Adrian was worried that I would hate his idiotic (but very nice) ass after his fuck doll went retarded and maimed my car but I know better than to blame one person for another’s stupidity, even if that person wasn’t exactly in her right mind. Yes, he took her to R-man’s place and got her super duper geeked but it was the faulty wiring in her head that told her to come fuck with my shit. I’m a big believer in taking responsibility for your actions, no matter how fucked up you are at the time. It’s still you making the moves, not the gak.
So though he had been coming by less often, he decided he needed to try and buy my good humor and affection by bringing me lots of goodies i.e. candy, coffee, various mili's of Dilaudid pills etc. He didn't hafta do it but he kept insisting so I was like," If you must you must."
He had spent most of the last week plying me with substances, hanging out and riding around (in my newly fixed auto) with me while I did this and that. I even had him as my sidekick on trips to Albuquerque and 'Spania, showing him my fav place(s) to stop and fix over by the Abiquiu Dam and at the Apache just outside Cuba. It was fun in the way such trips are when you have plenty of drugs, decent company and an unending supply of kickass music to keep shit going.
Unfortunately, the system in my car had gone pffft and until Maniac put it back together all I had was AM/FM Radio which as anyone can tell you sux monumental ass unless it's Underground Garage. It was not.
What we had was a nauseating stream of "Adult Pop", pseudo metal and indie...baaaaad indie! I felt I must be trapped in some kind of Nickleback nightmare and it seemed like another shot might be just the thing to rid me of the migraine brought on by the sentimental, tepid rubbish that was coming through my speakers.
I pulled up at the Apache and started lining everything up on my leg. Points, cap from the water bottle, lighter, cigarette (for the cotton) and last but not least, a good sized chunk of H. As I was putting it all together Adrian was fucking around with the tuner, trying to find something decent to listen to.
He got nervous when he saw me put the flame to the plastic cap but I assured him that I was not an idiot, we may end up injecting some kind of toxins released by the hot plastic but I definitely wouldn't turn it all into a melty mess. Toxins schmoxins! This bitch has shot up with water from a public toilet at the greyhound station, plastic don't scare me none.
I finished what I was doing and loaded the rigs, one for him one for me. As usual he went all gentleman-like, pulling off his belt and offering it to me. I declined as it was way too much trouble to try and hit a vein in the car, my veins are notoriously temperamental and hard to find. Instead I wasted no time in unbuttoning my jeans so I could pop it in my hip. It burned like it always does but it was that good kind of burn. The kind that you craved and waited for and when it was just right it let you know that in seconds you'd get that warm, semi-nauseous feeling in your gut that says you're gonna feel extra good in 5-4-3-2-NOW.
I did what I always do and left the point stuck in me, it was an old habit from back when my hips were so hard from muscling that pulling it out too soon would mean all the dope would come gushing out due to pressure. It's no longer necessary but it's comforting in the way that drug rituals usually are, so I always let it sit a minute.
I burned the ragged bit of cotton off the filter and put the cigg in my mouth, lighting it up and taking a big drag. Leaning my seat back, I slowly rolled my head against the headrest until I was looking over at Adrian. He was having a bit of a struggle and had gone from arms to hands and was now pulling his shirt off so he could get at his neck. In retrospect I should've known he was up to something because you don't need to remove your t-shirt to see your EJ's, it's not like the fucker was wearing a turtleneck.
All this was lost on me because I was too busy getting glassy-eyed and gazing at the mess he had left running down his arms and hands. My weird blood/needle fetish was making itself known and watching him stick the point right between the Black Flag bars on his neck was just too enchanting. As much as I am against hitting the neck, I will admit he looked damn fine doing it.
He adjusted the mirror and dug around again, finally getting it to register and shooting it in. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding and took another drag. I met his eyes in the mirror and watched them pin and glaze over, an adorable, lazy smile on his face.
He flipped the visor up and leaned his seat back, the rig forgotten in his hand as he let the high wash over him. It's so voyeuristic to watch someone when the H overtakes them, it's like you get to see the softest side of their soul for split second. Being me, I watched anyway.
At some point my eyes closed and I nodded for a few minutes, waking up to Adrian's hand on my cheek, his face just inches away from mine. He had that look and for just a moment I wished I could go with it. He pressed his forehead against mine and I felt his hand sliding up my half covered leg. When his fingers found the dart in my hip he pulled his face away and asked, "Can I?"
I said," Whatever." trying to sound nonchalant, like his hand on me had no effect whatsoever. I don't think I was very convincing but at least I was giving it the old college try.
He plucked it out of my skin and leaned down like he was gonna lick the tiny bit of blood that was trickling down my leg. I was 99% sure that I was going to let him do it and conscience be damned but then I noticed something that had been nagging me from the sidelines.
The whole time Adrian had been orchestrating his blood-licky seduction, Marilyn Manson had been croaking out "Heart Shaped Glasses" on the radio. It was unacceptable!
I pushed his head away and said, "Are you kidding me with this song? Blegh,! This is SO not happening!"
"Huh?" he looked confused.
"I refuse to let myself be led astray with this dreck playing in the background, it's insulting."
"What? Are you serious?"
I pulled up my jeans, "Angel, I’ve never been more serious. It's time we get back on the road."
"What?"
I was starting to question his intelligence, what with all these snappy rejoinders, "Are you retarded?”
He opened his mouth to reply, looking more simple by the second, that blank stare still firmly in place.
“Say ’What’ or ‘Huh’ one more time” I dared him, getting annoyed.
His jaw snicked shut and his expression was an odd combination of humor and befuddlement. Befuddlement has never looked so fucking good!
We drove in silence for a few minutes, I had turned off the offending radio for the time being. A ways down the road I heard Ade start humming to himself. It got louder and more coherent until I could make out the words, “Little girl, little girl you should close your eyes, that blue is getting me high, making me low...”
I gave a disgusted snort, “Barf! ‘making me low’ what does that even mean? And MY eyes are brown.”
He laughed and broke into the chorus and I came back with, “I don’t mind you keeping me on pills and needles...“
He gave me the raised eyebrow and said, “I think it’s pins, not pills.”
“Hmmm, I wasn't aware of that.”
“Is that what I’ve been doing?”
“Absolutely, feel free to keep it up.” I turned the radio back on and managed to find a station that was playing 50’s and 60’s stuff. We rode the rest of the way listening to Jerry Lee Lewis and the Shangri-Las singing about a Big Legged Woman and Walking in the Sand.
