text: \*Includes self-harm, suicide, sex, and drug use &#x200B; First time writing in a while. &#x200B; The dusty light filtering in through the window played lazily across Alex's skin as he fell back heavily onto the bed. His body spasmed in the last waves of an orgasm. His fingers gently traced the goosebumps on the curve of her waist as he murmured half-intelligible post-coital thanks. It had been the third morning she had spent in his bed. Without looking over, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter off the low table next to the bed. The lighter sparked several times before it begrudgingly sputtered forth a low flame with which she lit her cigarette. She took a long, slow drag as she let the hot metal of the lighter burn into the fleshy pad of her thumb, and relaxed into the familiar feeling of self-inflicted pain. The popcorn pattern of the ceiling pulsed above her as the alcohol from the the night before still swirled around in her system. Alex grunted beside her and she wordlessly handed over the cigarettes and lighter. He sparked one to life and exhaled, watching as the smoke played with the motes of dust in the sunlight. She sat up cumbrously, the room tilting and trailing comically around her. Bending over the coffee table, she searched for what she called "normalcy". Finding her prize, she picked up the small ziploc and clumsily fished out two round, white pills from the mass congregated in the corner of the baggie. She knocked them back and quickly washed them down with swig from the open bottle of whiskey on the table. She flopped back on the bed and waited for the warmth of the painkillers to start creeping in at the edge of her senses. "You've been hitting those pretty hard lately, El..." Alex said, his moderate concern stemming from both genuine care for her, and his increasing awareness that she had little to no desire at present to share with him. Elliot shrugged despondently, annoyance starting to pulse in her temples as she continued to wait. She took another long drag of her cigarette and swore as it somehow managed to burn down to her fingers. Throwing the butt in the overflowing ashtray she sighed quietly, as she felt the first small, ecstatic wave of the percocet wash over her consciousness. The pain in her fingers slowly faded into static in the back of her mind. For the first time that morning, Elliot felt somewhat all right. &#x200B; Elliot sat on the back porch, cigarette hanging on her lip as she carefully cut open a cigarillo. She dumped the tobacco unceremoniously on the ground, and picked up a dark bottle at her feet. She took a pull of the aubergine syrup and grimaced as the abrasive flavor coated her mouth. Dripping some into the cigarillo wrapper, she quickly filled it with weed, and rolled it neatly. She extinguished her cigarette in the dirt and lit the blunt. "Hey." Alex said as he walked out and sat next to her. Elliot nodded towards the bottle of lean at her feet. He grabbed it and raised it above his head in a mocking salute, before taking two grimacing swigs of the cough syrup. Elliot hit the blunt, coughing out a cloud of smoke. Already, the periphery of her vision was softening as she offered the blunt to Alex. "So why are you here this time?" Alex finally asked. He was used to Elliot dropping in occasionally, but she had never been this remote before. He could hardly coax a full sentence out of her for the last three days. Not to mention she had been making a concerted effort to be sober as little as possible. "Don't think I didn't notice the cuts on your ribs, El." He took another hit off the blunt and handed it back to her. Elliot looked at it for a moment before taking a long hit, and holding it until her face started to turn red. She exhaled sharply, and looked up at the perfect blue of the cloudless summer sky. "I put my dad's cocked and loaded gun to my head the other day," she said finally. Alex looked at her for a minute, then sat back in his chair, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, and took a thoughtful drag. He knew she had been in a bad place, but he didn't know she had gone that far. "I tried so hard to pull the trigger. I sat there in my dad's fucking closet with his gun to my goddamn head trying so hard to think of a fucking reason not to paint the goddamn walls, but I still couldn't do it!" Elliot's voice tightened as the empty pain inside her gripped her throat and chest. She struggled to shove it down before it welled up and over her eyes. She took another long hit from the blunt, hands shaking, praying that the codeine would soften the edges of her emotion. Standing up, Elliot desperately snatched the bottle of codeine from him and drank until Alex considered taking it away from her. She finished the blunt and collapsed back into her chair, her limbs beginning to become difficult to maneuver. "I told my dad about it..." She said quietly. The world around her was starting to swim and the sunlight turned into a warm yellow blanket covering her. "He said," she paused, the pain, though dull and achy, now taking up a firm residence in her chest. "He said