grades improved a lot—since I didn’t require sleep, nothing could stop me.

What goes up must come down though.

I’d convinced myself that because Clint had personal feelings for me, he’d never let me get addicted. I had this crazy idea that he somehow had my best interests at heart.

I was wrong.

The man who started out being perfect, slowly became something else. In the beginning, he took me to the nicest restaurants in Denver and bought me gifts just because. By the time I realized that things weren’t as they seemed, I was caught in a downward spiral. I began skipping classes in favor of getting high and having sex with him. I craved the pleasure I got from it—coke alone wasn’t enough. I needed Clint just as badly.

I was beyond addicted to cocaine and him, while he’d broken his own rule and gotten hooked on cocaine and H.

Clint was no longer Clint.

In his place was a temperamental monster. The insidiousness was subtle and his skill at hiding it was better than the mob. Once I’d sobered up enough to see how bad things had gotten, it was too late. The man I loved had been taken over by addiction.

I’d known that cocaine use was highest among college-aged young adults and had always made the conscious decision to stay away from it and weed, hadn’t I? I learned much later that marijuana might’ve been the best choice for me back then. At least it would’ve diminished the stress over my grades.

So, I made excuses for him—I said I’d never put up with abuse; then again, I also said I’d never do drugs. It was a bit like a lobster in a pot of water that was slowly getting hotter. By the time the lobster realized that something was wrong, it was too late—the damn thing had been boiled alive.

There weren’t any shades of gray when it came to my relationship with Clint either. I’d seen enough over the years to know that I was firmly ensconced in ‘accomplice territory.’

If the cops ever caught on to his illegal activities, I was going down as well.

I noticed the owner of the shop watching me suspiciously, so I moved over a few buildings before sinking down onto the sidewalk.

The breeze picked up again and the chair rolled a few feet to the left before coming to a stop. I’d never wanted to be an inanimate object more than I did in that exact moment.

A drop of crimson hit the sidewalk between my legs, quickly followed by another. I stared at it in confusion until I realized it was coming from my nose. Again. I wiped at it with the back of my hand. Instead of being concerned, it just made me crave another hit.

This had to be rock bottom. My life had become a vicious circle of white snow and blood red reminders that I needed a fix. I was headed nowhere—scratch that. I was headed toward my imminent death, yet I was too far gone to stop now.

My mind no longer raced with thoughts of ‘coulda, woulda, shoulda.’ It was wholly occupied only with thoughts of the next bump.

The most pathetic part was that I was friggin’ content to continue living like this. At some point over the last few weeks, I’d reached acceptance. I was just like that chair, letting outside circumstances move me any which way they pleased.

It’d been so long since I’d made up my own mind on anything—so long since I wasn’t under the influence of either cocaine or Clint.

I told myself I was smarter than the drug; convinced myself that I could handle it. Instead, I was completely powerless against it all.

I stood up and pinched my nostrils closed in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding. I inhaled through my mouth and immediately began coughing as the blood ran down the back of my throat.

The chair continued its path across the parking lot, not even stopping to say goodbye.

Lucky chair.

It probably didn’t have a significant other, prone to murderous rages, waiting on it at home.

The first thing I noticed when I turned the corner onto our street was that the house was dark. I took a hesitant step closer before I noticed the second thing—Clint’s truck wasn’t parked in the driveway.

It didn’t matter what time of day it was; the house was always lit up like a runway. A beacon on the hill in Boulder, shining its light to lost junkies in need of a fix. I looked up and down the street, waiting to hear the deep rumble of his truck, but it remained empty.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

I debated my options. I could either wait on the front porch for my boyfriend to show up, or I could put on my big girl panties and go inside to wait.

I swallowed hard, the copper taste still heavy on my tongue, and pulled the house key from my purse. The lock stuck as I turned it and I had to throw my shoulder into the door as I forced it open.

I almost fell headfirst into the living room floor, barely managing to catch myself at the last possible second. I shakily stood up and closed the door behind me; making sure it was locked in the process.

The house was silent and I laughed to myself. “Stupid, Neve. Getting scared over not—”

A hand clamped down over my mouth and spun me around, shoving my face up against the wall. A scream ripped from my throat as the hand tightened around my jaw, squeezing it until I felt like it would shatter.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. Where is it?”

