Bad feeling

After stashing his dope in my bra while we were out at the bar, I came back to his house with him. I didn't know why, but I wanted to be with him. We slept in his bed and I let him kiss me on the cheek, but I pretended that I was asleep when he tried talking to me. I could feel him running his fingers through my hair, and I was glad that I wasn't facing him just in case I started crying.

When we finally woke up, it was in the afternoon. Before even opening my eyes, the first thing I thought about was how much my head was hurting. Mike's younger brother Dean was shaking him awake, calling out his name.

"Hey, Mike!" Dean was yelling.

"What?" Mike sleepily replied, rolling onto his back and opening his eyes. I turned over and pulled the blanket over my head.

"Can I take your car?" Dean asked.

"Why? Where?" Mike asked.

"Chris and I wanna go up to meet with his dealer. He's gonna flip some shit and then pay you the money that he owes you, but he needs a ride and wants me to take him up there," explained Dean. Chris was one of Mike's acquaintances - a guy that he sold dope to. He owed Mike money, but not a lot.

"My keys are on the table," Mike told Dean.

"Thanks, man," Dean said. He put on his shoes and then grabbed the keys from the kitchen table.

"Mike," I implored to him quietly. "You know, it's probably not a good idea for you to let him take your car."

I had really wanted to say, Don't let him take your car, you idiot! The reason I didn't though, was because I knew how much Mike didn't like to be told what to do, or given any type of advice. Otherwise, I would've said much more to him -- like, how Dean was 18 and didn't have a license or the best driving skills, and that him and Chris were going to be driving miles and miles away. But I didn't need to tell him that, or remind him of the fact that Dean was not someone to trust, even in the slightest bit.

"Don't do anything stupid," said Mike as Dean walked toward the front door.

A few minutes after Dean had left, Mike got up and walked around his room, putting on his clothes. I sat up in bed as he started busying himself with starting a load of laundry and tidying up his room. When he made a trip to the bathroom, I decided to get up and brush my teeth. I stood by the door for a moment before opening it, and I could hear the distinct sounds of someone sniffing drugs. I turned the handle and opened the door.

"What are you doing?" I asked Mike as I stood in the doorway. He was standing in front of the mirror, dope on the sink and a rolled-up bill in his hand.

"Don't be mad, I'm just doing a little bit," he said immediately.

"I know, but I thought the deal was that you wouldn't do any? That you would just sell it because you need the money, remember?"

He didn't have anything to say, so I went back to the bed and laid down. I wasn't tired but all I felt like doing was laying there with my eyes closed. It was like the emotional stress was also making me worn-out physically.

I'm not sure how long I had been laying there or at what point I had fallen asleep, or even how long I had been sleeping. But I remember slowly waking up to the sound of the TV. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Mike was sitting in front of the screen, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth as he watched Jeopardy.

"You sleep too goddamn much," said Mike. He didn't turn or look away from the TV. I could tell by the way that he was talking that he was high; his voice was gravelly and hoarse and he spoke slowly, frequently clearing his throat.

"I guess," I responded quietly. I slowly got up and stretched, holding my arms up and reaching for the ceiling. I went and sat next to Mike on the floor, watching TV with him. During the commercial break, Mike stubbed out his cigarette and complained that Dean and Chris had been gone for a long time and that neither of them were answering their cell phones.

"Something must've happened," said Mike.

"I'm sure they're fine," I replied. "They're probably high as hell as we speak, nodding out and burning themselves with cigarettes."

Mike cracked a little smile but then spoke: "I don't know, I just have a bad feeling."

When the commercials ended and Jeopardy returned, I re-positioned myself so that I was sitting on my knees. Listening to the theme song of the show, I was thinking to myself and trying to force myself to talk to Mike about him doing heroin. I opened my mouth and looked at him, but then there was a knock at the door.

"Ugh," I scoffed. My moment to talk was ruined. I turned my head to the side and rolled my eyes, wondering who was at the door. I assumed it was someone here to buy drugs, or maybe one of Mike's friends coming over with a case of beer, wanting to get drunk.

Whoever it was, they started knocking harder and louder -- it was urgent knocking. Mike sighed as he got up from the carpet to check who it was that was knocking so frantically. Taking a moment to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray, he leaned against the door and pressed his face up to the peephole.

"Holy fuck." Mike's face took on a shocked expression and he stepped back from the peephole. I could see the panic in him as he began fumbling with the locks so that he could open the door. The worry in him was making me worry, too, and I braced myself as he grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pulling it toward him.

