to work on this anymore.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

It wouldn’t be fair

To label that girl as an enemy, especially when I had no idea who she was. I was a new, fresh age of twenty, but it really wasn’t turning out to be so great. But this girl, she was standing in front of me, fidgeting with her fingers and keeping her eyes trained carefully to the podium in front of her. Curly, dark brown hair barely reaches past her shoulders, and it’s dull, damaged looking.

“I’d been sober for five years, since I was sixteen, and, well… it was my twenty-first birthday, I thought I could handle one hit after all of this time. Like a normal college kid, not an addict, you know? Well… I woke up two days later in someone else’s house.” She laughs at this, her frame shaking and curling in on itself like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. A hand pulls at her hair as she works to regain her composure, fighting off the tears that her laugh has turned into. I can’t help but be disgusted. “I guess it was a wake up call.”

I stand abruptly, causing a few stares from the other members of Narcotic Anonymous. They knew me pretty well, most of the regulars, because I was always in and out of the meetings sporadically, calling them if I had their numbers at awkward hours of the night. On my way out, I pass the row behind where I was sitting, and a girl I’d become friends with named Tara. She watches me quizzically, but doesn’t move to follow as I push open the double doors.

It’s painfully bright outside, and I squint as I stagger, head reeling as I grip the metal railing leading down the center of the stairs. Noises push in on my ears loudly from all directions, the cars, the people, the music and the talking and the subway underground and everything.

“You okay, hun?” A hand rests against my upper shoulder, and I immediately shy away, unsure of who, or why anyone, was touching me. But it’s just Tara. “You ran out of there pretty quickly.”

“I relapsed a week ago.” I say quietly, avoiding her stare. “I couldn’t help it, everything was going to hell –”

“Dean, you’ve been through this so much! How the hell could you do that!” She starts.

“It’s not like I fucking meant to do it!” I bark, whirling around on her, towering over her. “You’d know better than anyone that I fucking hate it when I relapse but there’s nothing I can do about it, Jesus Christ!” My hands are curled into fists, so tightly that I realize there’s blood all over my palms. “Shit…” I mutter, shoulders going slack as the fight drains from me, opening my hands and looking at the fingernail marks. About now, I realize that Tara is watching me avidly, brown-green eyes unreadable.

“Why are you like this?” I’m confused by her question, and almost hurt. Sure, I’d spoken to Tara once in a while about my personal problems, but most of the time at the meetings I just observed, being there just because I felt like I had to.

“Why am I like what?”

“Dean, no one knows anything about you. You do realize all of us would help you if you needed it, right? Everyone in that room, everyone, would help you out. But we can’t if you don’t tell us what’s going on.” I cross my arms over my chest, wincing at the two very fresh track marks lining the inside of my elbow. They were reminders, that’s all, of what I had done, and what I had vowed never to do again. Never. Tara continues. “Why don’t you give us something? I mean, you know I was the rich kid gone wrong, and Charlie was pushed all over the place by his parents. But you never tell us anything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Come on.” She sounds frustrated, and I can’t help but feel a sharp pang of remorse. After all, it was true; Tara had only ever helped me when I asked. “Come back inside, please. It’s going to get better. I don’t care if you relapsed. No one’s going to judge you.”

“How do you know? How can you know all of this?” I had been quiet for a few minutes, thoughts tearing back and forth through my head, tearing me apart. I finally look up at her, hoping I’m hiding my fear well enough. She smiles.

“Because we’ve all been through it before. Come on.” She takes my hand, pulling me towards the door. Her light brown hair, her brown eyes, the smallish frame – Tara always reminded me immensely of my sister, which was maybe why I trusted her.

The other girl is just getting down from the podium as Tara and I shuffle into the meeting room once more, hiding in the back. As she starts to walk towards the front, I balk, shaking my head.

