Rachel

A Story by ladykillerlove

Drugs are a terrible thing and Rachels husband can't take her drug abuse anymore. Short story.

I drew the needle back, no blood. I tried again close to the same mark, no blood. I bit my teeth down more aggressively on the worn down shoelace and pulled tighter. I was irritated now. As I pulled the plunger of my rig back, there was blood. Anxiously, I shot the liquid into the vein of my left arm, pulled the rig out, loosened the shoelace and felt my head slowly drift back. The next action I remember was putting my needle in the tampon box under the sink. Its cap was on, so I was in the bathroom for longer than I thought I had been. My water bottle was put away, and my stash already under the counter. I had hoped my husband didn’t come home while I was ‘doing my thing’.

I lay on the couch, eyes half closed, humming an unfamiliar tune, still high. The television was switched on to the news or some sort of informational channel. I didn’t care; I didn’t care about anything at this point. My dope had taken me over since I started it six years ago. A noise alarmed me from the door. A key beginning to turn, and again, I didn’t care. I knew it was my husband, I knew he would yell, but I didn’t care. He locked the door behind him and I sat up on the couch with my head tilted back, eyes still half closed.

“You’re high.” He stated sharply as he dropped the keys on the chair next to me and walked into the bathroom.

“Don’t get rid of it, I have no more money.” I whined in a breathy voice because of my lack of energy. He walked into the kitchen with my needle he had found, I saw no dope so I felt better. I suddenly got a burst of energy and lunged at my husband. I grabbed him by the elbow to try to get my rig. He was stronger. He snapped it in two and I started to yell and scream and hit him with all of my force. He threw me down onto the couch and held me there. He spoke to me in a soft voice, tried to calm me down. It helped a little, although I was still thrashing a bit. I saw his eyes begin to water, and I went limp.

“I’m done with this Rachel. I’m done. I can’t deal with your heroin anymore. It has to stop. Please baby. Please do this for me.” His engaging, hushed tone of voice made me want to say yes. But I couldn’t stop, I didn’t want to. I’m in love with it. I’m in love with him too, but he couldn’t make me choose. I looked him in the eyes, slightly shook my head ‘no’.

He dropped to his knees, his arms went supple, and he rested his head on my chest. With one hand, I linked his, and with the other I stroked the back of his head. His face was turned towards mine with his left ear on my chest, his eyes closed.

I whispered to him, “I love you.” I got no response, just a look. He looked depressed, confused, lost, done. He stood up to his feet, and pressed his lips against my forehead once and my lips twice.

His head nodded the ‘yes’ motion, then he calmly said as he looked into my eyes, “I love you.” At that point, his head dropped, his eyes closed, and he shook his head as if saying ‘no’. The next thing I saw was his back; he had turned around, and casually walked into the bedroom leaving the door cracked behind him.

I still lay there, not caring about anything. Probably twenty minutes later, I had no recognition of time because of the dope, I heard sobbing from the room. I was shocked at the next sound, how could I not know what was going on? How could I have not checked on him? A shot, a gunshot went off in the bedroom. I abruptly sat up now on the couch. My eyes widened and even though I was worried, I was still high. The deep breaths I had been taking made me feel light-headed. I stood to my feet, slowly walked in the hallway toward the bedroom, and pushed the door open with the tips of my fingers. The sight was horrible. My husband was there, on our queen-sized bed, gun in hand, pieces of his head and brains scattered behind him on the wall. More blood than I had seen in my life. It was a horror movie.

My hand reached for the door handle to pull it shut. As I closed it, I backed into the hallway. I froze. My knees went unable and I dropped down to a sitting position with my legs bent in front of me. Slow motion. I declined my back to lie down and let my head drop to the floor. My arms were crossed over my head and, still high, I closed my eyes and thought about how I was going to get a new needle for my heroin.