"Do me a favor."

At first, I didn't think I would mind that Mike was selling dope. It had been a while since I last shot up, so I was confident in my decision that I wasn't going to use heroin. I told myself that as long as no one used heroin in front of me, I would be okay. As long as I wasn't offered any, as long as I stayed away from it and didn't see it...

It was easy for me to rationalize it. I wanted to think that I was strong enough to say no.

Mike wanted me to come over early in the morning, so I left my house when the sun had yet to peek over the horizon. My drive to the methadone clinic was quiet, and there were hardly any cars on the road. By the time I parked outside of the clinic and was walking inside, daylight had taken over the sky.

"Good morning," I smiled as I greeted the nurse at the window. She glanced at me as she handed me a small cup of orange liquid, but then turned around without saying a word. I picked up the cup and then tipped my head back, drinking down the mixture of methadone and Tang. I wiped my mouth and threw the empty cup in the trash, saying bye to the nurse as I left.

When I walked out of the clinic, I noticed the "No Loitering" sign that had just been put on the door. I then proceeded to walk past all the methadone clinic patients blatantly ignoring the sign -- guys smoking cigarettes, people leaning into car windows, moms that were bunched together with babies on their hips.

I got to Mike's house and he was laying down. I sat down next to him while he typed a text message in his phone. He didn't say anything to me, so I just looked around his room while he finished using his phone. It made my stomach turn to see all of the empty beer bottles, the scattered money, and empty bags of dope. Laying next to him on the bed was an "owe sheet" - a piece of paper that he used to keep track of who owed him what.

For the rest of the day, he didn't say anything to me about dope. He didn't mention how he was using it, or that he was selling it, or details about any of his drug deals. And honestly, I didn't know if it would bother me more if I knew the details, or if I didn't.

In the evening, we were getting ready to go out to a bar called PJ's. As usual, Mike wanted to go and play in the Texas Hold 'Em tournament that PJ's hosted once a week. He was convinced he could become a "professional poker player" and so he traveled the area multiple times a week to play poker for cash prizes. Each time I went with him, it was typical for me to spend the majority of the night sitting at the bar.

As I was in the bathroom applying a golden-colored shadow to my eyelids, Mike stood in the doorway.

"I'm almost ready," I told him, focusing on my reflection.

"Here, do me a favor," he said. "Put this in your bra or something. I don't have any pockets."

I stepped away from the mirror and turned to face him. He was standing there with his hand out, a clear plastic baggie of dope resting in his palm. I looked at his face; his eyes were glazed over and heavy, but he still had his mouth shaped into a small half-smirk. It was a smile that reminded me of a trouble-making little boy.

"Fine." I agreed after a silence that seemed to last forever. I was surprised at how casually I had said it, like it didn't bother me at all.

"Thanks, baby," said Mike. He put the baggie in my hand and kissed my cheek before walking away. I glanced at the dope in my palm, noting the color of it and the amount. Thinking about how much it was worth. Wondering about the purity and how good it might feel.

I silently cursed myself and then tore my eyes away from the dope as I tucked it into my bra. I tried to forget that I had a bag of heroin pressed against my chest, and I grabbed my purse and slipped on my shoes. Mike lead me out of the house and to his car.

It wasn't until we were in the PJ's parking lot that I said anything.

"So, why didn't you just leave the dope at home?"

"There's a couple of people that are gonna meet me here to buy some," he said.

"Oh." I nodded.

"Besides," he added, "I don't trust my junkie roommates to not go through my shit."

We walked inside and he started playing poker. I sat at the bar and ordered a Vodka and Redbull drink and sat there, watching the sports game on TV. I wanted to think about other things, but my mind kept returning to the heroin in my bra. So I ordered one more drink, and then another.

I went into the restroom, locking myself in a stall. Slowly, I tugged down my shirt and reached into my bra, pulling out the bag of dope. And I just sat there, staring at it. I didn't know why it was so mesmerizing, but I couldn't even form any thoughts. Just stayed silent and let it sit there in my hand.

And then, suddenly, I got the urge to flush it down the toilet. I wanted to get rid of it; to dispose of it and all of my cravings. I wanted to watch it swirl down the drain. But I knew that I couldn't do it. My hands were getting shaky just thinking about it.

"Fuck!" I shouted impulsively. I leaned my head against the wall of the stall, closing my eyes. Breathing. Trying to calm myself down.

"Excuse me?" It was a woman's voice. "Are you okay?"

I scoffed and then replied: "No."