“I really don’t want to do this. I can’t do this, please Tara –” I’m pleading with her, and I hate the weak and childish way my voice is sounding. “What will I say? No one will care about what I have to say, please –”

“Dean, we do.” By now, a good number of members are watching me, pausing as they wait for the next speaker, which, as it seems, they’ve determined as myself. My head is still spinning, but there’s Tara pushing me towards the podium. I manage to stand behind it, shaking in my shoes, staring at all of the fellow addicts around me. There’s Charlie,  a recovering coke and alcohol addict, and there’s Gwen, an anorexic twig of a girl who lived off Ritalin and Adderol for who knows how long, and there’s John and Nathan and Tara and Pete and Jared and Nicole and Sam and Demi. They were all here, all waiting for me to say something, all of them staring. My throat is dry, caked with dust and spider webs like I’ve never spoken before in my life. I take a breath, I run a hand through my hair.

“H-Hello.” I stutter at first, left hand clutching the podium for dear life. “My name is Dean Andrew Richelieu, and I am a heroin, speed, cocaine, and alcohol addict.”

I know you would like it

If I were to get immediately to the interesting parts, but I’m afraid that things like that can’t just be told so suddenly, or at least that’s what I’ve found. People just don’t believe it, or they don’t want to and just ignore it, convinced that if they don’t think about it, this fucked up life didn’t happen.  Well, unfortunately, it did. It had to happen to make me the person, the monster that I am today. So here goes, from the very beginning.

From what I’ve heard, from what I’ve seen, things started at the very beginning for me. And by start I mean go downhill. It’s unfair of me to tell what other people may have experienced and relayed on to me, so it’s going to have to be from what I first remember.

Music.

That was the first thing that ever crossed my memory; something that most people can’t remember. But I remember this song, still to this day, and I didn’t know what it was for the longest time. Later, it was used in a movie, specifically Saving Private Ryan, one of my favorite movies. Now whenever I hear that song I kind of get all sentimental and stuff. I don’t like it.

But my mom used to play this song all of the time, she liked it so much because it’s really very old, maybe from the 50’s. She’d sing along with it, that I definitely remember, and sound exactly like the singer with her French tinged voice and soft words. See, my mom was the first generation from France on her family, from a small town on the outskirts of Paris called Levallois. She’d met my father when he still worked at his auto-repair shop job, and they’d traveled around together. I came along, though, and that put an end to his wandering ways. My mom would tell me all the time, as a joke, I guess she thought, that when she went into labor with me, my dad didn’t believe her. I mean, I was born on April 1st, April Fool’s Day. Maybe that was the first sign.

Things were okay, though, in the beginning. My father didn’t stay home a lot - I barely remember him, at least in those early days. It was mostly my mom, just playing with me and stuff. I really don’t remember her except for her voice and that music.

The summer when I was little was amazing. When I started walking, my mom would take me to the beach sometimes, let me run around and everything. I really miss that, honestly I do. When I was three, in the summer, my sister and best friend was born. She changed everything, Ali did. Even when I was that little, I felt this feeling towards her I had never felt before. I knew I would take care of her, I knew I had to. She was this little tiny thing, all quiet and sleeping in her crib next to my room, and she was my responsibility.

Thinking back, my childhood had a pretty good start. I guess it threw a curtain over my eyes and I was tricked into thinking I’d have a good life.

No such luck.

—

The first bad turn in my life was when I stepped out of the easily defined and dotted lines of the normal kid’s life, the line dividing me from casual party use to the beginning of my fiendish love affair with drugs. I’m seventeen, freshly turned into an ‘adult’ and freshly thrown into the arms of love.

Lauren Anne Clark came into my life like a mine; hidden beneath my feet with all of this energy and suddenly exploding all around me and showing me the life I had misunderstood. It’s practically impossible to explain how she makes me feel, what she makes me feel. Laur simply is part of my life in so many ways that it is indescribable. We met over the internet, which does sound shaky, but then again I was always one for unusual meetings. We began writing stories together, intense and amazing stories that I couldn’t duplicate if I tried. Believe me, I have with no avail. But before I realized it, Laur was fused into my life like a piece of my own body, and I had no intention of letting her go. She began to even haunt my dreams, dreams that had not changed since I was in childhood. It would be a lie to say she never caused me pain, but that will come up at some point, I’m sure.

