Autumn's Monologue.

I pulled out my green box—noticing I wasn’t the only one who had a buffet of tools—and pulled out my mirror and one of my clean razors. Bert nodded his head to the kid on my left; I felt the kid move as he sat next to me, giving me a generous amount of the precious substance in his possession.

I began to fine my share, noticing how easily it is to do so—this really was a pure form. I separated my portion into three lines, reaching for my tightly rolled bill I took my first hit. How I hated that small drip at the back of my throat—I noticed some had taken all of their portions all at once and some took half and some just a little like me.

I knew the effects of what I was doing—the time between each hit was just enough. I let thehappiness shine through me—enjoying the feeling because I hadn’t known or felt it in so long. Once I had taken my last line I wiped my mirror off with my hoodie sleeve and placed my mirror, razor and bill back into my green box, pocketed it and left the room.

I wanted to find the weed before my small bit of happiness faded—I wanted something to fall back on when it left. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep tonight so I also wanted something that would help with the crash I knew would be coming.

I smelt the faint whiff of my second substance of choice—third if you want to get technical—and headed towards the smell. I should’ve known—the kitchen of all places. I smirked at the girl at the table; she smiled at me, motioning for me to come near.

She playfully handed over what I wanted and watched in amusement as I lit up and took slow hits. I jerked my head towards the direction I came from, a smirk adorning her features; she knew I was on something else now. I nodded my thanks and headed back out to the bar—I’d left my drink in the room.

“Enjoying your evening Mr. Way?”

“Hell yes I am. No distressing mother, bleating brother or bigoted boyfriend—I’m quite peachy.”

He smiled at me before handing me another drink. I smiled as I took and drank what I could of it while still taking slow drags off of my joint. Perhaps I would go home, it was only five minutes and I could make it, it was only three turns and I parked on the street.

=-=-=-=

I have eighty-seven glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on my ceiling, forty-two posters on my wall, one-hundred and three comics stacked in the corner of my room and two-hundred and twenty-nine unicorns—figurines, stuffed animals, you name it.

I could feel my world slightly off, tilted to the right just enough to cause me to remain lying down in my current position. My door burst open and I saw someone—well could make out the outline of someone. It was the middle of the night after all—this person definitely wasn’t my mother.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

Okay, so maybe it is my mother. My eyes burned at the sudden intrusion of light.

“Michael James Way, you’re lucky I don’t beat your ass to oblivion right now. Who the hell do you think you are, coming home at two a.m. making so much racket I get a call from our neighbor telling me to shut my fucking child up or they’ll put a bullet in him.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I tuned her out, now counting how many thumbtacks I had in my wall—so far I was at forty-two; that’s apparently the answer to life—did you know that? I bet my mother doesn’t know that—she really sounds angry.

=-=-=-=

I woke up the next morning to a bloody nose. Shit. That’s the one thing I hated about snorting—I always got a bloody nose the morning after. Those few moments of purehappiness were worth it though. I groaned as I heard my mother banging on my door, yelling at me to get up—apparently I was going out today.

I drug myself to the bathroom and showered, slightly waking up at the impact of the water on my skin. After dressing myself and stumbling down the stairs I found my mother sitting patiently at the table—avoiding my gaze as I entered.

I noticed she wasn’t alone—fear raced through my body as I took in the disheveled appearance of the young man across the table from my mother.

“Mikey, I, you went a week, an entire week without messing up and you go out and once, one time you fall back into old habits.”

She did not drag him over here or wake me up just to tell me something she’s been telling me for the past year or so—she didn’t. I wasn’t going to listen to this.

“I’ve made up my mind. I’ve sat by and watched you throw your life away for an entire year—an entire year Mikey—I can’t do it anymore. I, I’ve, I’ve booked you into a center for people like you. Frank’s going to take you.”

She just stood up and walked off. Her words slowly sinking in—she was sending me away. I wasn’t even an addict, I didn’t crave the stuff all the time, I, I just did it occasionally.

“Was this part of your ‘getting through this’? Can you handle a boyfriend in a fucking rehab center?”

He lifted his sad gaze to my own, so many emotions running through him at the moment.
He handed me a folded piece of paper he had in his pocket. He didn’t even look me in the eye as he handed it to me—just held it out in his hand. He was ashamed of me, just like he’s always been ashamed of me.

He sighed before uttering something as I walked away.

“Mikey, you, you don’t get it do you? You really don’t.”