that he didn't love me anymore and that I needed to find somewhere else to live..." Her head was suddenly heavy, and she let it sink back against the chair. She couldn't tell if tears were falling down her cheeks, or if she was just lost in the depths of the opiates. &#x200B; Alex's footsteps beat rhythmically upstairs. He heavily thumped a plate of steaming breakfast hash on the table beside the bed. Elliot woke groggily, her eyes shut tight against the light streaming in though the window. The nausea of beginning withdrawal made her stomach flip and fingers tingle. She pulled the sheet around her naked body as she sat up slowly and put her head between her knees. It felt like she had a mouth full of sand. She tried in vain to coax forth even the tiniest amount of saliva, until resentfully giving up. She lifted her head, and the room trailed and swayed violently. Suddenly, her body convulsed and Alex managed to get a trash can underneath her as she spewed forth yellow, viscous bile. Elliot wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and feebly grabbed the bottle of alcohol on the table, completely passing over the hot breakfast Alex had made her. She took a long drink, and distractedly looked for the bag of percocet. Alex looked on with mild, disapproving amusement, but said nothing. He had been in the same spot a few times before, and wasn't going to judge. It was the fourth morning of her bender, and he wondered how much longer it would take her to crash. Elliot found the ziploc and quickly swallowed down two of the pills. Her head sank into her hands as she let out a low, pained groan. "I made you breakfast," Alex said, trying to get some sort of reaction out of her. His voice dropped concernedly. "You should really eat, Elliot." In the eighteen years she had known him, he had never called her by her full name. She peeked a bloodshot eye up at him, curiously. Alex returned her gaze with a pointed look at the quickly cooling breakfast before her. Sighing, she grabbed the plate of food and picked over it disinterestedly, eating a forkful just to placate him. "It's good." She said, her voice cracking with the strain of the two syllables. Her stomach was in revolt, and she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag to try and calm the upheaval raging in her gut. Alex sat on the bed next to her, putting an arm around her waist. "Listen," Alex started quietly. He took the bottle and took a drink himself. "I know what your dad said was shitty." Elliot's looked away, her eyes darkened, and eyebrows knit together in pain. Alex apologetically offered her the bottle. She snatched it from him and drank in quick, angry gulps. Alex let her finish before continuing. "What he said was unbelievably shitty, and he was probably just in shock." He paused. He didn't know what to say next without sounding stilted and cliche. "A lot of people would really miss you if you killed yourself." He finished lamely. "I don't really care if people would miss me." Elliot replied bitterly. "Do you think I hurt myself for attention? Do you think I would deep throat the barrel of a .45 just because people *'don't like me'?"* She upended the bottle of alcohol and finished the last remaining drops before tossing it across the room. Her anger faded into depressed defeat. "I wanted to off myself because *I* hate *myself*..." Elliot felt he alcohol start to work it's way into her system, warming the space behind her eyes and evening out the pitch and yaw of the room. Alex looked away, the smoke from her cigarette weaving lazily around them. Alex lit his own cigarette and they smoked in silence, the tension slowly easing between them. Elliot finished her square and cracked a small, lascivious smile. Straddling him, she pushed him back onto the bed. The sheet fell down around her, and Alex's hands wandered Elliot's now exposed skin. &#x200B; Some infomercial ad droned on like white noise in the living room. Elliot and Alex were splayed about the couch at odd angles, trying to stay as cool as possible in the summer heat. Alex lifted his head to the ceiling and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke, suppressing the coughs wracking through him. He handed the bong to Elliot. She filled the pipe until the walls turned a solid milky white, then inhaled the heady smoke into her lungs. Elliot could feel herself coming down from the percocet. She had taken eight the day before, and eight the day before that. Now she only had two pills left, and not even any lean to hold her over. She knew she was facing a terrible comedown tomorrow, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. Alex had said that he had talked to a friend about getting some molly. It would only worsen the impending crash, but Elliot didn't care, so neither did Alex. She took another hit from the bong, cashing it. There was a knock at the door as she was repacking the bowl with fresh weed. Alex waved at her, and she tucked the bong away behind the couch as he went to answer the door. He quickly glanced out the window and broke into a smile. He opened the door, "Micah, man, what are