Overdose

The black water flushes down the sink drain. I feel a weight release from my chest as inky hair stares back at me, blonde colour long gone. A shaky breath escapes my lips. The dye washes off my hands with a bit of hard scrubbing, chipping my purple nail varnish. My lips pull up in imitation of a smile as I wipe my hands on the back of my skirt. Another night, another night out. Another few hours before Monday hits.

My fingers grip the litre bottle of vodka.

I hope I don't remember tonight.

By the time two in the morning strikes, I'm steaming. The club is hot and the music loud but all I can hear is my heart beating. I feel alive. The rave moves as one, a steady pulse to the music. It's liquid euphoria. That's why we come back weekend after weekend, pretending it's happiness. I try to ignore those same familiar faces.

A body pushes up against mine. At first, I think it's unintentional, a side effect of a small room full of wasted people. Then a hand circles my waist, deliberate. I'm about to tell the person to fuck off when I catch sight of him. My mouth closes.

"You didn't say you were coming tonight," Max yells over the music but it feels as close as a whisper.

"Didn't think I had to," I respond. I haven't decided if I'll fuck him yet.

"You haven't come for weeks, Jen." His mouth rests by my ear.

"Been busy," I lie. I can't remember what busy feels like.

"Too busy to come over mine? I've got some stuff I think you'll like."

It's enough to win me over. My lips are on his in moments, kissing him with a fervor, trying to make up for a fortnight's withdrawal. He tastes like a downwards spiral. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth. A flash of pain before his tongue explores my mouth. I lean into him, let his hands grip my newly-darkened hair.

It barely feels like a second later that he's leading me down the street, the cold barely hitting my bare legs. Maybe I'm drunker than I thought. I don't even know where the vodka is. It's not like I paid for it anyways.

We're in his shitty studio apartment minutes later. He was right, I do like his stuff and am sufficiently high as shit. My top is off, his jeans unbuckled. The bed is hard beneath my back. No matter how long it's been, I can never forget this feeling. I straddle him, his hands fiddling with the clasp of my bra. This is desperation in its purest form. It feels amazing.

He flips me over like I weigh nothing and then I'm under him. Control relinquished. Any complaint I may have dissolves when he takes a breast in his mouth, tongue flicking over a sensitive nipple. I shiver. His shirt is off in the next moment. The heat of his skin on mine makes me smile. He takes my underwear off, the fabric trailing my thighs, followed soon by his hot mouth. When his tongue hits that sweet spot, a groan slips past my lips. He knows my body like the back of his hand, knows what makes me tick, and uses it to his advantage. I can barely think by the time his cock replaces his mouth. He pushes into me and it's enough to push me to oblivion.

The edges of my vision darken.

Everything feels like air.

When I crash back to reality, his face is flush to my neck, gasping breaths in my ear. I feel him pulse inside me.

"Fuck," he bites out. He pulls out and lies beside me, our chests both rising and falling quickly to the same tempo. "I missed you, Jen." It's the kind of thing he'd only say post-coitus.

"You missed fucking me, Max." Not quite the same thing. I can already feel myself coming down from my high. Not just yet. "You got any more?" I'm not ready for rational thought - I need to be miles from here before that happens.

He looks at me, almost surprised, and grins. "Jesus, for such a tiny girl, you go hard." He rummages around in his messy bedside table, bags of different powders fluttering to the ground. Max is the untidiest drug dealer I've ever met. God knows how he keeps his customers. His hand reemerges with a hypodermic needle, a colourless fluid already drawn up. "I'm out of Mandy but I've got some leftovers if you're up for it."

My heart pounds. I've always drawn the line at needles and snorting things. But I can feel the come down, like the aura of a migraine, pushing at the back of my head. I need this night to last a little longer.

"What is it?" I ask, stalling. Am I really stupid enough to do this?

Max looks at me like I'm a little kid. "It's heroin, Jennie."

He knows I've made my mind up before I do and is already tying the elastic tourniquet around my upper arm. A flash of nerves runs through me. God, when was the last time I felt nervous? He laughs as he flicks the needle and I try to fight the heat that rises to my cheeks.

"You're cute when you're nervous," he laughs again.

"It's not cut with anything?" I have to ask.

"I'm almost hurt," he says. I wait. "No. God. You don't have to have my free stash if you don't want to."

I stick out my arm. Casually, he taps my skin, trying to find a vein. My eyes shutter closed when I feel the spark of pain.

The effect is almost instantaneous.

I feel great. I feel sick. I feel happy.

Max laughs and the sound prompts me to join in. And we're both laughing and why don't I do this all the time?

I watch Max shoot up, excited for him to feel the euphoria I do. Waiting for him to join me on this cloud.

Then time sputters out and I'm kissing him.

My mind blanks and I'm throwing up.

I'm sitting outside on the pavement, wearing clothes that aren't mine. I try to stand and my legs give out. The pain of my knees hitting the concrete doesn't register. I just feel wrong. I feel like death. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"For fuck's sake," a masculine voice calls out.

My head spins as I turn to find the source.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" The voice belongs to a tall, lean man. Older than me but still young.

"Who the fuck are you?" My words slur.

"It doesn't matter," he dismisses. He bends down to my level. I notice he is attractive, but not in a conventional way. His beauty is harsher, an edge to his features. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Fuck off," I tell him. He's bigger than me and I'm acutely aware of my vulnerability.

Something in his gaze sharpens. "Jennifer?"

I think I'm falling asleep.

"Wait - no, Jennifer?"

My eyes close.