(Untitled)
Pickles stepped through the door and tossed the bottles onto the end table he'd set near the patio door after finding the Bar was just on the other side.
"Did I tell you he lived here with me fer two years?" He asked, dropping down into his chair, immediately lighting a cigarette.
"Did I tell you he lived here with me fer two years?" He asked, dropping down into his chair, immediately lighting a cigarette.
"Okay, so he was tryin' to kick the habit. Heroin, actually, and every moment was hell, both fer him and me. I knew he'd been in my stash, I didn't care. I was more worried what might happen if he kept sneakin' around behind my back with it. We looked after each other, y'know? Made sure we wouldn't OD or get the bad shit, both of us had too many close calls fer that."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, "So I was there, watchin' him ache and sweat, twitch. Couldn't bear to see him like that, and I brought him into the kitchen, got my stash out, and sat him down right in front'a the fridge. He was sittin' there, waxin' poetic and romantic at me, askin' me if I'd still love him when he was sober. Sure, I'd love him no matter what, hell or high-fuckin' water. I loved that guy more'n life. I couldn't stand to be without him, and at that point, all that was keepin' us together right then was the drugs."
He squeezed Miniver's hand. "I set out my kit, prepared a needle. Just ten CCs, nothin' more, it was all he needed to take the edge off. That's what I thought, just to take the edge off, not to get him high or hard up fer it again. I sat there, tied the tube around his arm, and I shot that shit right into his fuckin' arm. It was that moment, that VERY moment that I saw that drug hit his system, I mean, I could tell when it hit, that I realized I was worse fer him than any fuckin' drug he'd done."
He shook his head. "He and I had this huge fuckin' fight. I told him he needed fuckin' help, help I couldn't give him. I told him he needed to move away from me, to get outta my fuckin' bubble so he could get into rehab and get clean. Move on with his life and get on with things. I called his mom, because his mom... well, he's the biggest mama's boy you'll ever meet, and told her that I'd be sendin' him home, assured her he was fine, he just needed some time with his family to get him back to reality."
He slipped his hand away and ran it through his dreads.
"He didn't break up with me. Nah, that didn't happen." He was gritting his teeth, not out of anger or resentment of Tony.
"I cut him out of my life. I made sure I couldn't hurt him any more. That shit... That shit had to end for him, so he could actually succeed. I mean, I called him at his mom's after he got there, made sure he was alright. He moved back in for a week, then I convinced him to get a place of his own with some of the money he'd saved up from the record sales of our last album. After that though? I didn't call. I didn't talk, I didn't make any attempt to contact him. It was always him calling me up, askin' to grab lunch or whatever. I always made excuses, then I just stopped answerin' his calls. He probably hates me fer it, but I blame myself fer how bad he got. I thought he was doin' good, y'know? He even got married and had a couple kids since then. Apparently that didn't pan out. Apparently she left him because he couldn't stop thinkin' about me."
He ruined a marriage. Fuck.
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