Obsession (ix)

Part IX
Beasts of Bourbon: Chase the Dragon (link retired)

"What the fuck do you mean you lost your job. People like you don’t get sacked!" Sam’s agitation only grew as I explained to him that, indeed, people like me did get sacked. It struck me as ironic that someone who could walk away from jobs without a word, who was frequently the source of frustration to his mate, who gave him work, due to his unreliability, would get so upset about this.

I explained to him that I was okay, that I had enough money to tide me over, plus I was able to pick up extra shifts at my second job, so in fact my income wasn’t dropping at all. I actually saw it as an opportunity to spend a lot more time with my best friend, Tony, who was due to fly to America in a month’s time. Tony was going to study, and I didn’t know when I’d get to see him again once he moved there, so I wanted to see him as much as I could.

Once I’d gotten over the initial shock, I wasn’t at all sorry that they’d given me the boot.

Sam couldn’t see it from my perspective though.

"I can’t handle it" he shouted. "It’s too much. I can’t be responsible for you too. I have to look after Simone. And fucking Joanne keeps asking for more and more. I just can’t fucking do it."
I sat next to him and took his hand. "You don’t have to look after me. I’m fine. Really. This is good news. I don’t want looking after. I just want to spend time with you." He snatched his hand away irritably. "You just don’t fucking get it."

He was right. I didn’t get it. He was ricocheting around his life, from Simone, who he still adored, to Joanne, who he seemed to have resigned himself to, but still resented, to his mates. His behaviour was becoming more erratic. He’d become moody, He lashing out at me, and his mates. Just verbally, he’d never be violent, but still, it was so unlike him.
His already rather enthusiastic drug taking and partying seemed to be moving beyond recreational. He was wound tighter and tighter.

From the beginning, we’d come to an unspoken agreement. I accepted that he liked to get high, often. And he accepted alcohol was my preferred intoxicant. Acid, speed, dope, I figured he knew what he could handle. And he had always said how much he hated heroin, that he wouldn’t touch it. Regardless, I made sure we were ‘safe’. I might have been awestruck by him, but I wasn’t completely stupid.

One morning, as I came back into his room from the shower, I called back to Sam, who was still in the bathroom. "I’m going to melt in what I wore last night. Can I borrow a t-shirt?" "No worries. Grab one from the wardrobe", he called back.

I reached in to the back of the wardrobe shelf to get one that wasn’t a shredded work shirt. As I pulled it toward me, a couple of bundles fell to the floor. Clear plastic with an orange strip seal. And inside were syringes. I bent to pick them up just as Sam came into the room.

"What are these?" I asked him, showing him what I was holding. "Where the fuck’d you find them?" he hissed, snatching the packages from my hand.

"I wasn’t snooping, for God’s sake. I was getting a shirt. So…"

"They’re Herb’s", he said. I knew Herb was a diabetic, so it wasn’t a surprise.

"What are you doing with them?" I asked.

Sam gave me an evil grin. "Herb gives them to us so we have clean needles. Speedballs. Man, what a fucking rush!"

It was like a punch in the guts. Shit, Sam. What are you doing to yourself? Where are you heading? One part of me wanted to hold him, like a little boy, and part of me wanted to shake sense into him. And another part wanted to run away as fast as I could. But I knew, no matter how far I’d run, I’d still be looking over my shoulder, hoping I could still get a glimpse of him.

He was too far under my skin.