Anyway, I’m seventeen, free from my father, and positive that, for once, my life was going to be what I had been deprived of for so long. (unfortunately, reality decides to come crashing down at that moment)

“Dean?” Ali’s voice is shaky, filled with so much terror I know immediately what is happening.

“Where is he.”

“Dean?” She ignored my question, but I’m already sprinting towards my Jeep, cell phone pressed to my ear. Patrick and Hunter are yelling after me, but I ignore them. There wasn’t time to make them understand what was happening.

“I want you to go to Patrick’s. Now.”

“Dean?!” She just keeps repeating my name, and the line goes dead. This was not good, this was absolutely not fucking good at all! The traffic only infuriates me more, mindless drivers and stupid tourists getting in the way as I sweat beneath the California sun. It’s a cold sweat, a terrible sweat that proved he was back. He had gone back to L.A. after being in jail, swung by his second family, and now was back at his first. Why, why why why why WHY?!

He was a plague, a monster bent on killing any spirit my family had.

I’m out of the car before the engine fully dies, ripping the keys out of the ignition and barreling into the door of the apartment building I live at with my mom and sister. Where was he? Up three flights of stairs, banging on the door to the abrupt left. Where was he?!

“Ali?” I’m banging on the door, cursing my inability to remember my house keys ever. The smart thing would be to actually put one with my car keys, but I was too stupid to ever do that. “Ali?!” My arm rests against the door, and I stare at the broken skin, the burns and cracked flesh that I never gave a chance to heal. I almost fall over myself as the door is wrenched open, stumbling a few steps as Ali looks at me with a confused expression.

“Why are you here?”

“What?”

“Why did you come home?” She anxious, fidgeting. What was going on?

“You called me.”

“You didn’t answer. I kept saying your name but I didn’t think you were there. Your phone is always going out and -“

“What was wrong. Why did you call.” I push past her into the apartment, glancing at the couch I slept on and moving towards the kitchen.

“I was just - wait, Dean - just wondering where you were -“

“You were terrified.” I turn right, around the small wall that divided the kitchen, and find Austin pulling on his shirt, standing in the middle of the room. Ali was right behind me, but completely quiet; and then I realized how stupid, yet hysterically funny, this all was.

He looks at me with a sheepish grin, brown hair a mess and sticking up in all different directions, matching Ali’s unkempt look. It would figure, that I would assume the worst.

“Thought you were going with Hunt to that party, D.” Austin collapses into a chair, looking between Ali and I, who is also watching me carefully. They had no idea how I would react. I just start laughing, laughing so hard it hurts and I don’t stop for a good five minutes; meanwhile Ali and Austin watch me as if I’ve completely gone insane. Still chuckling, I move to the fridge, take out a soda.

“Wait, so you’re okay with this?” Ali asks, leaning against the table Austin sat at. As I turned around, I saw this look in his eyes as he watched her, one I had never witnessed before but knew immediately what it was.

“Hell, of course I am. I mean, if you two get married, then Austin will really be my brother, you know?” I grin again, fighting down this monster of jealousy building in my chest. It was starting to hurt, starting to growl and moan at me. I should probably get going.

“I should probably get going, and leave you kids alone. I’d rather not think about what’s going on around here.” I grin at them both, toss the crumpled, empty soda can on the counter. Driving back to Hunt’s, there’s a whirlwind of trouble in my head. My baby sister, my best friend. They could be together? They could be happy? They would deserve it, if anyone. Austin was practically a saint, and my sister deserved him. I knew he’d take care of her, after I saw that look. But the jealousy comes creeping back into my heart, growling and clawing so much that I shiver in my seat, waiting for the traffic light to change. I would never have that. I was just a messenger of the abuse I was living. I didn’t deserve that and I’d never have a chance at that kind of life, not even with Laur. Because we both knew it would never happen. That would be too much happiness for both of our sake’s.