When I left the bathroom, Mike came up to me and gave me a kiss. He whispered in my ear that he needed the dope. I almost told him that I flushed it down the toilet, but I discreetly handed it to him instead. If that's what he wanted, he could have it.

Give and take

In a way, my anxiety about Mike had decreased.

Before, I was constantly torturing myself with all of my worries. My mind would race as I wondered if he was alright. Was he using drugs? Was he selling them? I was always on the edge; always dangerously close to a panic attack or a breakdown.

But since he had told me over the phone that he relapsed on heroin, it was like a part of me could relax. I wouldn't be agonizing over whether he was high, or doubting myself when he lied to me. Now I knew for sure that he was using dope - there was no little bit of uncertainty that tugged at the back of my thoughts. And because he was finally being honest with me, I felt like maybe I could help him. Maybe he wanted my help.

So, a day or two after Mike had admitted that he was using heroin, I decided to go and see him. There were things that I wanted to talk to him about, and things that I wanted to say to him. During the time I was away from him, I had been thinking of ways that I could help him.

When I walked inside his house, I saw that Mike was sitting in the living room with his friend Jacob. They were watching a movie and eating candy. Mike briefly looked away from the television to greet me, and I smiled.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him as I sat down.

"Fine," he replied.

"What's up, Tori?" Jacob turned to face me.

"Same old," I shrugged.

I sat there uncomfortably while Mike and Jacob continued watching the movie and talking to each other. Jacob did most of the talking - he was complaining about his girlfriend, bragging about the new chick he was sleeping with, and making comments about how high he was. I tried to ignore him and focus on the movie, but his voice was loud enough to interrupt my thoughts.

Once the movie finally ended, Jacob got up to leave. He dug through his wallet and pulled out a few bills, handing them to Mike.

"Here," he said. Mike nodded and took the money, shoving it into his pocket.

"What was that for?" I asked Mike once Jacob had left.

"Dope," replied Mike.

"I thought you were just using it?"

"Yeah, well, I'm selling a little too." He said.

"Oh."

Since we were on the subject of heroin, I told Mike that it might be a good idea if he stopped getting high. Not only because I didn't like it, but also because being high on heroin directly contributed to his recent arrest.

"I already made the decision to stop," he told me.

"So, why are you selling it?"

"Because I need the money. I gotta pay the rent or else I have to find somewhere else to stay."

"Well... I guess that as long as you're not using it, then I don't really care if you're selling it," I said. I did care a little bit, but I figured it was a compromise; I was meeting him in the middle. He was okay with not getting high, and I was okay with him selling it. Give and take. That's what relationships were all about, right?

We laid together on the couch as he flipped through the channels. The entire time I was with him, his phone was constantly ringing. I wanted him to turn it off, but he put it on silent instead. Another compromise.

What I didn't realize, though, was how much I was giving and he was taking. And how much these little agreements were taking from me. I thought that we were meeting eachother halfway, but I was the one that was compromising myself - my values, my feelings, my trust. My sobriety.

Public intoxication

Even though I was upset with Mike for the way he had been acting when I visited him at his house, I had been telling him the truth when I promised that I would come back over the next day. But once morning came and the hours passed, I realized that there was a problem; I couldn't get ahold of him. I sent him a few text messages that he didn't respond to, and I called his phone to discover that it was off.

It was easy for me to become anxious. It happened all the time - whenever Mike didn't answer his phone, I always assumed the worst. This time, I was thinking that he might have taken a few too many Vicodin and passed out, or that he had probably stayed up the previous night drinking and was catching up on some sleep. But the only thing that I knew for sure was that he never had his phone off.

In order to calm my thoughts, I stretched out on my bed and began flipping through the pages of the latest Cosmopolitan magazine. I was trying to distract myself by reading articles about the current runway fashions on models, the hot sex tips of the moment, and interviews with the featured celebrity. But despite my efforts to occupy my mind, I couldn't keep myself from continually glancing at my phone and wondering what Mike was doing.

Darkness was starting to take over the sky, and I could feel myself getting tired. With the magazine laying on my lap, my eyes began to flutter and sleep was creeping up on me...

Suddenly, my phone made a beeping noise, alerting me that I had a new text message. The sound startled me, and I promptly opened my eyes and reached for my phone. Flipping it open, I clicked the OK button to view the new text message. It was from Mike:

I was in jail all day, call me when you get this.

Reading his message made my stomach drop, and there was a moment in which I felt like I couldn't breathe. I inhaled sharply, and then dialed his number and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, baby," answered Mike.

