She’s positive she’s going to die.
Her skin is on fire and she feels like she’s taking out all
the oxygen in the air. Her hands twitch with nervous
uncertainty. She drops the syringe. Haris has been sober
for almost five years, but she still remembers how meth
feels like, and this is not it. When she was a junior in high
school and habitually injecting, she remembers feeling on
top of the world, freakin’ fantastic. Her senses were sharp
and she could actually concentrate for once.
Now, though, she’s just scared. Haris isn’t an idiot
(despite common thinking), she knows what happens
when you OD. She knows how your temperature
is supposed to increase and your breathing is
supposed to become rapid and tremors are supposed
to wrack your body.
Haris has gone through this once before. End of
junior year. She needs a fix, and badly.
Right before practice wasn’t the smartest idea.
Her coach walks in on her, shaky hand releasing a needle
and face red, partially from guilt and partially from her
increasing temperature. Haris remembers being driven to
the hospital immediately, but not much after. But, whatever
happened in the after didn’t really matter. All Haris cared
about was the scared look on her brother’s face as he held
her hand in the hospital bed.
She decided she would never hurt anyone again. Not
with drugs, anyways.
But here she is again, relapsed and falling into the cycle of
hurting everyone around her. Haris wonders if Octavia will
come home to her dead body. Haris wonders if she’ll cry for
very long.
No, she thinks to herself, I can’t think like that. I can’t hurt
more people.
She reaches for her phone, and types out a shaky message.
come quick. i relapsed. i dont wanna die.
Darcy responds. Says she’ll be right there.
Haris sinks back into the wall, hoping that she gets here before
her death does.
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