Oh, Heroine

To whom it may concern;
I gave it all away for the runway. It started out as nothing, just a simple finger down the throat. My mom made me do it. I didn't want to. Now, it's become an addiction, if you will. Even after I have a glass of water. I let it settle for 12 minutes, then, make it come up. Simple as that. I've tried to quit. Even gone to rehab for it. But, it feels impossible. I have to be a size zero. That's what I always had pushed into my head. Hello, this is New York, after all.
-Savannah R. Haviard. xoxo.

It was chaotic. The drive home from work always took an hour in this traffic. I got off at 5:30. And it was always insane from the second i got in my car.I looked at the clock on my dashboard. 5:31 pm. I bet you anything my fuck up of a brother is going to get a brick of heroin tonight. Yes, he buys them in brick form. Comes home with a little black velvet bag. Filled with heroin. I just act like I don't notice it. But, i can smell it. When he liquefies it. When he puts it in the needle. When he stores the rest of it.

Before, I made the stupid mistake of touching some of it with my finger tips. I blacked out. Didn't wake up until Derek poured water over my head. I had been passed out for hours, I guess. Even if it gets into your pores and you've never used, this shit knocks you out. I know firsthand. I wanted him to take me to the hospital. I knew I had a fever. 'Sweat it out, Vannah. You'll be fine. I'm not risking going down because you touched my shit.' He wrapped me up in blankets and left me there. All by myself. Feeling as if I was on fire.

It's things like that which proves that I've pretty much lost my brother. He used to care about me so much. I was his baby sister. He wouldn't let anything happen to me. He would kick anybody's ass for me. He would take the fall for me if I did something wrong. He'd always cover for me. He was the best big brother I could of asked for. That was before he started partying. Getting on the cover of the paper. 'New York First Kids Are Failures' . I remember that headline. It was one of my proud moments. Sarcasm. The picture was me & Derek. I was driving him out of a night club and he was puking everywhere. I was sixteen. He was eighteen. The week before our parents died.

They were pissed at us when they died. I still guilt myself for that. even though it's been years since that happened. They were disappointed that we went to a club. In reality, I gave the doorman $100 to let me in to rescue Derek. I got a call from the club owner saying that he was so fucked up on drugs. I had to come scoop him up before he killed himself.

Believe me, telephone calls like that aren't uncommon. Still, to this day. People will find him passed out in alley ways. They know who he is. I get a telephone call. He'll pass out at his friends houses. I get the telephone call. Braeden will be sick of his bullshit. I get the call. The people who call me aren't the ones who have to live with him. I've seen him collapse right in our living room. An overdose. I've learned what to do in situations like that. Most people would throw somebody in a car and go to the emergency room. I can't do that.

I live with my own problems. I live with my brothers problems. Fuck, I even live with Braeden's problems. They both throw their shit on me. Act like I have to deal with the weight of the fucking world. As if these sunken in shoulders can handle that shit? They can't. But, they do. I just deal with it.

Driving through Manhattan can be an obnoxious thing, indeed. I was sitting. Staring at tail lights. For miles and miles. Change of heart; I want an order of french fries. I saw a fast food restaurant up on the right. I got over in the lanes some magical way, and pulled into the parking lot. If I want to fix other people, I need to fix myself, right? Drive-thru wait wasn't that bad.

"Can I get a medium order of fries, please?" I smiled as I asked. I could use some greasy food. Couldn't I? I'm about to say "FUCK THE RUNWAY" and quit... Hmm. That's a genius idea.

"That'll be $2.65 at the second window, Ma'am." I smiled confidently and drove forward. When I got to the window, I pulled out my wallet. I handed the girl at the window a $5 bill. She looked at me and dropped her jaw. "Oh my God! Aren't you Savannah Haviard?!" She had a squeak in her voice. I nodded at her, smiling bigger. She handed me my fries. "I think it's amazing when models can eat french fries and still look amazing!!" She laughed, still giddy.. BULIMIA. It's a great secret. That all just made me think.. Do I really want to eat these?

I grabbed my change and receipt and sped out of the drive-thru. I sat there for a minute, then decide to take an alternate route home. I sped the whole way home. Getting me there at 5:55. I don't see why I take the shorter distance to be stuck in traffic. I'm better off speeding and getting home quicker. A ticket wouldn't be a big deal. I'd just pretend it was a love letter.

My mind is all over the fucking place. I walked up the stairs. Into our apartment. There was a note pasted on the back of the door. The note I always dread coming home to.

Savannah, I went to dinner. I'll be home to get you at 6:45. We're going to Braeden's show in Asbury. Love you, sister. <3 Der.

He fit on a yellow stick note. I've always envied his hand writing. It looked like a girls. Dotting his "i"'s with hearts and shit. I love being one of the people who know he's gay. It makes me laugh. All the girls panic when they see him walk down the street. They don't realize that he's a gay zero. It's quite comedic.

I put all of my shit from work down on the kitchen table. I know Derek isn't really going to dinner. Just to get some drugs. I'll let him have the fries. Maybe they'll be a little less than velvet to him.