The voice was deep, but muffled, and I wondered if the person was wearing a ski mask like they did in the movies.

He slammed my head roughly against the wall. “I’m giving you one more chance. Where is it?”

Cold metal pressed into my lower spine and I fought the urge to scream again, knowing it was the quickest way to end up dead. I didn’t have the slightest clue what ‘it’ was, but I wasn’t about to let the guy holding a weapon on me know that.

“I—I don’t know. Clint will be here any second and he can help you…” My voice was foreign to my ears. It spoke with a calmness I most certainly did not feel.

There’d been threats against Clint before, but no one had ever gone this far. No one was that stupid.

“Okay, bitch. You’re going to pass along a message—you think you can do that?”

I nodded quickly as the metal dug into my spine.

“Good girl. Clint has twenty-four hours to get me the money. If he doesn’t, what happened to you will be just the beginning. Got it?”

As my brain fought against the fear to determine what he meant, something sharp sank into my side. He quickly pulled the blade out and ran the edge of it down my throat, leaving a wet trail.

“Try to stay conscious long enough to deliver the message.” The man let go of me and my knees immediately buckled.

My side burned as if it was on fire and my vision blurred from the pain. I waited until I heard him leave before crawling toward the kitchen. My tank top grew wetter with each movement and I began to feel lightheaded.

Just a few more feet and I’d be close enough to grab the phone.

I came to right outside the kitchen. The only difference was that every light in the house was now blazing around me, but I had no idea how long I’d been lying like this.

“Clint?” I whispered.

I heard his footsteps draw closer and I instinctively wanted to curl myself into a ball.

“Neve?” He gave me a puzzled look. “What the fuck are you doing on the floor?”

I pointed to my side and the carpet drenched in my blood. “There was a m-m-man—said you had twenty-four hours—stabbed me.” My words were nothing more than jumbled nonsense, thanks to my tears.

He stared down at me, his eyes filled with concern and fear. “Jesus, Nevvie, you’re bleeding all over the fucking place. Hold onto me.”

I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Addict Clint hadn’t shown up tonight. He pulled me to my feet and I swayed unsteadily against him, my grip on his shirt loosening. “Clint…”

His grip tightened on my arms as he pulled me over toward the sofa. “Sit down, baby.”

I dropped back against the cushions with a loud groan of pain as Clint sat down beside me. His hands felt along my side before he gently lifted the material away from my skin. “Tell me what happened,” he commanded.

I closed my eyes as exhaustion clouded my thoughts, struggling to remember even the smallest of details. “I didn’t see his face. Is there—” I paused as a wave of pain washed over me. “Is there someone you owe money to?”

Clint stared through the front window, refusing to look at me. I thought that he’d check me over again; at the very least, tell me what the hell was going on. He did none of those things. He focused on the coffee table in front of him, straightening three lines of coke with a razor blade on a large mirror lying on the surface.

“You know what we’re gonna do, baby? We’re gonna ask the mirror to give us the answer. You get a little snow in you and the bleeding’ll stop. ‘Kay?”

I nodded. Maybe he was right. I just needed a little bump to take the edge off.

Clint took the shell of a broken pen and snorted a line. Then he stared expectantly at his reflection in the mirror. He was doing that a lot more lately; staring into the damn thing as if it held the secrets of the universe.

He passed the pen over to me and held my hair back as I forced my body to bend down and slowly inhale the middle line. I pushed off the coffee table and fell back against the cushions with my eyes closed. “The trunk is most frequently stabbed in cases of penetrating trauma. However, only subcutaneous tissue is affected eighty-five percent of the time. Did you know that?” I panted through each breath, fear wrapping its tendrils around my chest.

Clint patted my head before snorting the last line and continuing his staring contest with his reflection.

Within a few minutes, my heart rate increased and I knew that he was right. The coke was healing my body—it was probably coagulating all the blood at this very moment. I didn’t even hurt as badly. Maybe I wouldn’t need to go to the hospital after all.

“Let’s go!” Clint leapt up off the couch, startling me with the volume of his voice. He grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. “We’re going to pick up Trev. He’ll know what to do.”