Disintegration

Updated on February 15, 2018
Source

He first noticed her eyes from across the room- glittering white and a scrap of watery-blue. It was rather poetic, really, that her life would be irretrievably altered because of something that allowed her to see the world clearly. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

She was nothing beautiful at all, really. Her skin held no glow, whether golden or pearlescent. Those eyes betrayed nothing but an empty brightness, and her hair lay dry and flat on her feeble shoulders. A wisp of a thing, he thought. Easy to ruin.

A waitress approached him with a glass of something that would do nothing to quell his thirst. He dismissed her. Glancing back to the dance floor, he noticed with a pang that the woman was gone, and the sort of feeling an architect would get if his blueprints were stolen away flashed in his bloodstream.

He felt a presence to his left, suddenly, followed by a gauchely decorated hand on his thigh. It was her. He had not noticed her attire, a sequined gold dress with a horrendous bow stapled to her front now lingered in his periphery. He wiped away the distaste that pooled in his eyes like tears and turned to face her.

Dark eyes met light, that automatic smile leapt onto his face as he had taught it to long ago. He twisted his hand beneath her own, his cold digits brushing against denim. A kiss pressed to an elevated wrist, an archaic gesture and a subsequent drunken laugh from the woman beside him.

He learned her name, quickly. He always made sure to remember the names, so he could summon the faces in his memory on slow days.

The comparison of a shiny new thing to its broken counterpart.

She said the things that they always said, how he had been eying her (he always made the first move, but never directly), an uninspired and generic comment on his looks, and finally, a hamfisted request to take her home.

“Of course.” he said. It was always his reply.

A hazy and feverish drive to his apartment, fingers on his skin, a conclusion. He left her to have a cigarette.

He always picked easy targets. He couldn’t bear the idea of something going wrong.

I only choose the ones who have nothing, he thought, watching smoke dissipate into air.

He flicked the cigarette into the kitchen sink, admiring its ashy skeleton against the clean porcelain.

He never enjoyed being in the moment. He took pleasure in reflection- there was something more musical in remembrance. He shook out a dish towel and ran it under icy water, watching the cigarette disintegrate and roll down the drain.

He returned to her momentarily.

She smiled at him, and he reciprocated. He told her the location of a shower, and she quickly swung out of bed to find it. He watched her form retreat over the threshold and out of the room. He walked to the kitchen, knowing he would have time to prepare. They often found the preparation of the syringe and the gleam in his eye disconcerting, initially.

He didn’t understand why. It was all very hygienic.

He readied a sealed jar of isopropyl alcohol, one of his belts, a cotton swab, and a warm compress. Reaching beneath the sink, he pulled out a leather bag. He boiled water, pouring powdered crystal into it as it cooled. He stirred it in, the sound of a spoon clicking against a glass mingling with echoes from the shower, and he closed his eyes and smiled.

He filled two syringes and capped them carefully. One for her, and one for him, so she would feel more comfortable. She would go first, though, and her distraction would allow for a quick injection into the bed.

He never joined them. His high came from a different source entirely.

He would drive her home afterwards, and she would inevitably turn up uninvited months later when she ran out of money for more meth or heroin or crack or whatever her poison may have evolved into. Her gaunt arms would be scattered with irritated red tracks, her skin blue and veiny, her pupils pinned in their pale orbs. She would fall onto her knees or into his arms, looking up at him with fear and reverence and…

Desperation. That particular brand which he liked most. They never blamed him, they only asked for more. He would never acquiesce. He would usher her inside, showing her to a room altogether separate from his own. She would be too weak and hopeful to try to leave, not that he would let her.

Then, he would watch. Most everything was the same in his process, the only thing that separated the different people was the ways that they died. Some expired from the seizures, others from infections or blood poisoning. It was interesting to guess what venomous forms the withdrawal would take. Either way, she would die like the rest of them.
He waited patiently for her to be done with her shower.

Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Rosemere1 profile imageAUTHOR

      Rose 

      7 months ago

      So glad you enjoyed it!

