What Hurts The Most.

He placed his hockey bag down on the floor and dropped his keys on the counter. Letting out a sigh, he brought a head through his newly cleansed hair. His brown eyes drifted across his apartment. It was filthy. There were dishes piled up in the sink, liquids spilled all over the counter and the floor. Clothing and objects were scattered around the entire place. This wasn’t the way it looked this morning.

His heart cracked a little bit, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t entirely shocked. You couldn’t really relapse unless you completely quit in the first place, and even if she said she had- he could see the marks, see the results. He watched her literally wither away, progressively get sicker and sicker, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d tried; she needed the drugs more than she needed him.

He sighed, reaching down to pick up one of the jerseys he’d bought her. It was crinkled in a ball, thrown across the room like it’d meant nothing. What once meant the world to her was now just another object getting in between her and her fix. He clutched it in his hand, holding his breath. He had to keep it together, for her.

Slowly, Sidney walked through the mess and went to the stairs. He climbed them carefully, noticing a rather neater upstairs. He walked to the bedroom and opened the door, revealing an empty mess. The bed was unmade, more clothes were scattered, but she was absent. His heart began to race, where had she gone? Had she gotten herself into more trouble than he’d ever imagined?

Rushing out of the room, Sidney went down the hall and gripped the bathroom door knob. To his dismay, it was locked and there was silence on the other end. He let out a breath and knocked patiently on the door, to assure her that he wasn’t angry, to make her feel safe.

“Baby?” He said calmly, listening for any motion, “Elle?

He knocked again, but there was still no noise, not a movement.

“Elle, you have to open the door for me,” he pressed his ear completely to the door, “I just want to see you.”

When he didn’t get a response, he backed up and then threw his shoulder completely into the wooden block. The door flew open and his eyes fell on something completely horrific. There was his girlfriend, her normally pretty blonde hair matted to her face. She was in a sweat, yet she was utterly pale and blue. She was unconscious; a string tied tightly around her arm and blood dripping from the puncture wounds. There was blood, quite a bit of it, and the needle still in her hand.

“Fuck!” He yelled, dropping to his knees to pick her up and pull her into his arms, “Elle, baby!”

Her head lolled back and he grabbed her face, shaking her, he needed to wake her up. It wasn’t the first time he’d found her like this, but he was lucky enough that she woke up previously. He felt though his heart stopped completely, as he held what was left of her tightly in his grasp.

He reached forward to turn the bathtub on, letting the freezing cold water run through his fingers before placing his wet hand on her face. He splashed the cold water as heavily as he could, but he wasn’t getting a response. Tears began to cascade down his face; he stared at the love of his life, clutching her for all he had left. Hesitantly, he placed his fingers to her pulse.

He let out a cry when he felt a soft, extremely slow beat. He placed her down gently and rushed into the kitchen for his cell phone, dialling the number he seemed all too familiar with. 911. He shakily explained his situation, for the third time in the last year, sitting next to her again. He leaned down and kissed her feverish head, hanging up.

“Come on baby,” He begged, running his hands over her face, “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me.”

He allowed her blood to soak into his shirt, he just needed to talk to her, make sure she knew she had something to return too. He needed her, like she needed her drugs. She was his heroin, and he needed her to be okay. He couldn’t remember a life without living to love and protect her, ever since he met her. She’d always been shy and quiet, but he knew she had so much to say.

Why hadn’t he realized something was wrong? As he clutched her lifeless body, he wondered how he’d missed something so large in her life. He didn’t even know she was using; he’d been oblivious to the erratic, addicted behaviour, until he walked in on her trying so hard to find a vein. It’d scared him half to death, and he begged her to stop, but it didn’t work.

Nothing worked; she had begun to love drugs more than she loved him.

So in return, he loved her even more.