"What happened?" I asked immediately.

"It's such a long story," he replied, and then heaved a loud sigh into the phone.

"Just tell me," I urged him.

"I am," he said. "But let me explain everything to you, and then you can talk when I'm done. Just listen to what I have to say."

"Alright," I agreed impatiently.

"Okay, well, I wasn't able to get any sleep last night because my back was really, really bothering me. It was hurting so bad and the pain just kept getting more and more excruciating."

"Why was your back hurting?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he said quickly. "Anyway, by the time it was about 7 in the morning, I was almost in tears because of the pain and I needed to get some sleep, but I couldn't get comfortable."

"Yeah, okay?" I rolled my eyes.

"So, I gave Julie a call," he responded. The statement hung in the air, thick with his guilt and uneasiness. He waited for me to speak.

"And then what?" I replied, prompting him. But I already knew what he was going to say. Julie had been our occasional heroin dealer.

"Well, I drove to her place and bought a bag of dope. I did it in my car and then I left and started driving back to my house. I guess because I had been awake all night, when I pulled up to a stoplight and was sitting still, I fell asleep."

"Oh, great," I said quietly.

"Because my head was resting on the steering wheel, my horn was going off for a while. I could hear the sound of it, but I was fucked up and didn't move. When I came to and picked my head up off the steering wheel, a police officer was at my damn window."

"Shit," I said, and he continued.

"Yeah, so I turned off the engine and the cop told me get out of the car. He was asking me questions and talking to me and shit, but I couldn't even keep my eyes open or stand up straight. He knew that I was all fucked up."

"So what happened?" I asked him curiously.

"Well, I mean, I was nodding off really badly," Mike explained. "So, the cop kept grabbing me by the shoulder and shaking me awake. He was saying a bunch of shit, like how I shouldn't be driving and asking me what drugs I was on, and all that."

"What did you tell the cop?" I realized that my hand was clenched into a fist, my fingernails digging into my palms.

"I wanted to be honest with the guy, you know?" Mike said. "So, I told him that I had done heroin. Next thing I know, another cop is searching my car, I'm put in handcuffs and read my rights, my car is towed, and then I'm transported to jail where I had to wait for my uncle to come bail me out."

"Damn it," I said in exasperation. "What were you charged with?"

"Uh, public intoxication, driving without a license, and, um.. possession of drug paraphernalia."

"Wow," I replied. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know, Tori!" Mike said irritably.

"Didn't you think about--"

"Listen," he interrupted me angrily. "I don't need a fucking lecture. I know what I did was wrong, okay? I've been sitting in jail all day, I think that's punishment enough!"

Even though I didn't want to, I apologized to him anyway. I told him that I wasn't in a good mood and that I didn't mean to snap at him, and that I would call him back later when I was feeling better. But the truth was, I wanted to get off of the phone because of how much it bothered me to hear his voice. Not just because he was talking about being arrested and acting like everything was fine, but also because I had a suspicion that he was high.

So, I hung up the phone and then laid back down on my bed once more. I started to close my eyes, but then sat upu in bed and picked up my cell phone, turning it off. I didn't want to deal with anymore bullshit; especially Mike's. Maybe if I turned off my phone and pretended that he didn't exist, it wouldn't effect me as much.

"Here for you."

Once I put the key into my car's ignition, I tried not to think about the doctor appointment I had just had. Even though I knew that I had miscarried, it was still somewhat of a shock to hear it from the doctor. I didn't think I could feel so upset about a pregnancy that I didn't even want.

As I pulled out of my parking space, I took out my cell phone. I began typing a text message to Mike that said I was coming over. My phone alerted me of a new text message when I was stopped at a red light. Looking to my lap, I read his text: "K. I'm about to get in the shower so I will leave the door unlocked. Love u." The car behind me beeped their horn, and I quickly looked up to see that the light had changed to green.

When I walked through the front door of Mike's house, I was surprised at how quiet it was. The only thing I could hear was the faint sound of running shower water from the bathroom down the hall. I closed the front door and walked into the living room, laying my purse down on the carpet. Reaching for the TV remote, I got comfortable on the couch and began flipping through the television channels.

I stopped clicking through the channels when I saw that an episode of Law & Order was on. Even though it was a re-run and I had seen it before, I decided to watch it anyway.

"Hey, Tori," said Mike as he walked into the living room. A towel was wrapped around his waist and his hair was still wet. He walked over to me and stretched his arms out, giving me a hug and holding me.

