Page 15 of Dark Notes, Volume Two

She’s quiet, and while I don’t know everything about her yet, I know this isn’t her nature.

“What is it, Angel?”

I pull her back into my arms, where she belongs, and she lays her head on my chest. As good as it felt to be inside her, this is just as well.

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“Ask about the drugs. It’s okay.”

Her gasp of surprise is adorable, but it’s not a secret. I don’t hide my drug use. Not anymore. It got to the point where it was unmistakable, and I’m a fucking rockstar. Isn’t it expected?

She lifts her head and stares at me, her eyes filling with compassion I don’t deserve.

“Why do you do it?” She whispers.

I think for a moment before answering her question.

“Why do I do it now? Or why did I start? Those are very different answers, Angel.”

She shrugs and says, “I’ll take whatever answer you’re willing to give.”

“I use now because I don’t have a choice. It’s a never-ending cycle. If I don’t use, I get violently ill. Rehabs are shit. You are the sickest you can ever imagine at the same time they want you to process your fucking trauma, all while trying to medicate the depression with yet another goddam drug. I use because there's no way I could do my job without them.”

It’s the truth. It’s no longer a choice. In the beginning, you do it to feel something or not feel something. Then the addiction grabs hold of you. My body can’t function without the poison, my mind can’t arrange a thought without the small amount of numbness it brings.

“I wish you had never started.”

I pull her against me tightly, but don’t respond. What can I possibly say to that? She is not the first person to say those words to me, and she likely won’t be the last. For a long time, I denied I had a problem, but I spiraled so far down in a drug-fueled existence that even I couldn’t say I wasn’t addicted. Honestly, though, it depends on the day. Sometimes I feel in control. And other times, I don’t.

“Will you ever stop?”

I kiss her on the top of the head softly, hoping it somehow softens the blow before I let the words fall from my lips.

“Probably not until I’m dead.”

She pops her head up and glares at me with anger so intense it’s palpable.

“You think I should be yours? Let you get me pregnant? For you to just leave me?”

I never thought about it that way, but I won’t let her go. And I can't stop using heroin, so somehow she’ll have to deal with it.

“Why would you even want children, Jett? It doesn’t make sense.”

She’s right. It doesn’t, but I’m not sure explaining my motives to her will ease her concerns. A woman like Mia could get any man she wants. There is no way a man like me wins her honestly. It requires coercion and entrapment. I’ve been obsessed with her for years, but now that I’ve had her, the intensity has grown. The thought of not having her again is too much to bear. I won’t let that be a possibility. The need to claim her body in every way consumes me. To possess her womb with my child, to know part of me is growing within her, to know she will forever have a part of me with her by having our child.

I don’t answer her question, so she continues asking me more.

“Have you ever tried to quit?”

“Yes,” I bite because I fucking hate this topic. I can feel her judgement burning into my skin, and it causes the rage to come back. Rage, I know all too well.

“Why did you start again?”

“The sickness,” I answer before giving her more information.

“You wouldn’t understand if you haven’t experienced it. It’s like the worst flu you could ever have. Vomiting, diarrhea, chills, sweating, runny nose, watery eyes, severe abdominal cramping. Possibly the worst is the muscle and joint pain combined with restlessness that you can’t even begin to imagine. Don’t bother trying to understand it—you never will.”

She reaches up and strokes my cheek with a tenderness I know I don’t deserve.