Oh, Heroine

To whom it may concern;
I always felt like I needed it. That one fix just to kick my day off. It always made me feel like I was alive, if that's what you'd call it. That I was breathing. That I knew I would be okay. I woke up, and I craved it to take its course through my veins. It had passed the point of 'want', it had become an essential to function. It consumed me. It took over my life. It still does. It is heroin.
-Derek M. Haviard. xoxo.

I woke up to a beeping noise and my eyes shot open. I looked around the familiar place. Thank God it wasn't a hospital this time. My bedroom. My alarm clock was going off. I had to meet my dealer at 7 pm, at Bella Blu. One of the finest Italian restaurants on the Upper East Side of New York City. Just because I'm a junkie, doesn't mean I'm poor. As a matter of fact, I'm quite blessed in the financial department, not to brag or anything.

I came across quite a sum of money when both my parents passed in a car accident when I had just turned eighteen. It wasn't all that tragic event to me, because I was long lost in a mindless consumption of the alcohol, the drugs, the money, the fame, the sex, the excess. I couldn't give two fucks that my parents were murdered by somebody like me. An addict. Going to get his next fix. Yes, I did mourn. Not that I wanted to. But, I sealed the loss with more drugs, more money, more fame, more alcohol, more sex and all the excessive living that could of made my heart content. That gap was never going to be filled in my heart, so, drugs made it feel fine.

I rolled over in my bed and pressed the off button to the little black alarm clock. The time read 5:31 pm. I had to be out of here before 6:30. My sister, Savannah comes home from work at that time. She won't let me leave the house if she beats me home. I slid out of my silk sheets and walked over to my closet. What to wear on this Thursday evening? I pulled the door open and turned on the lights. Indeed, a walk in closed. I told you I live in excess, right?

I pulled out a black pair of slacks, a black suit jacket, an off white button up, collared shirt, a black tie and a gray vest. This was indeed, typical attire for me. I made all the girls melt, just by looking at me. I made all the guys envy me, just by the sight of me.

Little did the girls know, I was sleeping with the guys who envy me. Little did the guys know, I was a drug addict. That might not make sense to you. As to why I hide those two details. Being a "queer" as many of the people up here like to address it as. Or being a junkie. If you saw the family I had before my parents passed, you'd totally understand.

My mother; tall, blond hair, bright blue eyes, skinny and a former runway model, turned actress. My father; the definition of a knight in shining armor, as my mother used to always say. He was the man with the big wallet. He directed films. He also was really active in the politics, and became the governor of New York when I was fourteen. That meant we were always on the move. Going to speeches, rallies, galas and protests.We never had the chance to settle down without the spotlight following us. On top of that, as a family, we owned quite a few restaurants here in NYC. If we weren't doing something with politics, we were helping support the business.

Now you see where the money and fame came from? All eyes were on us, as a family. Even as individuals. Savannah and I couldn't even make our way to school without paparazzi following us, asking what we thought of our fathers movies or his political decisions. And out mothers current movie she was starring in.

I hated the life that our parents thrusted us into. When I was a junior in high school, my father told me that he wanted me to go to law school, and become a lawyer. If I didn't, he was going to have me killed. He was being serious. My mother forced Savannah to be bulimic and attend daily runway classes, so she could take my mothers name in the modeling and acting industries. Needless to say, they wanted us to fabricated copies of them.

I wasn't being insensitive when I had said I didn't give a fuck that they died. Now you see why. They made us live a miserable life. But, we got payed to do it all. They knew we hated being raised in such a way. They would give us money to keep our moth shut during scandal. They would give us money to make positive comments about the amazing parents they were, just to get my father closer to wining an election. Or to get our mothers movies more dollars at the box office.

They showed their affection to me and Savannah in material objects. They didn't really care about us. They just wanted the picture of the perfect American family hanging over the mantle when we had people over for dinner and wine. People were convinced that the Haviard family was perfect. We fooled them all oh so well.