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I can recall the way her pretty pink nipples hardened when I started kissing down her stomach. Or how hard she pulled my hair or how she fastened her legs around my neck like my tongue couldn’t get deep enough for her. She was so eager for more.
I remember how her hair smelled, how her skin tasted, and how her lips molded to mine. I didn’t lie about one thing. I was fucked up. But no amount of drugs or alcohol would make me forget being with her.
Was it dumb, pretending like I forgot? Probably.But being with her had been a mistake. Giving in to her had been wrong. Because even at my best, she’d still deserve more. So, I guess, in some fucked up way, it seemed like the only thing I could do was act like it never happened. I did it because I care about her.
It was for her own good, and one day, she’ll understand that. When she’s married with kids. A house with a front porch swing and a white picket fence.
All the things that I can’t be for her, she’ll have that down the road.
And where the fuck will that leave me?
I had no plans with Poppy after rehearsing tonight. But when the guys were poking and prodding, I got nervous and blurted the dinner thing out. I hadn’t thought of how it would make Haley feel. And that look on her face, the sheer pain I saw, it’ll haunt me forever. But I couldn’t stand the thought of eating dinner together tonight and not being able to reach across the table and touch her. I need to keep my distance, or I’ll do something stupid.Again.
Pulling in front of the old, run-down trailer, I throw my truck in park and climb out. I hate coming here. I have always hated coming here. But the thing about drugs? They don’t give you a choice. When it comes to getting your hands on them, hate it or not, you’ll do whatever you have to do.
There are a few other vehicles in the driveway, which always freaks me out. I’m on the local college hockey team. If word gets around that I’m a druggie, it’s not going to look good on the school. Or me.
I push my hat down lower on my forehead and pull my hood over it in hopes of not being recognized. The people inside are likely too fucked up to care anyway—I hope.
Pushing the door open, I don’t see Van right away. Instead, my eyes land directly on a couple in the corner as they shoot uptogether. The girl is young and pretty. If she was older than a freshman in college, I’d be surprised. She doesn’t fit the typical look of a junkie. Then again, who does? She’s dressed nicely, and it makes me wonder if this journey with drugs is new for her and if she went right to the hard shit to start with. I wish I could tell her to get out while she still can. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, looks like he’s much more experienced. His hair is greasy and unkempt, his clothes look worn, and his eyes look … lost. My stomach turns as I think about how it only takes one person, one moment, one bad decision to wind up in a place like this, putting poison in your body like you’re invincible and that it can’t kill you at any time.
I’ve never tried heroin. Not only am I terrified of needles, but I also genuinely don’t want to die—even though I put a lot of shit in my body that certainly isn’t prolonging my life any. Mostly though, I know I’ve already put my mom through enough, and I don’t want to hurt her any worse than I already have. Heroin is too risky. I’ve heard of far too many people overdosing because their shit had been cut with fentanyl. No thanks.
When I look at the couple, in a way, it makes me think I’m less of a druggie than they are. But am I really? I’m here too, aren’t I?
My skin crawls as I watch the couple completely zone out. I wonder where her parents think she is right now. Does she have siblings? Did she have big dreams? Where are those dreams now? It’s not like there’s a time machine that can take her back to before she tried drugs for the first time and magically make her normal again. If there were, I’d get in it and push a button to take me back to when Eli was still alive. And I wouldn’t be here in this dumpy place right now, watching this girl lose herself.
“Cade, my man,” Van says, walking out of his bedroom. “Was wondering when you were going to come see me.”
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes from the girl, knowing I can’t help her. She’s not my problem. “Hey, I can’t stay long. Do you have my shit?”
Lighting a cigarette, he inhales sharply before blowing the smoke out. All while he continues to stare me down with those beady eyes. His hair is a mess, and he’s much skinnier than he was when we first met. I guess that’s what happens though; the deeper you get into addiction, the less everything else in the world—like personal hygiene and nutrition—matters.
“Why the rush, big, bad Cade Huff?” His eyes squint as he takes another drag, letting the cigarette hang from his mouth.
“Because I’ve got to get to the arena—that’s why.” I move around on my feet.
I do need to get to the arena—that’s true—but I also really need more pills before I leave. And I don’t have time for his shit. Typically, he gives me what I need and sends me on my way. But the past few times, he’s been acting weird.
“I got a question for you. What the fuck are you going to do when the pros call you?” He smirks, showing his nasty teeth, and I can’t imagine ever giving up on myself that much to let my hygiene go down the drain. “You really think the NHL wants a junkie?”
“I’m not a junkie,” I growl.
“Just because you ain’t got a needle hanging out of your arm doesn’t make you any less of a junkie than the rest of us.” He waves to himself and the couple, who now look asleep. “At the end of the day,brother, drugs run our lives. You. Me. Them.” He points to the couch where the guy and girl lie. “So, quit actin’ like you’re better than anyone. You ain’t.” He eyes me over, still smirking. “You ain’t shit. It’s only a matter of time before this high isn’t enough. And then, I promise, you will have a needle in your arm too. Won’t be so big and bad then, will you?”
“If you can’t sell me what I need, I’ll go,” I mutter, growing more annoyed by the minute.
“Oh, I got what you need, boy,” he says, looking me up and down. “Just gotta remind you who you are. Which is a fucking drug addict.”
As he walks away to get my shit, I take the money from my pocket, knowing I’m running low on funds and I’ll have to dip into the emergency account my parents set up for me. And when I do, they’ll know something’s up. I’ll come up with a story, an excuse. I always do.
I wait anxiously for him to hand over my drugs. And this right here is why I lied this morning when I told Haley I didn’t remember last night.
I don’t belong in Haley’s world. And she sure as hell doesn’t belong in mine.
9
Haley