I stand on the edge of the party like I have something to prove, a plastic cup in my hand and a cigarette in the other. At this rate, it was undoubtedly sure I’d have lung cancer by the age of forty. (if only I knew then my days were so numbered) Ria is across the room, entertaining a good number of boys. I smile at her antics, remembering the immense hatred I had for her originally when she moved here, then the intense crush that had immobilized me for days. It was silly, thinking back. Most of my small number of friends are here, actually; Patrick, Hunter, Jen, Andy, Heath. As I’m making my way towards Ria, however, the catalyst of the night enters.

Nate Cowly had a movie star name. We always made fun of it, made fun of the way it clashed with his opposing personality. He was a drug addict, blunt and simple, something I thought I’d never be a part of. But I was younger, stupid, reckless. I thought I still had the whole world, all the time ahead of me. Nate was the beginning of proving me wrong.

“Hey, Dean.” Nate intercepts me in the crowd, his gaunt, emaciated frame just shy of my height, but giving him a corpse like appearance. I start to roll my eyes, but stop as Ria appears in front of both of us, looking from me to Nate. “Ria.” Nate looks her up and down, practically salivating, and I throw a glare in his direction. He was the kind of kid that gave teenage guys a bad name, you know? She laughs, however, leaning towards him.

“What’s on the table tonight?”

“I got this for you, babe.” Nate smile at her as she hugs him, and I realize he was probably a good looking guy at one point. But I don’t miss the white bag Ria tucks carefully into her shorts. “You’ll let me know when you’re up for more?”

“Always.” Ria says quietly, brushing her lips against his cheek with another smile. I grab her by the arm, practically dragging her away through the crowd, away from Nate. “What the fuck, Dean?”

“Are you serious right now?!”

“What?” I glance around as we stop near a dark corner of the room, away from most of the party goers, and I drop my voice before hissing at her angrily.

“You’re doing coke now?” She glares up at me, eyes unreadable and hard, half-hidden behind blonde bangs.

“Look, baby.” Again with the pet names Ria always used, regardless of who she was talking to. “You need to learn to calm down once in a while, okay? We did pot together. And you were fine. This is for me, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worrying about it.”

“Why? Do you want in?” Ria stares at me, fingernails drumming against the red cup she’s still holding in front of her. She’s giving me that look, the completely open, almost child-like one of innocence that means she’s honestly just wondering.

“What’s going to happen.”

She laughs. “Dean, sweetie, you know there’s no sense in trying to explain what drugs make you feel.” Taking my hand, Ria leads me back past Nate, jerking her head for him to follow as well. We’re heading towards a bedroom, one that’s filled with smoke and two other people when we open the door. “Hello boys.” Ria grins at them, plops down on the bed and pats the spot next to her while reaching for the mirror on the bedside table with her other hand.

I was never one to be nervous about this. I had done pot many times, drank and beat the shit out of mailboxes for the hell of it. But this was a new step. A new chapter. I watch quietly as she dumps the bag out on the mirror, pulls a credit card out of her pocket to divide the fine white powder in to a few even lines. Nate hands her a short, narrow tube once Ria’s ready, and she grins over at me, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re with me on this one, right?” Her bluish green eyes are trained to my darker green ones. This was my last chance to back out. But hell, what could go wrong? This wasn’t so uncommon.

“Sure.” I manage. Ria kisses my cheek and glances at Nate before bending forward, sniffing a line straight up her nose. Her eyes flutter shut, she leans backwards, the mirror still balanced on her lap, hands the tube to me. I stare at it, stare at her. She’s smiling, eyes still closed, then they crack open. It’s like she’s become a different person, her body relaxing muscle by muscle, her breathing slowing, in and out through pursed lips. I was jealous.

