Chapter 131

ASHER

I’ve never spiraled out of control this quickly or this deeply in the past twenty-four hours. I couldn’t distinguish between up and down, right and left. The drugs had a stronger, faster, and deeper grip on me than ever before, stealing away my senses and everything else.

I’ve never felt so…immobilized by the very drugs I’ve been living with for more years than I can remember.

I don’t think I’ve slept a wink since Atty told me about Maddy’s wishes. Damn, I didn’t want to believe him. I didn’t want him to be right, but the harsh reality is that we’re not compatible, and I’m far—so very far—from what she wants or needs.

She’s too damaged for me, and I’m not willing to give her what she desires. I tried, God knows I tried. But I’m utterly repulsed by myself for taking her so forcefully and even more so for taking her upstairs to the man she’s attracted to.

And what’s worse, I’m disgusted that I wanted to watch him pleasure her until she climaxed—something she didn’t do when I was with her forcefully. I have no idea what I expected to happen or why I did that, but I did—and I’m wrong for it. All of it. And I’m filled with shame—absolute shame.

She didn’t return yesterday morning as I thought she would, and she’s still not back this morning. That’s two full days since the incident, and I’m just wallowing in self-loathing and drunkenness, hating myself and every thought that crosses my mind.

How can I be upset that she wants him when I wanted her to have him? My parents have clearly influenced me, leading me to a desire that isn’t normal. Damn. “Pull yourself together, Asher!” Who knew falling off the wagon would hurt this much?

I don’t know why I did it, to be honest. I don’t know what exactly triggered my need to use, but there it was, the need presenting itself on a level I couldn’t resist. I’m sure it had something to do with the cravings I’ve been having all week, no doubt. But damn, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Asher? ASHER!” Zach’s booming voice fills the apartment, causing my head to split in two as his voice echoes in my brain. He shows up with Atty and Mama, all three of them standing there in a blurry haze, watching me struggle to sit up in bed.

“Mmm,” I mumble unintelligibly, words not forming as they should. The three of them blur into nothingness as the world tilts off its axis, and I fall back into my pillows as I was before I heard my father calling my name.

Mama’s voice swirls around me, her high-pitched and worried tone piercing my head as she tugs at the makeshift tourniquet around my arm. The needle is still in my vein, the second hit of the heroin pulling me deeper into hell.

“Call 911, damn it. Zach, he’s barely breathing.” I think she says this, but I’m not sure if I’m hearing things or if I’m making this up as I go along because I’m honestly that high.

Everything becomes distant and quiet again, life simmering down to that mellow high I’ve been chasing for hours. And then everything fades once more, and I chuckle to myself. ~Damn…damn, yes, that’s good.~

***

I wake up in a bed that isn’t mine. The mattress feels like plastic against my sweaty skin; I feel needles in my arms and tubes all around me while the incessant beeping tells me where I am. Damn, did Mama bring me to the hospital again?

My head is throbbing; it feels like someone’s been using it to split logs. My body isn’t faring much better; everything aches, itches, burns… Blinking, I try to focus my vision, but it never quite settles before everything fades again.

I think I might have taken too much…

***

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Damn, can someone turn off that annoying sound?” I mumble to no one in particular as I reach out to find the irritating alarm next to the bed to smash it. But I can’t move; my arms are restrained, tied to a cold metal railing that I can feel against my fingertips.

A wave of agony washes over me as I blink my eyes open, finding myself strapped to a hospital bed. Mama’s there, her head resting on a recliner next to me, her eyes closed in an uncomfortable sleep, yet somehow still fixed on me.

Her hair is spread out around her, tangled curls framing her face as she sleeps, both hands tucked under her cheek, her gaze never leaving me.

“Asher,” a young male nurse, clad in blue scrubs, approaches me. “I’m relieved you’re awake; that was a narrow escape.” His voice is low as he adjusts the monitor next to me, silencing the incessant beeping.

“How narrow?” I question him.

“You flatlined; your mother revived you… If she hadn’t had that Narcan…” His face is a mask of disapproval, or so I interpret. “She’s been beside herself with worry; hasn’t left your side once.”

“She’s always been a worrywart. Of course, she wouldn’t leave.”

“Your girlfriend has been here too, hasn’t left the family room all night.” He arches an eyebrow. “But let me guess, she’s also overreacting?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, so no, she doesn’t overreact because she doesn’t exist!” I retort, my voice laced with irritation.

He steps back, adjusting some settings on the machines connected to me by a network of tubes. That’s when I feel the cold liquid coursing against the warmth of my blood—a sensation I find unsettling.

“The withdrawals must be intense. They’ve administered some methadone to help you come down, but you’ve been scratching incessantly. That’s why your hands are restrained,” he observes. “How’s the itching?”

“Feels like a swarm of fire ants…”

“Do you want me to leave the restraints on?”

“No, take off these damn cuffs,” I growl.

He complies, a worried look in his eyes, but he frees my hands nonetheless, allowing me to pull my wrists away from the cold metal of the bed railings. I flex my hands, rubbing the spots where the cuffs left damp imprints.

“Would you like to talk about anything?” the nurse inquires, his question grating on my nerves.

“Talk about what exactly? Why I’m here? Why my mother drags me to this godforsaken place every time I overdose? I’m fine. I’m sure she’ll give me a piece of her mind later.”

He tightens his lips, activating the blood pressure cuff on my arm.

The squeeze of the cuff sends a jolt of pain through me, but I remain silent, gritting my teeth, enduring the discomfort to prove I don’t need help.