    • Camille Harris profile image

      Camille Harris 

      7 months ago from SF Bay Area

      Grim, but gripping. Kept me on the edge of my seat. Well done!!

    working

    This website uses cookies

    As a user in the EEA, your approval is needed on a few things. To provide a better website experience, letterpile.com uses cookies (and other similar technologies) and may collect, process, and share personal data. Please choose which areas of our service you consent to our doing so.

    For more information on managing or withdrawing consents and how we handle data, visit our Privacy Policy at: https://letterpile.com/privacy-policy#gdpr

    Show Details
    Necessary
    HubPages Device IDThis is used to identify particular browsers or devices when the access the service, and is used for security reasons.
    LoginThis is necessary to sign in to the HubPages Service.
    Google RecaptchaThis is used to prevent bots and spam. (Privacy Policy)
    AkismetThis is used to detect comment spam. (Privacy Policy)
    HubPages Google AnalyticsThis is used to provide data on traffic to our website, all personally identifyable data is anonymized. (Privacy Policy)
    HubPages Traffic PixelThis is used to collect data on traffic to articles and other pages on our site. Unless you are signed in to a HubPages account, all personally identifiable information is anonymized.
    Amazon Web ServicesThis is a cloud services platform that we used to host our service. (Privacy Policy)
    CloudflareThis is a cloud CDN service that we use to efficiently deliver files required for our service to operate such as javascript, cascading style sheets, images, and videos. (Privacy Policy)
    Google Hosted LibrariesJavascript software libraries such as jQuery are loaded at endpoints on the googleapis.com or gstatic.com domains, for performance and efficiency reasons. (Privacy Policy)
    Features
    Google Custom SearchThis is feature allows you to search the site. (Privacy Policy)
    Google MapsSome articles have Google Maps embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    Google ChartsThis is used to display charts and graphs on articles and the author center. (Privacy Policy)
    Google AdSense Host APIThis service allows you to sign up for or associate a Google AdSense account with HubPages, so that you can earn money from ads on your articles. No data is shared unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    Google YouTubeSome articles have YouTube videos embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    VimeoSome articles have Vimeo videos embedded in them. (Privacy Policy)
    PaypalThis is used for a registered author who enrolls in the HubPages Earnings program and requests to be paid via PayPal. No data is shared with Paypal unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    Facebook LoginYou can use this to streamline signing up for, or signing in to your Hubpages account. No data is shared with Facebook unless you engage with this feature. (Privacy Policy)
    MavenThis supports the Maven widget and search functionality. (Privacy Policy)
    Marketing
    Google AdSenseThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Google DoubleClickGoogle provides ad serving technology and runs an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Index ExchangeThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    SovrnThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Facebook AdsThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Amazon Unified Ad MarketplaceThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    AppNexusThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    OpenxThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Rubicon ProjectThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    TripleLiftThis is an ad network. (Privacy Policy)
    Say MediaWe partner with Say Media to deliver ad campaigns on our sites. (Privacy Policy)
    Remarketing PixelsWe may use remarketing pixels from advertising networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Ads, and Facebook in order to advertise the HubPages Service to people that have visited our sites.
    Conversion Tracking PixelsWe may use conversion tracking pixels from advertising networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Ads, and Facebook in order to identify when an advertisement has successfully resulted in the desired action, such as signing up for the HubPages Service or publishing an article on the HubPages Service.
    Statistics
    Author Google AnalyticsThis is used to provide traffic data and reports to the authors of articles on the HubPages Service. (Privacy Policy)
    ComscoreComScore is a media measurement and analytics company providing marketing data and analytics to enterprises, media and advertising agencies, and publishers. Non-consent will result in ComScore only processing obfuscated personal data. (Privacy Policy)
    Amazon Tracking PixelSome articles display amazon products as part of the Amazon Affiliate program, this pixel provides traffic statistics for those products (Privacy Policy)