“What are you waiting for, baby? Go for it.” Ria picks up the mirror, her eyes glassy now, and holds it up in front of me a few inches from my face. The white line seems to almost be hovering, like in the air, shaking slightly from her hands. Nate watches us, fidgeting as he waits for his turn. “Come on, Dean.”

I lean towards the mirror, plug one of my nostrils and place the tube in the other, snort down a line with my eyes closed and praying to some unnamed god I didn’t believe in.

[This chapter was incredibly hard and indecent to write. I rather hate myself for this entire episode of my life; it is truly a disgusting memory that I wish I didn’t have. But it is imperative that the horrors are made known.]

“I thought you were going to stop.”

I glanced up at her, eyes blazing and ringed red, her brown hair barely visible through my blurred vision. What was she even talking about? What the fuck was her problem?

“Stop what.” It was a command, not a question. I had a strong tendency to do that when I was angry, but she just sighed in response, eyes looking sad. leaning towards me, Jen reached for the needle I was holding in my right hand, like she had some right to it. “What the fuck is this?!” I practically yell, scrambling to my feet, needle clenched tightly in my hand, taking a few steps back from her. Fucker.

“You said you were going to stop.” I just shrug. Like I had any reason to. “You’ve gotten worse, Dean. Ever since… since Austin -“

“Would you shut the fuck up already?!” I scream at her, and she recoils. “Don’t you dare fucking talk about him! You think this is funny? You think Austin dead is a joke?!”

“N-no, Dean, I never said- I don’t think -“

“It’s fucking not!” I’m towering over her now, Jen curled against the chair she’s sitting on in her living room, watching me with some kind of look of horror. Her eyes are glassy, I don’t know why, and she’s staring at me, staring with wide wide wide eyes. I grab her chin with my free hand, my face inches from her’s, eyes boring into her’s. I’m practically frothing at the mouth. “Don’t. Fucking. Talk.” I say quietly, then wrench my arm away.

Jen stares at the ground, arms wrapped around her legs which she pulled up in front of her. I fall back on the sofa facing her, eyes watching her for a second, then readjust the belt strapped around my left arm. It was her fault, bringing up Austin. Why the fuck would she do that?

The needle pierces my flesh, a small amount of blood blooming in the needle before I tap off, my hand flexing to a fist impulsively. I toss the needle on the table in between us, eyes closing as I feel whole, as I escape and am free. Free, I word I had never quite understood until this came along. But that’s what I was now, exhilerated and whole and free and unbroken and wanted. There’s a noise coming from Jen; it takes me a while to place what it is before I open my eyes.

“Are you crying?”

She’s looking away from me, towards the living room wall, head leaning on her shaking knees. At my words, she freezes for a moment, and then looks back.

Definitely crying.

“Jen, baby -“

“Shut up.”

“Jen, come on.” I stand up as I speak, moving towards her, but she fights me, pushing my hands away and getting to her feet. “Look, it was just a rough day - ” She scoffs at me, a wild screech of laughter at this comment.

“A rough day? A rough day?!” Jen is shaking, a look of close to hysterical tears covering her tanned face. “Don’t you tell me that!”

I didn’t want to fight, it was too much effort. Why couldn’t she just see that? It was in the past, it had already happened and there was no changing it. It wasn’t important, all that was important was that I wanted her. I reach for her again and she smacks my hands away; an unnamed rage streaks through me, and I grab her impulsively by the wrists.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” She yells at me, trying to kick my shins, anything to get me off of her. “Let go of me you piece of shit!” I ignore her, dragging her back to the bedroom we had already shared more than once, ignoring her words. I had heard them all too often in my life; they had little to no meaning to me by now; just words. Throwing her on the bed my shirt is off. Somewhere deep down there’s a tiny thought, a tiny thought that knows this is wrong, knows this is completely and utterly wrong and disgusting and worthy only of a monster and that was what I was.

