Everything I Used to be is Coming Back to Torture Me
Druggie
Clover kept walking until she came within a few blocks of the venue, and then she glanced around to make sure no one was watching and ducked into a narrow alleyway. She tucked herself into a space between two dumpsters and sat down so that she couldn’t be seen from the street. Feeling relieved, as always, that the deal had gone off without a hitch, she pulled a folded piece of paper out of one pocket and her bag of marijuana from the other one. She set the bag in her lap as she unfolded the piece of paper and carefully tore off a strip.
This, by no means, had been Clover’s first rodeo. She’d been doing the exact same thing for the past two concerts. Alcohol had simply stopped doing what she needed it to do. Even better, when she came down from the high marijuana provided her, she only felt a craving for more, not a splitting headache or vertigo or any other annoying hangover symptom. It was easier to hide from the others as well, as long as she was smart and strategic about it. It hadn’t even registered in Clover’s mind that she had transitioned from one addiction to another, or that what she was doing was even more illegal than underage drinking.
Clover began to meticulously construct a joint. She could remember the exact moment she decided that alcohol wasn’t helping anymore. It was the day after Matt and Brian questioned her about her drinking during the day. She hadn’t figured out a way to keep on drinking and hide it from the guys at the same time. After thinking about that for a bit, she realized that the alcohol hadn’t been helping her forget lately. She’d been drinking the same amount, probably more, but the alcohol wasn’t doing what it once had. Clover had then decided to drop alcohol, except for when she drank with the guys, but what could she do instead? That was when she decided that maybe something stronger would help. Something stronger like marijuana.
That first joint had been like Heaven. She’d never felt so relaxed. All of the tension, the worry, and best of all, her memories of the past simply washed away. Clover was hooked, although she preferred to think she could stop any time. When she needed to stop, she would, no problem. She thought she wasn’t even addicted.
Clover was so engrossed in her thoughts and the task of making a joint that she didn’t even notice the tall shadow that fell across her about three minutes after she’d sat down between the dumpsters. Hands suddenly shot out of nowhere into her space. They seized everything in her hands and yanked it all from her. Clover slowly looked up, an expression of dumbfounded shock on her face, and expected to see a cop looking sternly down at her. She felt something clench in her stomach at the sight of Brian standing over her looking majorly pissed off.
He brandished her materials—the bag, the half-made joint, the torn piece of paper—at her. “What the hell is this!?” Clover couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen Brian look so mad.
Clover stood, grabbing everything back from his grasp and shoving it back into her pockets before he could stop her. She stared at his chest, avoiding his eye contact and his anger. She found it easier to respond with her own anger this way.
“Mind your own business!” Clover snapped, not caring how childish she may sound. She turned and began to walk away. She made it about two steps before Brian grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him.
“How long have you been doing this?” Brian demanded, forcing Clover to meet his eyes. “Why are you throwing away this promising career for drugs? I thought you were better than this!”
“I’m not throwing anything away!” Clover retorted. “Leave me the fuck alone! I can do what I want!” She shoved Brian away; he released her arm. “Stop poking your nose in my business!”
She turned and sprinted down the alleyway, disappearing into the crowd meandering by. Brian hurried to follow her, but she was lost in the crowd by the time he reached the opening of the alleyway.
This, by no means, had been Clover’s first rodeo. She’d been doing the exact same thing for the past two concerts. Alcohol had simply stopped doing what she needed it to do. Even better, when she came down from the high marijuana provided her, she only felt a craving for more, not a splitting headache or vertigo or any other annoying hangover symptom. It was easier to hide from the others as well, as long as she was smart and strategic about it. It hadn’t even registered in Clover’s mind that she had transitioned from one addiction to another, or that what she was doing was even more illegal than underage drinking.
Clover began to meticulously construct a joint. She could remember the exact moment she decided that alcohol wasn’t helping anymore. It was the day after Matt and Brian questioned her about her drinking during the day. She hadn’t figured out a way to keep on drinking and hide it from the guys at the same time. After thinking about that for a bit, she realized that the alcohol hadn’t been helping her forget lately. She’d been drinking the same amount, probably more, but the alcohol wasn’t doing what it once had. Clover had then decided to drop alcohol, except for when she drank with the guys, but what could she do instead? That was when she decided that maybe something stronger would help. Something stronger like marijuana.
That first joint had been like Heaven. She’d never felt so relaxed. All of the tension, the worry, and best of all, her memories of the past simply washed away. Clover was hooked, although she preferred to think she could stop any time. When she needed to stop, she would, no problem. She thought she wasn’t even addicted.
Clover was so engrossed in her thoughts and the task of making a joint that she didn’t even notice the tall shadow that fell across her about three minutes after she’d sat down between the dumpsters. Hands suddenly shot out of nowhere into her space. They seized everything in her hands and yanked it all from her. Clover slowly looked up, an expression of dumbfounded shock on her face, and expected to see a cop looking sternly down at her. She felt something clench in her stomach at the sight of Brian standing over her looking majorly pissed off.
He brandished her materials—the bag, the half-made joint, the torn piece of paper—at her. “What the hell is this!?” Clover couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen Brian look so mad.
Clover stood, grabbing everything back from his grasp and shoving it back into her pockets before he could stop her. She stared at his chest, avoiding his eye contact and his anger. She found it easier to respond with her own anger this way.
“Mind your own business!” Clover snapped, not caring how childish she may sound. She turned and began to walk away. She made it about two steps before Brian grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him.
“How long have you been doing this?” Brian demanded, forcing Clover to meet his eyes. “Why are you throwing away this promising career for drugs? I thought you were better than this!”
“I’m not throwing anything away!” Clover retorted. “Leave me the fuck alone! I can do what I want!” She shoved Brian away; he released her arm. “Stop poking your nose in my business!”
She turned and sprinted down the alleyway, disappearing into the crowd meandering by. Brian hurried to follow her, but she was lost in the crowd by the time he reached the opening of the alleyway.
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Updated twice. So if you didn't read the previous chapter, you probably should.