Atone (The Disciples 2)

Fish’s conversation brings my eyes into focus on the present.

“Yeah he’s here—just walked in.”

I ignore him and move to the couch so that I can set up my altar.

“Um, he appears to be staying.”

He frowns at me as he wraps a hand around the woman’s arm, bringing her close to him as he nods into the phone.

“She needs to go. This is a solo mission,” I say. Truthfully, I’m not in the mood to share.

With my arm, I sweep all the contents off the coffee table and onto the floor.

Fish and his bullshit tattling on me to my cousin means nothing. In fact, I’m fucking done. I stand up and take off my cut and toss it in front of him.

“Tell Blade I did the right thing. It’s on the floor so he has nothing to worry about.”

“Fuuuck.” Fish stares at my cut, his mouth open.

“I’ll call back, Prez.”

I snicker as I sit on the couch. I want peace and quiet, want the witches to stop talking to me, my baby to stop crying, and the smell of death to be out of my nasal passages forever. My bloody hands drop my supply onto the shiny black wood of the table.

Ripping off my belt, I wrap it around my arm. This is my sacred time. Some call it a ritual; I call it my church.

My veins, which have never failed me, pump up proudly, almost as if they know I’m ready. Some junkies have to move around to find a good vein, or they want to hide their shame. Not me. I own my shit.

Opening the bag of white powder, I’m ready. Six seconds of incredible adrenaline. That’s how addictive it is.

Six seconds for the drug to enter your bloodstream and change the chemicals in your brain forever. I look around for something to cook with.

“I need a spoon, aluminum, something to cook with.” I look up at the waitress or whatever she is. She’s still here, so she might as well be useful.

She licks her lips and nods, then swirls around to the area that holds the coffee machine.

“Here.”

“Another Russian?”

“Da, I’m Russian. I can tie real good. Let me help you.”

I already have the belt around my arm and I’m getting ready to tighten it with my mouth. “Get out. I need to be alone.”

“But—”

“Out,” I bellow and she backs away. I’m sure I look insane as I fill the spoon and start to cook.

This… the preparation to get to the place I’ve longed for all these years.

The smell of it.

The bubbling, the high of watching it turn to my very own mistress of death.

Breathing out, I’m disturbed by Fish who stares at me like he has no idea what to do.

I help him out. “Either do your job, or get the fuck out.”

He nods and pockets his phone. Going over to his chair, he sits and starts to light a pipe filled with whatever poison he needs.

I turn back to my altar and tighten my belt. The needle glistens, the tip like a leaking cock. I smile at the slight burn as the seductive poison enters my vein and lean back, counting down. Five, four, three, two, one. The taste of it in my mouth and the cool heaven in my bloodstream.

Snap. I’m home.

A place where all is quiet and my muscles relax. Like a soft warm cashmere blanket, or even better, Charlie’s warm cunt wrapping me like a warm hot dog bun.

I smile and wonder why I ever was worried. Everything always works out. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. I won’t sleep, not really, but I see her.

My Beautiful. Her golden eyes are happy as she kisses me with warm lips, and I think to myself, Louis Armstrong was right… what a wonderful world.DAVID/POET“David?” Someone is kicking me with what feels like a boot.

“Poet, wake the fuck up.” This time I’m sure it was a kick in my rib cage. I blink my eyes open to see Axel standing over me.

“Christ, Axel, watch the boots.” I sit up looking around.

“I need to piss.” Reaching for a needle left over from last night, I help myself to my breakfast.

“Jesus, Poet.” He watches, smoking his cigarette as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, which is fucking stupid. He’s seen a lot. I don’t even bother with a belt and insert the needle into one of my thicker veins.

I stand up, move to the trash can, and piss in it then sit back on the couch and smile at him.

“Did you just piss in the garbage can?”

“What time is it?” I look around, a little hungry. It’s got to be close to my burrito time. I’ve been having a burrito a day at Taco Bell.

“This is beyond fucked up, man. Even for you… What the hell?” He stares at me, takes a huge inhale, and stubs it out on some of the aluminum that I cook with.