I was a monster and I knew it. But the worst part was that I had no inclination to change it at all.

I realize Jen is sobbing as I move over her, and I pause, my arms on either side of her head, Jen’s hand pressed over her face. She had been unable to stop me; even at this low point in my life I was too strong for her. The heroin was too strong. But why was she sobbing? Why was she crying? Didn’t she like me? I was confused; I couldn’t figure it out.

“Why are you crying?”

Jen doesn’t answer, just continues to hide behind her hands, trembling and shaking like she had been cursed with some unnamed plague that I had no control over. It confused me further; she won’t answer.

“Jen? What’s wrong?”

“You killed Austin.” I fall back from her like I had been stung, fear and pain filling me up like an empty glass instead of hatred this time. She sits up, avoiding my eyes and wiping hard at the fast falling tears. “You fucking killed him, not because you didn’t call him, because you are dead! You are already dead and nobody would notice! This is just you ‘sticking it to the man’ and trying to prove Austin meant nothing to you. You are just too damn bad ass to even talk about it, Dean.” She spits out my name like it’s a dirty word, and I recoil further against the wall, paralyzed with horror, slowly shaking my head.

“You’re just killing anything that’s left of Austin! He tried so fucking hard, so hard to keep you away from this monster you are! Because you weren’t. That’s right, you weren’t this monster all the time. But now… I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Jen is finally looking at me, eyes glassy, lip trembling nervously. All I can do, all I can manage is just sinking to the ground, knees bent in front of me, staring at her. My eyes fall to my left arm, where there are innumerable track marks up and down the veins. I can’t wrap my head around this, I can’t understand what’s happening.

Austin was dead.

Was it possible to kill him further? Probably.

“Dean, please.” Jen is by my side suddenly, makes me jump from her apparition. She is careful not to touch me, but I can feel heat emanating from her body it’s that close, and I was so cold. “Please… for Austin. You need to break this habit. I can’t be with you if you’re like this.”

My head has lolled to the side, away from her. This was too much thinking, too much effort. Why wouldn’t she be with me? Why not? Was I not good enough? Was I lesser again? Or was there someone else? Someone that was better? Ideas were popping into my head faster than I thought possible, and the look on my face was easily read, easily changed to anger. I swing my vision back to Jen, a terrible, haunting and disgusting look warping my features.

“Who is it.”

“W-what?”

“Who is it.” My voice is dead, brow furrowing down further with anger as she avoids answering.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean -“

“Who the fuck are you sleeping with!”

“What the hell are you talking -“

“You fucking bitch!” I have a murderous expression on, every fiber of my being trembling and shaking and wanting to rip Jen’s throat out at the moment. She scrambles away, fumbling for the door knob. Her reflexes are faster at the moment, and she slips out of the room, although I’m close behind. “Who the fuck is it!” I storm through Jen’s house, pushing clean dishes onto the floor, flilnging her mother’s vases against walls with defeaning crashes. “Who!”

“Go away!” Her voice is muffled by the bathroom door, and I dive at it, my fingernails breaking as I scratch at the locked door with no avail.

“Who the fuck is it!”

“I’m going to call the cops!”

“Another fucking lie!” I’m punching the door like it’s my father, again and again with so much ferocity it would scare me if I was even aware. My knuckles are broken and bloody, filled with glass and wood from my destruction. The red streaking across the formerly white door haunts me for a few moments, and my punches faulter. The blood is gorgeous, a wonderful splattered red.

With sudden resolution, I return to the table, tap off once more, then back up my things. It wasn’t much; just my kit and a stolen beer from Jen’s father’s stash.

“We’re fucking over, you little bitch!” A scream through the door, throwing the now empty can against the closed, blood-streaked door.

I can hear her sobbing as I leave.