you doing back in town?" He asked, shaking the dreadlocked man's hand in the doorway. "Hey come in, my friend here and I were just packing a fresh one." Alex motioned to Elliot and she fished the bong out from its hiding spot. She finished packing it and handed it to Micah. Micah took the pipe and took a long hit, saying as he exhaled, "Dude, you won't believe what I have." Alex looked at him and his eyes widened slightly as Micah produced a small baggie filled with white powder. "China fucking White," he said excitedly. Alex looked quickly over at Elliot, hoping she hadn't heard, but he saw her look over sharply in recognition. It was the most focused he had seen her been in days. It had been years since Alex had gotten off heroin, and it was something he didn't really want around Elliot in her current state. He didn't want to be responsible for getting her hooked. At the same time, if she was going to do it, he rathered her first time be with someone experienced. "It could be just like old times, man." Said Micah, snapping Alex out of his reverie. Micah gestured towards Elliot, "Your friend can, too, if she partakes." "Do you have clean shit?" Alex said quietly. Micah lowered his voice, "Of course, man. Not often that a chance like this comes around. I got everything fresh." He looked over at Elliot. "What do you say, pretty lady?" Alex turned towards her, already knowing what she was going to say. Elliot shrugged. "Sure." The three of them were on the couch. Micah was already laid out, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. Alex watched as Elliot tied her arm off and she waited for her vein to pop out of her arm. She tensed and relaxed her hand, driving the blood vessels to the surface of her skin. Her hands shook as she tried to line up the tip of the needle with the thin, blue line of her vein. Alex sighed softly through his nose, and took the syringe from her. Quickly, he pressed the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger. Elliot's face screwed up. She hadn't expected it to burn. Alex took off the tourniquet and warmth immediately flooded up her arm and into her chest. Elliot's breath staggered in the beginning ecstasy. It was so much more than the usual embrace of the painkillers she was used to. It was like she had fallen into the arms of a long-lost lover. She had never felt so happy and for a moment it was like her life had purpose. Collapsing back on the cushions of the couch, she felt her body relax more than it ever had. Her joints were made of silly putty. Her limbs were overcooked noodles. For the first time in days, Elliot felt whole. She had never felt bliss like this. &#x200B; Elliot's senses slowly blinked to life, like an old neon sign being turned on after years of disuse. She became aware of the sheets rubbing against her skin, and she felt a chill run through her body, goosebumps breaking out all over her. Sweat stuck her hair to her back and forehead. Everything ached. It hurt to breathe, the constant expansion and compression of her rib cage sending rhythmic waves of dull pain through her. Her mouth tasted like pennies. Suddenly her stomach heaved, and she retched onto the floor. Her breath came out in ragged gasps. The door opened and she heard someone talk at her, but the words didn't register. Elliot pushed herself onto all fours before vomiting again over the side of the bed. The muscles in her arms and legs twitched, before finally giving out on her. She opened one eye, squinting, expecting the sun to blind her. Looking out the window, she saw it was pitch black. A figure appeared over her and Alex's face wobbled in and out of focus. "Are you done puking on my floor?" Alex asked flatly, wrinkling his nose. Elliot closed her eyes and laid there, her hearing coming in waves. She didn't know how to reply to that. Elliot tried to talk, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. A sharp pain had taken up residence in her stomach, like she had swallowed glass. She managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. Her feet immediately landed in the puddle of her sick on the floor. Alex grimaced. "Do you want a shower?" He asked softly. Elliot nodded slowly without opening her eyes. "Can you walk there?" Elliot paused, then shook her head. Alex threw her arm over his shoulder and picked Elliot up. She was definitely running a fever. Alex waited outside the bathroom door while she showered. He could hear her retching and he remembered what it was like when he first came down after being hooked hard on opiates. The water turned off in the shower and he let himself in. Elliot's face was sunken and pale. He wrapped her up in a towel. When she was dry, she dressed herself, and they walked out to the back porch. The night air was cool and fireflies blinked here and there. Elliot sat heavily in one of the chairs, closing her eyes as the wind played with her hair. Alex pulled up a chair nest to her and lit a cigarette, handing it to her. She looked at it thoughtfully before taking a drag. She breathed out the sweet smoke, and realized dully that she wished she had pulled the trigger.