"I'm really upset," I told him. My face was pressed into his shoulder and I tried not to cry.

"Yeah, I know, baby," he replied. "So am I."

"I just can't believe how everything has happened so quickly," I said. My voice cracked, and I was biting on my lip to keep it from quivering.

"It's okay, everything is going to be alright." He squeezed me tightly and then released his grip and took a seat next to me on the couch.

"But it's just..." I sighed heavily and then shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did you say anything to your family?" Mike asked me.

"Just my dad," I replied. "When I told him he said, 'Good, maybe it will all work itself out naturally,' or something like that."

"What an ass!"

I looked to Mike, my mouth open and about to say something, when I noticed that his pupils were unusually tiny. So instead of agreeing with him about my dad being insensitive, I asked him, "Are you high?"

"What? No," he said. "I just took a Vicodin."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because my back has really been bothering me," he told me. He turned his head toward the TV and then scratched his nose.

I wanted to ask him more questions; like where he got the Vicodin from, when he took it, why just one Vicodin pill made his pupils so tiny. Or if it was even Vicodin that he had taken at all. But, as usual, I held my tongue. I wanted to trust him and believe him, even if it was at my own expense.

Mike got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. I watched as he opened up the fridge and grabbed a beer, opening it up and taking a few sips of it. When he sat back down next to me, he tilted the bottle toward me, offering me some.

"No, I'm fine," I said. He shrugged and then took a gulp from it.

In a way, I felt some kind of anger toward him. Maybe it was envy? It bothered me that he was taking pain pills and drinking beer, as if nothing was wrong. It made me mad that I had to feel and deal with all the painful and hurtful emotions, and he got to escape with drugs. I didn't think it was fair, or right.

"Hey, I think that I'm gonna head on home," I told him once the episode of Law & Order had ended.

"Why?" He asked.

"I'm tired, and I just want to be at my house. I'll come back over tomorrow to see you."

"Okay," he said.

When I got up from the couch, Mike stretched his legs out where I had been sitting. I collected my things, and then leaned over him to give him a goodbye kiss.

"I love you," I said.

He told me that he loved me too, and as I walked to the door and opened it up to leave, he called out to me.

"Tori, I want you to know that I'm here for you."

I gave him a smile and then turned around and left his house, walking toward my car. What I had wanted to tell him was that he might've been there physically, but he wasn't there for me mentally or emotionally. But at that point, I had become used to it.

26-year sentence

The drug dealer that I bought my heroin from was arrested quite a few months ago. He was involved in a "heroin ring" that had been under investigation after too many rich, white young adults had overdosed in the Northern Virginia area. I have referred to this drug dealer in previous posts as "BG," and the first entry I wrote about him can be found here.

Due to the media coverage and how popular the story was at the time, I knew that BG had been arrested and that he was denied bond. But after his initial arrest those few months ago, I had heard nothing else. Until today.

When I sat down at my kitchen table and began thumbing through the newspaper, I was suprised to have come across an article that mentioned him:


Supplier of Heroin Ring Gets 26-Year Sentence

One of the main suppliers of a western Fairfax County heroin ring was sentenced Friday to more than 26 years in prison, after admitting that he dealt between 10 and 30 kilograms of heroin -- or up to 300,000 individual doses -- during a two-year period ending last year.

Antonio L. Harper, 33, of Waldorf (Maryland) was one of the original sources for a group of teenage heroin addicts from the Fairfax County area, who took turns driving into the District or Maryland to buy heroin from Harper, multiple members said. Four of the young people involved in the ring died of heroin overdoses, and another 15 were arrested on various federal drug charges beginning in November.

Harper was the fourth person to receive a sentence of 19 years or more. The other three defendants to receive long sentences pleaded guilty to distributing heroin that resulted in the death of one of their friends. The only defendant to not plead guilty, Skylar M. Schnippel, 20, was convicted at trial in May on the charge of distribution resulting in death, involving the fatal overdose of his girlfriend, 19-year-old Alicia Lannes. He faces a minimum 20-year term at his sentencing next Friday.


Once I had finished reading the article, a chill went up my spine. I was thinking so many things; mostly how lucky I was to not have gotten caught up in that. But I also thought about how many lives had been affected by BG's actions. The people who became addicted, the ones that lost their lives due to overdoses, and the families of all of them. And now that BG would be in jail serving a 26-year sentence, his children and his family are affected by it, too.

But the saddest part is that even when something like this happens, and lives are lost and damaged, addiction rages on without missing a beat.